Once the lyrical sorrow and apocalyptic visions hit home, Hyperspace is revealed as a bleak, spacey R&B tour de force.

The result is a seductive layering of glittering, MOR surfaces, ambient textures and a deep, aching undertow.

Four years on and they have made a witty, hooky dance record in thrall to the rock operatics of Led Zeppelin and Queen.

Antique pieces such as Cuco Sánchez’s Que manera de perder are wrung for their stately melodrama, while originals like La última vez and I Dreamed I Was Lola Beltrán take Tex-Mex into classy, modern terrain, steel guitars ringing alongside cantina strumming.

Black Flowers, one of several tracks rooted in nature, typifies his songwriting prowess, its cryptic lyrics twinned with a gorgeous melody that is both pristine and familiar.

Lost maintains a kind of motorik languor throughout, turning 80s arena rock into something much more intriguing.

Listen in and the lyrics soundtrack a mid-youth crisis ("I've been starting over for a long time," Cronin croons as the album opens), but not so as to dent the overall impression of an ozone high.

There’s not much space to catch a breath over its 15 tracks, but for a pure adrenaline rush it works perfectly.

Struggler continues to convey his strife with a remarkable singularity.

Taylor's vocal presence is gruff and minimal to a fault, but musical textures that entwine banjo, mandolin and cornet are often arresting.

It's Rhys's empathy with Evans and the humour and pathos with which he conveys his young protagonist's emotions that makes this such a vivid and exhilarating journey.

Push past the weaponised irony and you’ll find Another Weekend and Feels Like Heaven are his most seductive melodies since breakthrough album Before Today.

There’s nothing here that’s particularly immediate, the likes of Cemetery of Splendour only gradually yielding their delights. Instead, Classic Objects is unceasingly intriguing.

This is a far better album than you’d dare hope from the latterday Prince; Breakdown is a heavy, plangent ballad, while The Gold Standard just sounds like he’s partying like it’s 1999 all over again.

Strengths lie in Eat Your Young’s supple funk, a light-footed take on Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal, and the itchy urgency of De Selby (Part 2). There’s a chilling, unforgettable beauty to closing pair Unknown/Nth and First Light.

The default groove might be early 70s motorik--Tardis Cymbals is a typically beatific workout--but tracks Blowing My Nose Under Close Observation and Hi-Hats Bring the Hiss are proper dance music, while the Sonic Boom-enhanced Planetary Folklore is both spacey and creepy.

Unsurprisingly, not every song’s that good--To Be Remembered is particularly forgettable--but, at its best, Eska is a mind-bending gem.

Occasionally there are hints of Television, Pixies, the Replacements, Pavement or similar acts, but Invitation has a righteous swagger all of its own.

Throughout, Tricky creates a claustrophobic world full of stark bass lines, pop digressions and slinky Bristol moments; his duet with Francesca Belmonte, New Stole, is particularly moreish.

The playing is, predictably, classy, but mostly it’s an album of surprises; it’s Dave’s porch and he’ll play what he chooses.

But where its predecessor was louche and hook-driven, this fourth studio album skulks deeper into her psyche, its occasional moments of catharsis upended by sombre piano interludes and bleak lyricism.

On first listen it’s a disparate amalgam of sounds, but a couple of plays in, what becomes more apparent is the mellow singing, the catchy melodies and a sense of playfulness.

The production sounded great to start with, and the new material is unexceptional, but if you didn't pick up the mixtapes when they were going free, and can handle 160 minutes of beautifully crafted nihilism, this is an essential buy.

A deft, warming album that grounds the listener while coaxing them to think bigger.

Despite a promisingly funky EP last autumn, it's still a welcome surprise to hear them sounding fresh and invigorated on their seventh album.

This sixth album is well judged, treating eight old songs to varied arrangements and adding a brace of originals.

She is no innovator, but her vocals burn, her band is honky-tonk tough, and songs such as Hurtin’ on the Bottle (co-written with Caitlin Rose) tap straight into country tradition. A winner.

A triumph.