Not to Disappear is shattering throughout: a brooding sound board, crackling guitars, unsettling beats and Tonra buried in there somewhere, documenting unspeakable hurt, graphic and unfiltered.
Peppered with catchy choruses and heroic riffs, and with sing-along moments galore, it's much fuller, better rounded and more complete than 2014's Honeyblood.
An unremarkable final quarter means Here’s not quite as strong an overall statement as Shadows or Man-made, with Connected to Life making an oddly sombre closer for what’s otherwise such an optimistic record.
Good Luck and Do Your Best is imbued with shiny-eyed, open-hearted optimism, and built with all the sensitivity and care that we’ve come to expect from anything Gold Panda touches.
Light Upon The Lake is a transient pleasure – but a vivid one while it lasts.
How to Be a Human Being is arguably yet more effervescent than its predecessor.
Leave Me Alone is crunchy, sticky and massively more-ish; there's nothing better than when long anticipated records turn out to be super, super great.
Will is a deeply dramatic showcase throughout – Barwick's vision might have its foundation in traditional forms but the way in which she deconstructs and rebuilds is a distinctly renegade act.
Certainly a contender for the most electronic of their canon, Boy King is perhaps also their most compact and claustrophobic release since 2011’s Smother.
Hard rhymes, hard beats and a metallic self-scrutiny see Danny Brown make astute decisions, and reap all that he deserves.
For all her DIY charms, Next Thing continues to give credence to the view that the home studio environment might not quite meet the requirements of a songwriter blessed with such precocious talent.
With fearless approach and razor sharp delivery, Adore Life is so bruisingly intimate that it feels like a surgical hand taking grasp of your gut. When Savages speak, you listen.
West wants everything, equally we expect everything, so the result is exhilarating in its instability. The Life Of Pablo is bursting at the seams with ideas and talking points.
Featuring crunchy guitars, squeals of feedback and masterful melodicism, comparisons to Pinkerton are inevitable, but there's more nuance and maturity at work here.
Lost Time is such an enjoyable half-hour you’ll barely worry about favourites. Melody, thy name be Tacocat.
It’s the soundtrack to our most outlandish dreams, perhaps the exit music to the unmade film of our most romantic lives. If you're still to discover Radiohead, listen to this, for it's the perfect way in.
Human Performance might have sacrificed the band's rickety immediacy, but they compensate with wise, grass-stalk chewing authority and grubby, plentiful hooks.
Bowie has always been an artist who reframes his own past – the liberal use here of his beloved saxophone a case in point – and whilst the lyrical trails are necessarily opaque, the arrangements don’t rely on vogue to foster the narrative (as perhaps was the case with much of his 1990s output).
Never hesitant to reach into the depths of himself and his times, this is his deepest journey yet, his own katabasis and nekyia – Cave's journey to the underworld to speak with the dead.