Audioxide

Deep, lush composition meets powerful spoken word delivery in Max Richter’s latest project, producing a potent, uplifting concoction.

Another commanding and deft iteration of Godspeed’s lauded post-rock style. Although lacking the range of previous records, it still offers space to think.

The record listens like an all-night jam at an impossibly cool bohemian gettogether. It’s funky, relaxed, audacious, exhausting... but above all, it’s brilliant.

Splicing classical arrangements with avant-garde experimentation, Garry Schyman’s soundtrack reflected the game’s grand, warped, doomed vision of a new world.

Emotionally vulnerable and creatively restless. The record plays out like a prolonged stream of consciousness, yet every aspect seems carefully constructed.

Throughout much of its run-time, There is No Year seems content revelling in its own (admittedly awe-inspiring) ambience.

For all its instances of greatness and undeniable beauty, MAGDALENE gets tangled in its own pop epic aspirations.

There's a glaring sense of lunacy throughout. It's as though JPEGMAFIA is snapping between multiple identities, and yet still manages to be soothing.

It’s like Blanck Mass put Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, Mario, and the blood of a sacrificial lamb into a kind of sonic blender.

To get the most out of the record, listeners must embrace the obscurity and relish the moments of discomfort; probing shadows in order to find answers.

Instrumentals strike upon funky-yet-claustrophobic grooves, awaiting Barrow’s vocals to emerge from the mire. It’s a weird but often wonderful formula.

A constant stream of static with blunt edges, and the glitches are rarely more than a few moments apart, but it doesn’t come off as overbearing.

Production is where SOPHIE shines. Whilst there is a plethora of interesting ideas here, there’s also a notable absence of creativity in actual song writing.

Nothing feels heavy-handed or crass. OPN purposefully avoids the tired tropes of electronic music, which always results in at least a degree of fascination.

The record is scattered with gorgeous moments that ultimately feel like a tease. Utopia occasionally grips its claws in, only to let go seconds later.

Almost fully instrumental, the post-rock arrangements twang and moan through a sumptuous range of soundscapes, sounding as fresh as they do apocalyptic.

Music for Airports comprises of calming tones that induce sedation and tranquillity. Listeners are invited to float among soft, fluffy ambient clouds.

22, A Million feels like a nondescript blur. It doesn’t deal in structure, but in loose clusters of peculiar sounds and imperceptible words. It’s a pretentious mess.

Blond flirts with indulgence but just about manages to stay grounded. It’s an account of slight thoughts, vague ideas, and delicate musings.

The Glowing Man is a rewarding experience, if not always a pleasant one. It’s healthy for ears to be bombarded with music like this every now and then.

A portal into the world of remembrances that grief gives birth to... and the last word. Trust Bowie to turn dying into performance art.

Twisting and turning and purposely blindsiding its listeners, Garden of Delete doesn’t stop evolving, often feeling like a stream of consciousness in musical form.

Bite-sized servings of vintage Bowie glam-rock combine with brooding instrumental soundscapes to make Low a truly special album.

A model of casual listening. It bustles along quite happily, from section to section, from track to track, and then it's over and you don't regret having listened to it.

Squarepusher produces another solid album without pushing any boundaries. The beats are as intricate as ever, whilst the melodies keep their charm.