On the likes of ‘Enough,’ the layers of electronica and muffled beats become oddly oppressive, competing against her--and winning the battle. It’s in moments like this where Take Me Apart proves to be frustrating. When it’s at its best though, it’s an album that invites the listener to do just what its title invites.

The in-demand singer-songwriter-producer primes himself for new heights here - tapping into the hedonistic spirit of Studio 54, while applying a gloss that is very much of today.

McMorrow has shaken off the folk singer with a guitar tag to give us an album pregnant with intrigue, creativity and diversity.

The more you listen, the more you start to learn this is not an album of ‘Eleanor Rigby’s; it’s an album of ‘A Day in the Life’s.

‘Leaf Off/The Cave’ and ‘What Will’ are the strongest of the 10 new strands to this web, yet it is hard to assign priorities to what is a consistently good album.

It just falls short of completely engulfing your interest and really exposing itself as anything completely fresh and inspiring. It’s pretty in places, but you’re left wishing that it was truly beautiful.

Breton have made a record that draws upon their art foundations more than their first.

It’s an uneven listen, although that sometimes plays in its favour; Page’s vocal delivery is consistently unpredictable.

Kudos for another reinvention, but the best version of Kele probably sits nearer the middle of the spectrum.

It’s a confident release from a seasoned band still harbouring the energies of youth. Somewhat paradoxically however, it’s also a considered record, one that muses on the transient and a reminder of the importance of being able to appreciate what we’ve got, while we’ve got it.

A considered evolution from first minute to last, with no real enforced show in between, it may not be immediately obvious but by the end one truth remains clearer than ever, across a whole album--Mogwai can really do scale.

‘You Better Run’, while perfectly adequate, has the aura of ‘pub back room’ to its chugging riffs; it’s fine, but it’s largely filler. In general though, As You Were is almost certainly the best thing Liam’s offered us since he parted ways with his big bro.

For every moment which drifts slightly, there is another where they toss the superfluous and it all returns to tremendous, streamlined pop.

There’s a consistent sense of déjà vu that accompanies every melody, a pleasant sense of cosy familiarity, but also a like-ability running throughout.

Dylan Baldi’s vocals are presented in a somewhat hushed manner, turning what could be a bona fide rock banger (there’s a pep in this chorus, to be sure) into an also-ran. On the numbers that more closely resemble the Cloud Nothings trademark sound - see the melodic ‘Mouse Policy’, or the bright ‘The Golden Halo’ - it’s an ideal fit.

Individually the likes of ‘Time Will Be The Only Saviour’, with its creeping strings and weighty sorrow, or the Rizzo-quoting ‘There Are Worse Things I Could Do’, are tender, sad things, but as a whole piece, Yawn can wind up a claustrophobic listen.

While the form may feel familiar (think: a glitch-pop kissing cousin to Rufus Wainwright’s days as a balladeer, or a soft-shoe version of Patrick Wolf’s orchestral manoeuvres) a promising left-of-centre choice sets Fyfe apart from the pack of crooners.

Despite some stellar production and sparkling pop moments, it feels like there’s been little evolution in the duo’s sound in the five years since ‘Another Eternity’.

The whole record initially comes off like a collision of crackpot thoughts; abstract lyrics; abstract synthetics; all abstract everything. Eventually Lese Majesty exposes its rigid structure, giving hints of ‘Black Up’ but overall daring to go further and deeper than anything on the debut.

If Wolf Parade have spent six years wondering how they can sing about anything at all, it seems as though they’re still wondering. Just this time the quartet turned the mic on as they pondered.

The strength of A.L.L.A is when Rocky dodges the conventional diss tracks and instead tells his story without any strings attached.

Eucalyptus is a dense and challenging listen, but while it might alienate post-‘Merriweather Post Pavilion’ converts to Animal Collective, it might bring back those who loved ‘Campfire Songs’ but have felt disenfranchised since.

At times, No Tourists feels like a companion to their debut. That was the night out and this is the morning after’s hangover. While this isn’t vintage Prodigy, it gets pretty damn close and gives hope there is still life in the old dog yet.

Caramel is certainly a strange album, but it’s not alienating or difficult to engage with.

Cold Pumas peddle a kind of post-punk that’s long since been done to death by this point; it takes real ingenuity to find a way to imbue this particular template with genuinely new energy, and on this evidence, they haven’t found that yet.

There’s plenty to discover here on a diverse record that takes a lot of interesting turns, and while there are some unsuccessful moments, there’s also plenty for indie-pop fans to get their teeth stuck into.

Routines isn’t an album that’s going to change the world, but it is a pretty good reminder to stop, slow down and take things in once in a while.

The beefing up of Girlpool’s sound on Powerplant works marvellously in parts, but at points serves to dilute the individuality the pair presented on their debut.