Never has an album title been better chosen - the duo are at the centre of a brightly burning, ever-expanding sonic explosion, all of their own making, and just like a supernova, it is utterly stunning to witness. Bow down to the queens.

There aren’t any standalone tracks, with the arguable exception of ‘Pop Song’. In that sense this is an album in its truest form, a record to sit with and take in as one whole.

‘Life Is Yours’ is the sound of the band less emerging blinking into the post-pandemic light than bounding back into the saddle.

With Liam’s solo career on a high, it’ll be interesting to see where more experimentation leads him next - although somewhat of a mixed bag here, it’s thrilling to see him stray from the formula he knows too well.

It’s uncompromising yet nonetheless inventive, with eccentric flows and inspired production choices.

While ’40 oz. to Fresno’ is certainly a little less orthodox than we’ve come to expect, it doesn’t matter all that much: their rough-around-the-edges punk still strikes the right chords.

George Ezra knows his strengths, he knows his audience, and he’s sticking to it come hell or high water. The result is still yet another charming record that’s hard not to love.

It may not rock the boat stylistically, with her influences always ever-present, but ‘Time Bend And Break The Bower’ is an experience worth immersing yourself in by unravelling the meaning or just following Sinead’s lead down the rabbit hole.

Both ‘Fountain’ and ‘Sweet Memz’ are solemn, sobering pieces. This delicacy is a little muted at times, lacking the sharp, alluring production of the record’s opening, instead closing out in hushed tones. It feels a little uncertain, as if the group are speculating the next chapter in their artistic output.

‘Versions of Modern Performance’ is a gleaming window into a new generation of great American guitar bands.

Haunting, heartbreaking and life-affirming, Angel Olsen’s songwriting talents soar to great heights in the mostly restrained palette here, offering the much needed space to wrestle with the complexities life has thrown at her.

It’s clear from the album that Tate McRae’s arsenal of jagged pop weapons is extensive, and can be expertly wielded when she wants.

With his debut album, Alfie Templeman has found a means of discovering himself and a means to cope. It makes for something incredibly promising.

Swampy and tumultuous like a month’s worth of rain, the Dundalk five-piece have spared no expense in creating immersive, cavernous spaces of shoegazing, post-punk splendour.

At 71 captivating minutes, ‘Heavy Pendulum’ provides a touchstone, alongside new-wave, disruptive tracks that seek to tell tales of political turmoil, the ‘new reality’ of grief and posthumous brotherhood. A long-overdue homecoming.

The eight-track collection finds its voice through an ever more personal lens, one that dials down the familiar ignitable fare in favour of intricate ambient spread. In doing so, variation on past cues and themes are offered, sonically pared down yet expansive in concept – an effort that adds new facets and angles to Lykke Li’s art.

From this new personal phase, Flume’s latest techno-charged offering upscales the drops, fidgety distortion and replay value that has proved a constant in his playbook.

For anyone who’s long fallen for the Derry native’s charms, third time’s a winner - for anyone who finds comfort in revelling in stripped-back melancholy, it’s a dream.

Change, escape and identity are not easy things to navigate, and ‘Preacher’s Daughter’ is the dark, unsettling, sprawling beauty that comes out of it.

There’s something invigorating about how audibly Porridge Radio stare their demons head on, step up to the plate and turn them into something big and ambitious and beautiful.

His distinctive voice, ranging from guttural lows to a glittering falsetto, is the tool he uses to sculpt out his vast sonic vision.

For the most part ‘Dance Fever’ is an expert revamp from one of alternative music’s torch-bearing misfits, a welcome shot of fairy-tale hedonism ripe for post-pandemic dancefloor indulgence.

In ‘Harry’s House’ lives a songwriter confident enough in both to start playing with convention.

It all feels remarkably familiar, but given the record’s pedigree, that’s far from a bad thing.

Twenty years on from their debut, ‘The Big Come Up’, it’s a statement of how far they’ve come, as well as an indicator of where they might be heading next.

[Pa Salieu] The Ghanaian-British rapper is one of a handful of guests here, each of whom allow Ibeyi to reflect the past and present simultaneously.

Ultimately an exercise in Sunflower Bean showing off that they can do just about everything well.

While the classic Warpaint tropes - clever, heady interplay; four voices weaving as one - are present and correct, this time the more icy edges are rounded off in favour of softness and a nurturing sense of femininity.