Even if it could never feel like a childhood's worth of lovingly curated music, and even if the shock of the new's way out of its reach, it's still another out-of-its-time, forensically assembled wonder.

Despite this slightly bathetic penultimate track, however, Whatever The Weather is an excellent, and at times thrilling, exposition of a particular side of James’ music-making, a strange and alien concoction that reels you into its jellied depths.

This album flips that fail-state on its head courtesy of being 39 minutes of utterly triumphant fusion pop. Everyone should hear this.

Gone are the solemnly brooding Knife-like synthscapes and the ethereal soprano. In their place are sickly synths, wobbling queasily around the mix; relentlessly shuddering beats hammering at your skull from the inside; crunching electronic distortion and sinister skittering rhythms.

Wolf Eyes were never one-dimensional, but they're adding an increasing number of strings to their duct-taped noise bow and more moods, techniques, textures and subtleties to their bile-splattered palette.

Mogwai’s attitude towards experimentalism shows in the darker corners, the nooks and crannies of their sound where little glow worms of ideas grow and decay. Elsewhere this is well-orchestrated, subtle and playful, with the confidence to indulge both themselves and the audience.

They function as compassionate anthems that rally against the wrought iron tempestuousness of youth.

There is no being taken on a conceptual journey, or losing yourself in these tracks. They overwhelm and punish your ears and synapses, disappearing before you get a chance to acclimatise yourself. Asymmetric guerrilla dancefloor bangers in effect.

Iceage’s efforts to expand their sound not only permeate this record, but make it their finest work to date. They have always been a more-than-capable band, but this album suggests they could one day be a great one.

Despite the plaintive undercurrent, In Search Of Harperfield is nothing short of wonderful.

The songs on Dare's debut album, Whelm ache with a sort of moody emotion that young and old can have in common--wide-eyed, reflective and besotted with the way the world makes us feel.

Eyes on the Lines sounds alive: the ivy growing out of that sphere, adding color and oxygen to the weathered, though still captivating, form underneath.

Rhythm plays a strong role in all Pharmakon albums, but Devour has a stronger pull and a denser composition. One rhythmic track layers on top of another, sometimes swallowing each other up and sometimes taking songs into different directions. ... Devour isn’t a rallying cry for change, it’s a reflection of the ugliness of it all, from the inside out.

Welshpool Frillies (that wording itself an intriguing prospect) is peppered with powerful language hinting at events untold, slotting together in surprising mixtures, shapes, and forms. Sure, there's the odd track that feels a little phoned in (the palm-muted slog of ‘Cats On Heat’, for example) but when the hit rate is this high and there’s still mystique and gut-punch intimations wrapped up within these beguiling twists of phrase, then why not keep the faucet gushing and let the waters rise?

This, without question, is the most effervescent and creative album of his extraordinary career.

Reloaded is the sound of the impressive talent behind 2010's Marcberg blossoming into greatness; one of the best written rap records of this young decade.

The mastery of Moodymann is its ability to consider and celebrate a rich cultural past whilst simultaneously providing a localised image of what an intimate, cathartic and utopian electronic music could look like.

What they're doing with their new wave affectations and post-punk sheen is absolutely creative and often subversive.

It delivers an impressive belt around the chops from the start, with ‘Valleys’ building from eardrum-realigning bass to a full-force techno-rock wig-out.

Centralia is an album of surprising, subtle depths, a spacious, psychedelic landscape where the traditional meets the modern in a dreamlike combination of familiarity and strangeness.

The Hunter is an example of how to crossover without selling out--something Metallica never learned--and no matter how many copies it sells, this is the mainstream heavy rock album of the year.

Pangs is full of warmth and charm, one that is welcoming instead of being difficult.

A teenage dream of a record.

What we're witnessing here isn’t radical reinvention (which is hugely overrated anyhow), but the continued refinement and mastery of a specific milieu, and the judicious introduction of new elements and a new collaborator in Arve Henriksen.

Though it is not articulated directly, the heart of this record is about the potential for a genuine and communal response to that hopelessness, and about an empowering, defiant joy that can be forged even in the depths of despair. Soundtrack to a soon unceasing summer.

