Including a cameo from Cillian Murphy, the Merseysiders have concocted a twangy, dreamlike folk-rock sonic voyage through Britain in decay.
After jazz crooning, poetry and electronic experimentation, 75-year-old Pop goes back to his roots on his 19th solo album.
The follow-up to last year’s fine debut New Long Leg is more focused, with Florence Shaw’s low-key narration framed by powerful sounds.
Kelly Jones’ band revive their trusty formula, making songs that at their best hit the sweet spot between emotional and anthemic.
The Queensland rockers prove that it takes a lot of musical skill to sound so gleefully stupid in this witty debut.
As ever, his fourth album – the first in five years – has been crafted, considered, then crafted some more.
It’s a mixed bag, as posthumous collections often are, but there is enough to suggest that much wider stardom was well within his grasp.
The soulful singer’s third LP is timeless and contemporary at the same time, with shades of everything from What’s Going On to Screamadelica.
It’s an outstanding debut from a great new band who play it like they mean it.
As ever, Sleaford Mods are a voice that must be heard.
Throughout, his oft-criticised singing is tone-perfect and balm-like. Ripples isn’t a juggernaut comeback, but it’s a beguiling, often beautiful album that quietly but purposefully announces his return to the fray, as ever, on his own terms.
The Sheffield rockers’ sixth takes a dramatic stylistic leap. Amo isn’t as barmy a move as Spinal Tap’s spoof Jazz Odyssey, or Chris Cornell’s real-life crunk album, but the blend of rock, balladry and electronics is a long way from BMtH’s deathcore origins.