There are a couple of sweet spots on ‘Ice Melt’ in the form of the shimmering ‘Balloon’ and the creamy ending title-track, but not enough to warrant a whole album’s worth of material from what could have easily been shaved down to an EP.

We’re left with a contrast that never quite works. Instead, it’s where the concept is applied metaphorically that ‘Van Weezer’ finds some green shoots.

‘Typhoons’ occasionally misses the mark: the space created by the pair’s more chilled sonic approach isn’t filled. The songs here may be more melodic, more complex even on paper, but in reality there’s little there to truly grab hold of.

Sure, with ‘This Is Really Going To Hurt’, Flyte have successfully echoed the sounds of the past, but it’s all about as paper-thin as a yellow-hued Instagram filter.

La Femme toss so many weird and interesting ideas against the wall, that for every gorgeous moment that sticks, there’s an awkward miss.

The issue is that, in conflating deliberation with maturity, ‘Today We’re the Greatest’ ends up feeling a little bit middle-of-the-road.

Although accomplished in its tone, ‘I Won’t Care How You Remember Me’ longs for dynamic crescendos to differentiate the album’s eleven tracks, no matter how pleasant they may be.

‘When You See Yourself’ sounds like a jolt back into something potentially promising: there could still be life in the old Kings yet.

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.

Winding orchestral flights propel ‘Innocent Weight’, in part redeeming an effort that covers little in the way of new ground, while timely lyrical takes command attention yet lack the frequency to shake off neighbouring songs sinking under their own unwieldy mass.

Black Country, New Road’s seriousness and determined intellectualism is sometimes to their detriment.

TV Priest's debut is good but not necessarily enough to poke through the maelstrom quiet yet.

Not one for anyone who’s not already won over by the pair’s particular charms.

‘Petrichor’ is a passion project, all about indulging the kinds of whims that don’t fit the Hawk and a Hacksaw mould. On that front, she’s succeeded.

There are occasional flickers of inspiration - see the maximalist rework of ‘Elite’ from Blanck Mass and the minimalist ‘Teenager’ that Robert Smith contributed - but otherwise, you have to hope that everybody involved enjoyed putting Black Stallion together, because it ain’t much fun to listen to.

The Leeds-based group’s long-delayed debut might not offer much in variety (in short, if you’re into a combination of those groups’ [Gengahr, Bombay Bicycle Club or alt-J] sounds, you’re going to love it), but in our current long, dark winter nights there’s a nostalgic tint to the songs on offer, whether the bassy synths of the title track, or folky ‘Smorgasbord’ that hits right in the warm and fuzzies.

It’s refreshing to see that the band aren’t content to solely focus on nostalgia trips, and there are some great moments here - the dark driving force of ‘Wyttch’ stands out - but with such a hefty run time, it’s difficult to really tap into the heart of ‘Cyr’.

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.

‘Are You Fucking Your Ex’ has none of the melodrama its title suggests, the question holding about as much weight as ‘did I leave the bathroom light on?’, and ‘I Got Hurt’ sledgehammers the line “I got hurt… and it didn’t feel good”. For a songwriter who’s so loved for finding poetry in the quotidian, for saying so much with so little, it’s just a bit basic. Maybe if he’d allowed him - and us - to wallow a bit, he’d have had more of a point.

Though ‘Mama’s Boy’ won’t exactly be changing the alt-pop game, it certainly might convince you to text your ex after one too many glasses of wine.

‘The Streets Where I Belong’ appears to aim for ‘80s FM radio nostalgia, while the title track hints at cod reggae, ‘Forever ‘92’ borrows a smidgen of shoegazey guitars and ‘The Bomb’ a touch of trip hop. But with a lack of immediacy, paper-thin production and no discernible hooks throughout, for anyone still humming ‘Chewing Gum’ or ‘Heartbeat’, it’s a disappointment.

‘As Long As You Are’ is a steady-as-she-goes sort of affair - a solid effort from the four-piece that would fare better with a little more exploration.

While not exactly the wildlife-soundtracking level of Nan-friendly safe his day job has reached, it’s largely default Jónsi, just with a few more effects.

It’s a lot of… well, not much; a studio folly of sorts, (unsurprisingly) impeccable in sound but meandering without direction for the most part.

‘Airhead’ is a piece of bubblegum goodness, ‘Haunted’ is a celestial sizzler, while ‘Jumper’ almost calls back to 00s pop-punk classics (with an AG spin, obv) and closer ‘Lifeline’ is a sprawling synth slowburner. Though sprinkled with bops, ‘Apple’ doesn’t pack the expected punch.

Notably, the record is without the pair’s usual darkness, but ‘Host’ feels organic and true, like the first day of spring after a winter full of rain.

While at times ‘Violet…’ shows Lana’s fine lyrical prowess, quotes primed for Tumblr captions, most of the time it’s more sixth former trying their best to impress at their first slam poetry event.

With highly catchy choruses on ‘Heart of Mine’ and ‘Deliver It’, it’s obvious that the band can deliver the pop sheen they are known for. But while reaching for style, it is only by exception that they achieve their usual substance.