Their distinct blend of hypnotic African blues provides a glimpse into another world with profound concerns about the fate of their people, nomadically shifting across the desert in search of an elusive peace.

Overmono have produced an album with a euphoric and kaleidoscopic appeal.

This isn't Minneapolis blowing mind after mind in the mad rush, this is the groundwork, the early experiments, the demos en route to the full on experience. Drums sometimes barely sound there, mixes are merely what can be done with the tools to hand, it's not slapdash but it's not slick either.

The sonic backdrop is richer, more luscious and colourful, whilst rhythms that once would twitch are now more confident and loose.

All the pieces constitute a splendid array of transnational collaboration, a brilliant collage of ideas.

This is Svenonius with just an electric guitar, a microphone, an analogue-sounding drum machine and a tape deck, creating the rawest and most stripped-back manifestation of his singular muse to date.

Songs Of Praise is an ambitious, ferocious debut from a band who might just have something new to say about being a (load of white men in a) guitar band.

Age of sees Daniel Lopatin, like the AIs of his album, escape his digital restraints and make his most human record to date.

It’s a record like Lice’s that can reinvigorate and re-energise. Yes, it may be at the end of some sort of sonic spectrum but your ears will become less misted and more clear.

[The title track is] a challenging conclusion to a beautifully crafted, exploratory piece of work.

The overall mood then is distinctly chill and pleasingly psychedelic. There’s enough space echo going on here to tranquillise a horse. Like cLOUDDEAD or Donuts, Few Good Things is one of the great bedroom hip hop records.

It feels more that Earth have given us time to absorb what may come to be seen, in retrospect, as something of a magnum opus.

By conveying the masculine and feminine duality inherent in old musical traditions and modern musical developments, Bruun has composed a truly rewarding record that defies direct categorisation.

That Cowboy Junkies are still making music this far down the line is to be applauded. That it ranks with the very best of their material deserves nothing less than an ovation.

With Safe, Visionist has created a work so forward-thinking it's positively post-modern.

His background on the harder edge of modern dance music means that, for all its delicacy, Severant never feels retro or overly derivative.

Her latest creative effort, Tommy on Hyperdub Records, is the darker, more mature, older sibling to Lagata, and another firm exposition of her unique and extensive vocal ability and her creative, DIY production style.

It’s an album that if you take it at face value will delight, but if you stick around and penetrate its surface, you’ll find one of the most transfixing albums in recent years.

This is Pallett’s most ambitious album to date, filled with complex string sections, captivating melodies and the kind of lyrics that show a love for life seldom heard.

Slave Vows, then, is a masterpiece, its black-hearted explosions and sordid vibes coming from a darker place than most of those pantomiming their way through rock & roll. But while there’s bleakness here, there’s also that sulphurous sound of resistance, of high drama at very real stakes.

How To Stop Your Brain In An Accident is right up there with the giddy heights of Travels With Myself And Another and proves how downright essential FotL are.

The approach behind Two Ribbons is omnivorous, forming a vibrant kaleidoscope that fluidly twists between genres. ... Despite its more gentle touch, the album’s spirit remains restless, transmogrifying.

This is a very smart record, and one that bears repeated listening. The emotional maturity and frank lyricism shine through the electronic sounds and idiosyncrasy of her style, and ultimately good songwriting finds a beautiful symbiosis of sound and text.

Pretty much the whole way through, without pausing for breath, Pray For Me I Don’t Fit In sounds like a carnival band decided to make a covers album of 90s industrial rock classics. I don’t reckon this is an influence they’re especially punting for. However, happily or not, it’s where they land. This is a thrilling mosh, though it can get annoying.

Experimental music inevitably engenders pretentious music writing, yet when it's as good as Behold it creates a listening experience that altogether dwarfs any linguistic rationalisation. This is a record of light and shade, and one that demands your fullest immersion.

Total Control have crafted a sonic scroll that is freer, weirder, and tighter than anything they have put together before.

It sits together as a cohesive body of work rather than a fragmented collection of club moments.

The five members of the Golden Quintet perform this suite with perfectly poised balance and musical integration, composer Smith's trumpet taking the obvious lead with crystal clarity yet never lapsing into solo virtuosity for the sake of it.

