When they strip things back and leave space for each element to breathe--as on the purely orchestral title track--Open Here can be a joy, a deeply astute pop album that’s also often brimming with fun. While pushing their boundaries as far as they can go though, it sometimes makes for a record that can feel frustratingly cluttered.

While Freedom’s Goblin doesn’t exactly blow the doors off of his usual sound, it’s a solid addition to the canon that rattles between all corners of this self-made niche.

Semicircle won’t seem like a giant leap for the band but is yet another upbeat, buoyant addition to their canon, injected with an even greater sense of community spirit.

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.

Overall The Moral Crossing reveals an evolution for the Leeds five-piece. A more textured album than their first which sees them juxtapose the darkness with the light, both through cathartic lyricism but also through a higher confidence and ability to experiment which the freedom of your own studio must bring.

Messy in its execution, and lacking in simplicity, No_One Ever Really Dies isn't nearly as profound as it thinks it is.

There are times, however, when the mix doesn’t quite lend Björk’s message enough power. ... For the most part, Utopia sounds like an album where she’s followed her own advice. It demonstrates how the Icelandic alt-pop legend has pushed past her own emotional turmoil, taking yet another step in her ever-evolving saga, one that sets a path for future endeavours.

This record does have its moments, though any instances of real connection are a notable rarity.

It doesn’t feel any more disciplined or carefully-crafted than the experimental ‘Frost God’ did, but Yung Lean does continue to push the boundaries--which is precisely what brought him to public attention in the first place.

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.

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.

Without any real substance to the lyrics, these soft, earnest, mild guitar songs come across like their author has grossly overestimated their depth. The album as a whole sounds like fourteen-year-old boyfriend music.

Milano doesn’t come with the cinematic sensibilities or the polish that ‘Rome’ did, but its sheer boisterousness and rough-and-ready sonic approach does justice to the underground movement that it aims to serve as homage to.

Glasshouse isn’t exactly groundbreaking. It could also do with being about half its mighty 17-track length.

That’s definitely not to say that the more languorous tracks don’t have their beautiful moments, with the likes of ‘Lonely Blue’ and ‘Sublunary’ providing an emotional apex to the album. As it draws on though, it gets easier to think that a bit of brutality on the cutting room floor might only have been of benefit to The Ooz.

Realisationship might not always come together neatly, but Andrew Hung’s desire to push his own boundaries, whether that’s moving into that lo-fi zone or utilising his vocals, leaves you wondering just where he’ll turn n

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.

‘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.

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

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.

Desire’s best moments arrive when there’s a genuine attempt to create a bit of atmosphere--the cool strut of ‘Spotlights’ is a rare bright point. Everything else, though, has been done better elsewhere, and recently, too.

It’s not an immediate album, but give a little time for the scattershot approach to sink in and moments of genius gradually reveal themselves.

Ultimately, it feels as if she’s still waiting for her words and her sound to match up, but what we’ve got in the meantime is an intriguingly personal record.

Tthey continually hit the sweet spot between the dance floor and sweaty indie venue. Songs overflow with ideas and, as the title suggests, they manage to plot a path through them all, finding something poetic amid all the excess.

V will go down a storm with committed Bronx fans, but is curiously subdued in places--which, in the current climate, feels like a little bit of an opportunity missed.

Foo Fighters’ ninth is, then, more interesting than one might’ve expected.

Forget the fact that even at its best moments the album still kind of sounds like a RATM reunion minus Zack de la Rocha, the biggest issue with ‘Prophets Of Rage’ is that it’s not as radical as it thinks it is. Is it competent and confident, energised and engaging? Sure. But there’s nothing new here.

This occasional, kind of ironic lack of restraint makes some of the blackened themes of Choir of the Mind even more oddly oppressive, even if Emily’s melodies are often spacious and airy. When it gets its balance perfectly poised though, it’s an album that can be engaging and emotionally-charged.