There are times when this commitment to innovation and experiment costs Los Angeles its ability to hold the listener’s attention. .... Even so, Los Angeles proves that each artist on the record is a visionary in their own right, as they push the boundaries of the past whilst looking to the future.

The album works in short bursts of adrenaline. That can leave midtempo ballads like Shoo feeling aimless.

While it lacks the truly avant-garde attention of her previous record, trip9love…??? still contributes to her tripped-out, sensual surrealism with the intent of an artist willing to unfurl. In a carefully improvised moment of surprise, a definitive auteur of the modern feel decided to waltz into the centre of the dancefloor and yearn through that great release.

Nothing here feels inauthentic.

God Games provides glimpses of what makes The Kills so compelling, but is unlikely to convert many new listeners to the cause.

Overall, Santhosam has the fresh vibrancy of a mixtape, but with the smooth cohesiveness of an album – it’s the self-assured debut of an artist who has fully arrived and is ready to carve out a distinctive space of her own.

All That Was East Is West of Me Now, begins as a noisy yet meditative record with crunching guitars and snapping snares, before settling into a more reflective pattern to suit the resigned sighs and stuttering sounds his tunes twist taut upon.

Goodnight, God Bless, I Love U, Delete. is overlong and perhaps too diffuse for its own good, but to hear Moreno wholeheartedly indulge his melodic instincts makes the whole exercise a worthwhile one.

Goodnight Summerland is musically, lyrically and thematically enrapturing. It is a record of pure beauty and elegance, brimming with beguiling melodies and dazzling progressions.

Jonny arrives after a decade as the same well-paced and tender exercise in running in place, exactly where they always leave off.

Sanguivore is a love letter to the 80s, whether it’s punk, pop, hard-rock or heavy metal, and it’s bursting with great songs that are sure to please long-term and new fans alike.

The record makes time for sharp skit humour and ends with a dazzling dance-pop groove. Where Cheek smooths down her effervescent ability to discard genre for more conventional psych-rock numbers, it’s not as exciting. But she can even do that better than anyone else.

Although all of the tracks on the record blend seamlessly together, many sadly sound similar to the last, with only a few stand-outs such as Superbloodmoon, a collaboration with American singer-songwriter d4vd.

It’s funnier, weirder, and plays with a more colourful blend of Americana. It also reveals more depth and ambition.

On Want You to Know she assures us that 'beneath the layers there is simplicity'. Despite this, there's always an emotional distance created by screens and technology, with tongue-in-cheek lyrics.

Gracefully distilling a profusion of self-loathing, Javelin is a heartsick high. No one yearns like Sufjan Stevens.

The pieces as a whole feel fuller, and more ambitious than anything Roberts has done to date. It marks another stunning development in a series that remains essential listening.

Her most honest and reflective work to date.

This album could easily have been wrapped up in misery and the trope of the tortured artist, but instead it’s a pleasure to hear Tamko stepping bravely into a happy place.

The album is truly extraordinary – it is a once-in-a-career masterpiece that synthesises difference through abstracted self-observation. It is a vehicle for making meaning, an invitation to try again.

Bird Machine is a worthwhile coda to Linkous’s legacy.

Mid Air is a must-listen for anyone looking for a sentimental electronic dance anthem or for a song to say the words we are sometimes afraid to say.

Blake’s sonic ecosystem thrives in fusing seemingly discordant sounds. In striking electronic karate chops and pouring into careening chords, he makes the man-made appear organic.

As a standalone record, End of the Day does not always justify its existence. Some tracks are simply too empty, leaving a noticeable divide between audience and artist. It takes a concerted effort to listen to the album as a single track, and it perhaps would be best enjoyed alongside the film it was first written to accompany.

When it works, it’s thrilling, especially on the moody Moi and the mercurial, atmospheric Sons and Daughters. Elsewhere, Palms of Hands and Dusty are perhaps a little grindcore-by-numbers. Still, Neil and Vennart have presented their vision in uncompromising fashion, and those who yearn for Blackened Sky-era Biffy will unquestionably find something to love.

Slowdive are scene vets that have seemingly perfected their sound, but still have enough drive to keep nudging it forward, one shimmering soundscape at a time.

The Window is indicative of a newfound assuredness for a band which itself has stretched from a two-piece to a full foursome.

Meek’s vocals have always been quality, but on this release he has truly reached another level. The soft breathiness is used to the greatest emotive evocation yet, and the controlled manner in which his voice breaks cleanly into the following note in a way inimitable to few others than teenagers (certainly with less class than Meek) is impressive to the point of awe.