Even if it doesn’t always hit the mark, Evergreen is an album that should see Gunnulfsen continue to climb festival line-ups and charts alike.

While IRL is satiny and consistent, sonically and lyrically you’re eager for some bigger swings. At times operating in truisms, you await unspooling of edgier insight. IRL is like a path reflecting dappled sunlight: we can see patches of brightness but its full light is obscured.

But with all this exploration, the record lacks a little impact, not quite achieving the cohesion and emotional gravity of Good at Falling.

The Beggar is another solid entry into the Swans canon, if not one that suggests it will have the staying power of their classics. It still marks Swans as a group intent on developing long into their career, and there’s no threat of them losing their intensity.

A selection of often very solid songs that waivers a touch towards its back end, but nonetheless marks another solid entry to the output of an always interesting artist.

Despite a relatively concise tracklist of ten songs, at points the 45-minute runtime seems to drag on, giving the album a sense of heaviness. Not dissimilar ambient sounds wash into one another – overall perhaps a more pared-down curation could better highlight the album’s strengths.

When it aims for the ecstatic it works well, but it doesn’t colour its muted periods with anything like the precision, the uneasy vistas it is aiming for never quite forming.

The problem is that beyond the singles which dominate True Entertainment’s Side A, the band seem at a bit of a loss as to what to do with their newfound dancefloor credentials. The second half of the record rests on an at-times plodding and repetitive rhythm section, without enough excitement in the melody to buoy it up.

Bathed in a heavenly glow, it’s easy to let these songs wash over you, but Chua’s soothing vocals invite us to lean in and listen more closely.

The record feels like someone truly in control of their craft, to the extent that it begins to suffer from this a touch, all of its edges honed too perfectly, too considered to leave any sense of spontaneity, even if it is often beautifully done.

It’s all here, and though it may not reach the dizzying, if somewhat bloated, heights of 2017’s Humanz, it still slaps.

Too often the album feels like a case of enacting genres rather than letting their influence seep in. It leaves the record feeling like a grab bag of ideas, some of which have been polished to brilliance, others of which haven’t been fully realised. There’s clearly a great album in there, just one that never quite gets the momentum to show itself.

Staying on theme for 40 uninterrupted minutes leaves you craving some lyrics, even a scrap, that make contact with the wider world.

Barrett has moved away from the big city, but small-town living has inspired his most accessible work to date.

There are long stretches, particularly during the muted take on V1 in which the pieces are impressive rather than affecting, where you can marvel at Malone’s skill with timbre without being moved in any way. It leaves a sense that the album feels more like one for the most committed fans of all three artists, but one that, given the chance, has some astonishing moments.

At its best, Time's Arrow is mystical but commanding, with electric synthscapes pulling you deeper inward. However, at times the sonic landscape they’ve created risks suffocation, leaving little room for manoeuvre between one song to the next – a lighter touch in areas could stand to draw out more subtle nuances and make for a more compelling journey overall.

CACTI is understandably more subdued than her self-titled debut, but the boisterous numbers it does contain, like spite, might feel more dynamic played live by humans – it feels like the energy that makes her such a captivating performer is being restricted by her drum machine.

Vocal highlights aside, the band's simplistic metal techniques fail to materialise the "Catholic sex dungeon" vibes Mahony hoped to summon.

Some tracks do repeat the same tricks or perhaps linger a little too long, yet Myself in the Way, while not one to excite fans of the old Turnover, builds upon the simplicity of Altogether to produce an alt-disco record full of intrigue.

The record is a bit slow to get going, and at times meanders into excessive atmosphere – next to The Slow's Bullet's ambient fuzz, the urgent jungle rhythms on Higher and Devotion in particular pop. But Avery is engaging with the art of the album as a sum of its parts, and from start to finish conjures a fantastical, dreamlike world.

Alpha Zulu is everything a Phoenix album has been already: slick, silly, maximalist. ... They mine nostalgia for call-backs (Tonight); find comedy in impending doom (Alpha Zulu). But the boys are ageing and, separated initially by lockdown, an emotional core burned a hole in the centre of this new record instead of a six-minute space-bound instrumental.

Is Inner World Peace going to change the history of music? Probably not. But it will absolutely become a comfort album for many.

A pandemic baby, the album is a mixed bag as the singer explores new paths for herself.

The record ultimately feels like something of a minor work in James’s already imposing output, but remains a pointer to both her and Eastman’s sparkling talents.

Cool It Down is topical without getting too deep, and fun without overstaying its welcome, but even for a band as mercurial as YYYs, it feels a little too ephemeral.

The album’s tendency towards soft and sugary can sometimes grate a little, especially when the band sound so vital and exciting when they amp up the dirt and energy (Silence is Golden; I Told You That I Was Afraid). Overall though, this is a solid collection of bittersweet pop gems for anyone with half a heart.

If you already enjoy the band's sound, whether in fervent adoration or in a passing fondness, Keep On Smiling won’t turn you off. It might not be a game changer, but if you already like the game, thats not a problem.

While her captivating vocals remain, Donnelly’s lack of bark and bite from the debut means this record, as the name suggests, mostly washes over you.