The improvements from the self-titled album can only be comprehensively taken in with a full listen of Jackrabbit, but using a second album to slowly build and improve an already vastly promising sound--instead of attempting an erratic reinvention--is something Ludwig-Leone should be commended for.

Sincerely, Future Pollution is in some ways a perfect representation of our conflicted, uncertain times, but it also makes the record a challenging, uncompromising listen.

An album which feels lovingly crafted, full of moments that only reveal themselves after multiple listens.

There are not enough personal elements on this album and too many invented ones. It's frustrating, too, because the honest snippets that occasionally poke through really shine.

Ultimately though, there are too many times here where these tracks sound too contrived and calculated, a false approximation in place of the real thing.

Honne’s crystalline, Mura Masa-esque beats will see them through--though only as easy-listening, nothing more.

He may not be in our world completely yet but you should keep making the trip to his: it really is a trip.

There’s a lot to like on Cohen’s debut, and plenty to suggest a follow-up could soar to far greater heights, but not enough to suggest a commercial breakthrough could be on the cards.

Having been dogged with comparisons to Friendly Fires since their formation, it is ironic that this record perhaps sounds like the kind of misstep that the St. Albans band made themselves with their second album 'Pala'.

The Dusk in Us was whittled down to thirteen tracks from eighteen and there remains a little bit of extraneous material, particularly towards the album’s close, and that uneven pacing suggests a touch of rust after so long away--‘All We Love We Leave Behind’ felt more tightly controlled.

Last Night On Earth is filled with guitar licks that manage to sound ferocious and friendly at the same time, marrying a slightly avant-garde persuasion and tight focused songwriting with something instantly warming.

While this collection is his slickest, most watertight LP, it does little to push his sound or songwriting forward.

Jungle have largely played it safe here; the feelgood alt-funk of ‘Heavy, California’ could sit seamlessly alongside anything from their debut, while the ominous nocturnal strut of single ‘Happy Man’ is just ‘Busy Earnin” Mk II.

Oh No doesn’t quite signal a reinvention for Lanza, but a move towards one end of her capabilities, one which consistently brings excitement, energy and openings for new paths for her to head down.

Requiem is the furthest Goat have ventured in expansiveness and length. Despite that, Requium is their most accessible moment to date.

Corridor evidently have ambitious eyes set on the grand and cinematic. The beautifully eerie closing ambient moments to ‘Goldie’, or the theatrical prettiness of ‘Milan’ convey a band of sophisticated vision, but certain reaches for the epic, such as the stodgy closer, ‘Bang’, suffer for their principals, sounding like half-baked version of Grizzly Bear. Often, it’s hard not to think that there’s something missing.

Filled with polyrhythms and squalling synths designed to get people on the dancefloor, it’s sometimes impossible to remain rooted in your seat. The drawback of this focus on the high-energy though, is that it can get a little wearing.

Two Gallants’ rulebook may be dusty, weathered and well-worn, but there’s a familiarity to what they’re doing that can’t help but make We Are Undone a thoroughly enjoyable listen.

It’s not a bad record, but it’s not quite there.

There are a lot of words in this, their fifth album, and yes, they have always been a literate band, but here it often seems somewhat forced.

As far as debuts go, the Sydney trio have made a solid first step here. They’ve got half the job worked out in spades. Now, they just need to work on making it memorable.

While fans of the band's more lo-fi beginnings may stare, open-mouthed, bemused at the central role played by synths on Forcefield, there's every chance they'll be gaining a whole slew of newbies, should these many choruses be set loose.

Nothing within the album paves way for the future--instead, it feels like an exercise in honouring the past.

A bleak and wilfully impenetrable album.

The result is a composed collection of tracks.

There are enough fragments of warped interference to ensure this is a worthy collaboration albeit one which doesn't entirely muscle up to the canon of its individual progenitors.

Placing air guitar and hairbrush karaoke moments alongside twirling, hands-on-heart emotion, with Stiff, White Denim place all their capabilities on show.

Though a dulcet voice the lass may have, some of the songs prove all too 'big' for her.