Mø’s new-era singles thus far have been earworms – the euphoric Live to Survive, the Ed Sheeran-like Kindness, the more recent electronic ballad Goosebumps. The remainder of Motordrome mostly maintains this hit rate.

Even when the tempo drops, the quality doesn’t, the rich imagery of Trick Out the Truth being a case in point. Effortlessly classy.

The decade this outfit have spent in other bands pays off in a record that’s raucous and fun, incisive and – as it winds to a close – profoundly heartfelt, as vocalist James Smith apologises disgustedly for the sins of British foreign policy.

Alexander is better channelling any introspection into songs that reflect the morning after, with late album highlight Make It Out Alive giving Night Call a narrative arc via a post-big-night-out soother.

Sick! emerges with musicality enhanced, full of strings, soul samples, arpeggiating pianos and vinyl crackle – sometimes, as on the immersive Vision and Tabula Rasa, all at once.

Musically, Dawn FM mirrors Tesfaye’s disquiet, its buffed electronic sheen ruptured by moments of discord, as when ballad Starry Eyes teeters on the brink of implosion. It’s a state that Tesfaye seems to relish, with often stunning results.

With less dissonance and psychedelic experimentation than Jon Hopkins or Four Tet, Fragments may be too care-home comfort for some, but it’s brilliant, wondrous work.

Caprisongs collates a set of more ephemeral pop tunes in which twigs broadcasts selfhood 17 ways, finding unexpected common sonic ground with artists such as Grimes, Charli XCX and Self Esteem.

Parker’s third solo album for the International Anthem label is a meditative gem that breaks with the more fully fleshed out style of his two previous outings.

The best tracks were released last year: Ready for the High is a deliciously weird cut-and-shut, and Method to the Madness has a lovely collapsed feeling. Mostly the album settles for sprightly mediocrity, and is often quite pleasurable, if you define pleasure as the absence of pain.

Recorded straight to tape with no overdubs, Still Moving proves a thrilling, spontaneous affair, switching between the laments and love songs of southern Italy and the gritty blues of North Africa and North America.

The voices of Callahan and Oldham provide a through line in what can occasionally be unexpected stylistic forays. Least best is a version of Billie Eilish’s Wish You Were Gay: High Llama Sean O’Hagan’s flippant, tinny beats point to a grave generational misunderstanding of digital pop. But almost everything else succeeds in having revelatory fun with old favourites or hitting the listener hard– or both.

A surprising trip to an altogether other time and place.

If Wanderer promised more bold artistic statements, Covers pivots on sorely needed understanding. That feeling is relayed in turn to the listener: hugs galore.

This is a Crazy Horse record that is both raucous and highly tuneful, saturated with in-band bonhomie.

From Prologue, with its deep drone, wash of waves and circling, priestessly choral voices to the closing Adan no Shima no Tanjyosai and its sparsely plucked guitar and elegiac strings and flute, the album casts a still, soothing spell.

There’s enough across both albums to keep fans happy, and that soulful voice is still a thing of wonder, but Keys has a strange hotchpotch feel to it.

His choice is to foreground his thin, trebly voice and treat it with endless effects, which owes more to hyperpop than anything else and is one of the many problems that make this album an exhausting listen.

Recalling her early experimental work, while hoovering up dance genres at will, KicK iii is imbued with a joyous sense of freedom.

Telling of new beginnings and lost love, the breeze in her voice and her easy-going melodies act as a smokescreen: these are often direct takes on pain.

Throughout, there is so much going on that it takes many listens to absorb everything. But persevere and a tour de force of botanical rock takes form.

The Algorithm’s concept is too boring to explain, but thankfully the music isn’t.

What worked a treat then continues to work now.

This is an album that (once again) quietly demands to be heard, and enjoyed, as an inseparable whole.

30 overreaches for the rafters a little too often. But the sophisticated interplay of Adele’s nuanced vocal and the Garner piano sample here lingers long in the mind.

Songs such as The Wheel and Stockholm Syndrome offer thrills that can’t be denied, a preposterously exciting scrapyard soul.

In among all this pervasive beauty (which tends towards expansive prettiness and resonant succour rather than the sterner, more austere end of the ambience spectrum), it feels like only the eight-minute apex track Deep in the Glowing Heart rearranges the listener’s molecules in a transformational way.

While her pure, clear voice is as expressive and engaging as ever, Valentine is more accessible and less interesting.