It's a work that, while being their most accessible to date, is still dense enough to reward patience and repeated listens.

Senyawa have consistently and carefully focused on ways to play and record their two sound sources to arrive at a fusion whose weight belies their minimal sonic elements; with Sujud they have made one of the heaviest and most seductive albums of the year.

As Flock Of Dimes, Wasner refuses to waste a second. Most tracks are pop hits waiting to happen in some daring universe, with verses as charming as the shimmering choruses, each a perfectly formed little jewel, Wasner's voice lush and warm.

With less decay and bleed coming from the guitars, Sonancy benefits from a greater degree of separation in its instrumentation. Consequently, every track gets to breath. There’s little stifling claustrophobia at play here and much like the psychedelic experience, the music reaches and stretches out for a greater truth and space.

At many points the overall effect is hypnotizing with the way musical phrases interlock; the sounds are unpredictably stimulating, and the storytelling is relatable without coming off cheesy. Hive Mind, as the name suggests, presents The Internet as the tightest they’ve ever been.

With ‘Dirt’ and ‘Funhouse’, we find a similarly expressive Pop in action, wrenching every ounce of feeling from the words. Iggy as a seer not a sucker. It’s refreshing to hear. The only sad thing about the whole experience is not really registering the rumble of Dave Alexander.

With Plainly Mistaken, Nathan Bowles has stepped out of the Black Twig Pickers’ shadow and demonstrated his vitality in forging new routes through old-timey music.

While in lockdown, Bad Bunny decided to step out of the box and explore new music to mix with Latin trap, coming up with fresh sound narratives and reaffirming his ‘lawbreaker’ reputation in an otherwise rather boring reggaeton scene.

Although it doesn't quite live up to the greatness of Smoke Ring, it is a beautiful progression and subtle change in style and subject matter.

Boy confirms that Bozulich is at least as good as Cave or Waits at contemporising the blues, at crafting bold, gritty, assertive art that is enchantingly oddball yet still accessible, not to mention infinitely rewarding.

Demen's debut album is worth listening to in its own right, regardless of any nostalgia for the 4AD sound. She takes a studied-sounding array of influences from contemporary ambient and drone, infusing them with a more operatic, vocalised melancholy.

Crucially, this is a record that deserves to be approached, consumed and judged on its own merits. And merits there are aplenty.

There are a lot of different elements in the mix here – prog, reggae, folk, loungecore, even a little disco – and perhaps some listeners may initially feel a little inclined towards indigestion. However, the vision behind it all is singular and persuasive and balances its more unconventional aspects with strong harmonies and vivid lyricism.

The Whole Love is, therefore, just another Wilco album. But it's Wilco at the top of their game, or at least close to it, patrolling territory they've made their own and secure in the knowledge that they belong there.

After the assimilation of the band into the mainstream rock pool with New Wave and White Crosses, their decision to make a stellar pop-punk record, judged on the quality of its hooks, is a great linear move. 'Blues is a palette cleanser that still causes a ruckus.

There is a uniformity to the album. It has a pace and atmosphere that all tracks pretty much conform to, which in less skilled hands can be a problem. But here what we have is one of those records where your favourite track changes with each listen. One whose coherence and solidity allow you a little escape form everything, to a different place. A not altogether happy one, but a beautiful one nonetheless.

I'm a Dreamer strikes an impressive balance between light and dark.

If arguably too one-note to constitute a stone-cold triumph, the album serves as a charming side-bar to two stellar careers. It is a collaboration that soars without ever quite getting so close to the sun that its wings start to melt.

It’s sombre, yes, but it’s also calm and reflective – a moment to pause and consider where those of us opposed to the systems that have created our current crises go from here.

Metz [have] easily made one of the finest and most ferocious punk albums in years on this sledgehammer of a debut.

The album hits its stride by 'The Strange Attractor', a pulse-raiser that seductively conjoins steamy, tranced out vocal inflections to an urgent, vacillating tribal tempo.

The best Hey Colossus album to date. But to fully enjoy Black And Gold's many delights, it should be understood that this is a journey with a beginning, middle and end, and one to be taken in a single sitting.

It's the type of album you have to commit to completely, but for those seeking a glimpse of the numinous, it's worth the effort.

