The band have expanded their sound with mixed results.

M uch of ‘Stray’ could do with heeding its own advice; instead Bambara stay firmly on a strong but fairly predictable path.

It’s comfortable, casual and--as is Iggy--a little bit weird at times. It’s catchy and has some great stories nestling in there--Post Pop Depression gets its hooks into you gradually with each listen.

With Schmilco, Wilco are getting funnier, more surprising and more interesting, two decades after forming.

Their newest full-length isn’t by any means leaps and bounds from what they’ve done before, but when they’ve got their brand of metallic pop so well-honed, why would we hope for anything else?

Inji is the sound of Dust discovering his own identity. And to achieve this, he tries just about anything and everything that crosses his path.

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.

Nothing on this record is secure, but its transitions are hauntingly beautiful. It will not be for those who crave immediacy. Some tracks are far from an easy listen, but it was never meant to be.

Good Luck and Do Your Best is so far out there but at the same time feels right at home; making it one of Panda’s most thrilling pieces to date.

There isn’t much range across the record; the last few tracks merge into one. Which is disappointing given Peter’s track record for one, but overall there are plenty of highs and the downsides should be sorted by the next installment.

Homely and familiar in its sound for the most part, ‘My Mind Wanders…’ is a smooth ride of buttery emotional grandiosity and infectious London pop that sits somewhere between Paloma, Adele and Jess Glynne, with enough attitude and bravery to modernise these prevailing and reliable British tropes within soul-pop.

This is handsome, but not essential.

Here joins the rest of the group’s catalogue in being consistently enjoyable, yet on this occasion not without flaw.

‘Deep States’ provides, perhaps unsurprisingly, a difficult listen at times, weighed down as it is by its overwhelming lyrical bluster. Penultimate track ‘Legal Ghosts’ is however an unexpected moment of melodic tenderness - this elusive tale of loss revealing a soft underbelly beneath this otherwise bristly, tough-skinned offering.

It’s punk music with the intelligence of wizened old jazz musicians, and as a chronicle of the band’s hardships, it’s a much-welcome return.

The result is a consistently textured record, with beautifully integrated strings.

The opening three numbers shine, showing a refreshing sound bursting at the seams with positivity, but the lack of variety means that, by the end, you may feel slightly bludgeoned by it all.

Preternaturals is graceful and intriguing, if not vastly pulse quickening.

Five feels like an exercise in softness of touch, maybe the most reserved White Lies album to date; there’s less bite than usual in Harry McVeigh’s vocals, and where previously the guitars would be spiky and nudge towards post-punk, there’s languid, melodic riffs on the likes of ‘Finish Line’ and ‘Denial’.

Overall Beat the Champ will no doubt prove a hit with die-hard Mountain Goats fans, however as a standalone album it lacks a coherent sound.

Flickering and darting across a vast sonic plane, the album is a worthwhile expedition and an interesting re-imagining of the past propelled into the future.

The signs for the band’s third aren’t too rosy, and yet their latest does go some way to showing the defter touch they first struck out with.

Heavy with feeling throughout, it makes for a record that’s often a tough listen. But for cathartically allowing herself to tackle life’s most difficult subjects, you’ve got to applaud her.

While not wholly consistent, Teleman’s third LP contains some of their best work yet.

In the end, this is an album with a whimsical construct that fails to extend its ideas and live up to its musical promise.

The record’s constant hums and oohs at times whitewash even Algiers’ loftiest intentions, but the moments of clarity amongst all the murk mark the trio out as something staunchly individual.

Far from a disaster, Ben Khan’s long-awaited debut is a necessary one, feeling like a cleansing of the palate.

As usual, there’s probably a few too many ideas here and the band trip up on them occasionally--but if they didn’t, it wouldn’t be much of a Deerhoof record.