It's generally noisy and gnarly, variously downtuned or detuned and proud of its metallic heft; if you've encountered Årabrot in the past, this will be expected. It also has a dark, velveteen grace which feels derived from both pop and cabaret songwriting, and while previous records by the band have hinted at this tendency, here they've embraced it to a far greater degree than before.

The lofty narrative brought to life by a collection of captivating soundscapes where visions of bliss are pockmarked by blotches of the quotidian. It rarely dips into the relentless optimism of utopian discourse but that makes this project all the more compelling; there's trouble in paradise but Efdemin's got it covered.

Insomnia is generally solid, with more peaks than troughs. All things considered, it probably isn’t groundbreaking, and doesn’t feel as vital or captivating as Dave’s Psychodrama or Headie One’s Music X Road. But it’s a welcome addition to the artists’ respective back catalogues.

The bending of time and place and sights and sounds across this record leaves the listener with plenty to digest and a lot to be excited for with what’s to come from Squid.

It’s purposely chaotic and skeletal in places, but when the disjointed pieces are viewed as one, you get an album that is a fascinating and hypnotic listen.

17 year-old Eilish has gone deeper into the weirdo-pop trench. Together with co-collaborator brother and producer Finneas O’Connell, she has drawn on trap and industrial pop to create a darkly humorous record about romance, rejection and addiction.

Utopia is not just an album about intimacy, it also expresses a degree of intimacy that goes beyond words--especially in the sense that her voice sounds so detailed here, and in the ways she works with Arca.

New History Warfare 2 is superfine, breathtaking, at once unnervingly exploratory and highly accessible, a record which leaves you grasping in vain for adequate reference points and peer comparisons.

It may be too early for most to declare it a classic, but only a few hours after its launch, it seems fair to describe Gang Signs & Prayer as a towering triumph.

One of the best dance LPs of recent times from one of the moment’s most valuable artists.

Occasionally there are pedestrian moments, as on the drifting 'Pill Hill Serenade', where the vitality dims and the sombre tone can feel wearing, so taking it all in is best staggered over several listens.

The church's natural reverb provides a chilling reverse-incubation to her trembling vibrato, and at times, her breath too itself is transformed into a fluttering instrument, frantically encompassing all angles of the space.

While not life-altering, how i’m feeling now is fun, fast and thoroughly listenable. It’s absorbing as a document from a strange period, and its diaristic, vloggy aspects provide an intriguing peek into artistry under pressure.

To the wider rock world, Yellow/Green deserves to be regarded as a left of field classic, whilst to the metalheads who were perfectly content with the Baroness sound as it was, the record may seem something of a disappointment, its straightforward and melodic approach to songwriting the antithesis of the labyrinthine complexities and huge riffs of old.

This is isn't album to fall in love with at first sight or listen; indeed, this requires a form of courtship between listener and album as the former, over time, opens up its many dense layers to first entice and then slowly seduce the latter into a lasting and meaningful relationship.

For a fairly short 50-minute album it's definitely something you can digest in one sitting without feeling overwhelmed. Nevertheless, In Conflict improves with each listen, new pieces of the puzzle falling into place, details making the picture clearer and more fascinating with each spin.

Singles [is] the first of their albums that really forces the repeat button; as good as In Evening Air and On The Water are, they're so emotionally draining that you don't exactly find yourself in a hurry to play them again right away.

Ebbing and flowing between order and chaos, A Universe that Roasts Blossoms for a Horse feels like a long ride in an entropic machine, programmed to descend into mire and din. As such, it’s never dull, it’s just you sometimes wish it had a couple more places to go.

Miss Grit’s debut full-length dials down the dimmer switch for a more intimate entry into their songs. ... It is Miss Grit’s lovely voice that captivates – simultaneously strong and breathy, the way she effortlessly jumps between the notes of these interesting melodies really standing out.

Tonally and generically, the album is not so much a continent as a small country. But it's a beautiful country, warm and vibrant.

The exquisite nature of this slices of dappled pop genius is a joy to behold.

As a whole, Shackles' Gift is more obviously tuneful and considered than its predecessor and, as established, thematically watertight. The most interesting thing about it, though, is that it works outside of this context.