It’s no coincidence, therefore, that their latest–and seventh–full-length record lacks a title, the music left to speak for itself. Weiss’s typically verbose approach is pushed to new extremes across [Untitled]’s 12 tracks, and his bandmates are keen to join him in that exploration of extremity–to wit, his brother Michael Weiss, Brandon Beaver, Rickie Mazzotta, & Greg Jehanian; the last of whom returns to the fold after departing to start a family in 2016–resulting in some of the heaviest material the quintet have produced thus far: the restless, turbulent yin to the reserved and hopeful yang of August’s 7-track companion EP.

‘9:27am, 7/29’ kicks things off with a concentrated blast of post-hardcore fury, before things settle down somewhat for ‘Julia (or, ‘Holy to the LORD’ on the Bells of Horses)’, which joins the likes of ‘Flee, Thou Matadors!’ and the mid-album barebones lament of ‘2,459 Miles.’ In a group of songs that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on the EP, their melodic nature and wistful lyrical bent a world away from the confrontational ‘Wendy & Betsy’ or ‘Another Head For Hydra’, songs on which the band tap into their more aggressive roots, filtering their older material through years of experience and growth to create intense walls of sound that might even make long-time listeners’ heads spin on first listen.

Where the album truly excels is in its instrumental performances; ‘Tortoises All the Way Down’ features a coda that’s as lyrically crushing as it is musically transcendent, and the record’s denouement plays out over the course of ‘New Wine, New Skins’ and ‘Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore’ with richly layered arragements and expertly crafted hooks. The latter is as grandiose a finale as mewithoutYou have ever written, and it would indeed be the closing track under normal circumstances, but ‘Break on Through (to the Other Side) [pt. Two]’ gets the real last word, a stripped-back acoustic track that’s disarmingly simple in it’s execution, a postscript that just couldn’t be contained elsewhere.

Contrary to its lack of title, the band’s seventh album has so very much to say, taking in enough voices, characters and points of view that digging into the lyrics seems like a Herculean task even by Weiss’s usual standards. While it’ll take a few listeners to fully make an impact, the record sports not an ounce of bloat, it’s many musical detours and experiments contained within a 43-minute running time. It’s not casual listening by any margin; and we’d advise those new to the band to start with either ‘Julia’ or the album version of ‘Winter Solstice’, but definitely start somewhere here. [Untitled] touches on mewithoutYou’s previously-displayed strengths and takes them to heights that seem dizzying, but the view from those peaks is nothing short of astonishing.

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That much time away from the fast-moving pop-punk scene means they return to a changed landscape where many of their contemporaries are on hiatus or flat-out no longer exist. They waste no time making amends for their extended absence, however; Island comes out swinging with the opening trio of ‘All the Same’, ‘Second Narrows’ and ‘Tidal Wave’, which when taken together hint at a band operating with a greater sense of urgency. ‘All the Same’s’ pleas for unity in a society that fosters division and suspicion is as close as we get to Brenneman and his cohorts addressing the political turmoil that has engulfed the world in recent years, but then their new record comes from an altogether more personal place in general, with the lyrics thinking locally but acting globally and refusing to pull any punches in doing so.

‘Tidal Wave’ is anchored around insistent, thudding drums and the band’s trademark lush harmonies as Brenneman documents the end of a toxic relationship, while ‘Dusty Records’ strikes a poignant note as it pays tribute to his grandfather, who passed away during those turbulent album recording sessions. ‘The Remedy’ and ‘On a Rope’ find Brenneman taking himself to task for past mistakes over passionate guitars and Lagare’s versatile drumming, with the sticksman seemingly everywhere at once on the latter track, with lightning-fast fills and irresistible energy driving the song forward toward its explosive chorus.

A tightly structured record, Island crucially knows when to let off some steam, with a spacey mid-album interlude and slower cuts like ‘Night Habits’ allowing the five-piece to create altogether different moods, saving the best for last with the bittersweet title track. They’re on form throughout, and among the highlights is ‘Plastic Flowers’, a track that wouldn’t sound out of place on Jimmy Eat World’s ‘Chase This Light’, leaning into its pop smarts far more brazenly than when it was originally written. It’s kicked around for close to a decade, penned by Postal and the original lineup, but for all this revision of past material and recounting of lived experiences there’s no denying that Living With Lions are looking to the future – a future it wasn’t especially clear they had even two years ago. They could do with catching a break; hopefully we’ll hear from them again sooner rather than later, as their latest offering is premium pop-punk fare that encroaches on alternative rock territory many of their peers shy away from. ‘Island’ feels like a fresh start – with enough momentum, it could be the breakthrough record ‘Holy Shit’ should have been.

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Supporting Explosions in the Sky in Europe and Tokyo Police Club in the States in 2016, as well as playing their own US headline run, allowed them to road-test new material and figure out what worked and what didn’t. Revitalised, they put the album together before even hitting the studio, working with producer Jonathan Low to craft a 10-song album that pinballs between states of anxiety and catharsis. ‘Impossible’s’ opening instrumental salvo may seem serene, but a gradual swell of noise and Lackie’s rolling drum patterns hint at unease lurking below the surface, as Thompson laments opportunities lost (“We had our plans in the palm of our hands/Fall between our fingers”).

The themes of personal upheaval and soul-searching are prominent throughout a record that’s lyrically insular, with the spotlight firmly on Thompson as he and the rest of the band wrestle with the realities of entering their 30s. “We talk, and we talk, but there’s nothing new about me to report” he laments on ‘Someone Else’s Problem’ with the pained delivery of someone stuck in a rut and trying to work themselves out but unsure how to move forward; while the album’s penultimate track (current single ‘Repeating Patterns’) finds him second-guessing himself over an appropriately insistent, looping guitar line (“I poke myself in the eye just to check my vision”). Documenting experiences, Thompson declines to offer solutions; like most of us, he’s probably figuring it out as he goes along. That uncertainty is set against We Were Promised Jetpack’s most confident music yet.

‘The More I Sleep’ is full to the brim with the quartet’s trademark walls of sound, with ‘In Light’ refusing to settle on a clear song structure in favour of jagged bursts of melody and the bass-driven album centrepiece ‘Hanging In’ swaggering through its two verses before collapsing in on itself and completely changing tack, as Thompson and Palmer’s dual-guitar attack lifts the song skyward for a riff-driven denouement. The album’s title track, meanwhile, is the polar opposite; the prevailing mood approaches outright despair as it ends the album on a melodically powerful but lyrically sombre note. The expected payoff never quite arrives, its chilling refrain (“Mark my words, I’m nothing but a curse”) the sort that will haunt listeners for days and do a lot to suck them back in for additional listens of a record that, even by We Were Promised Jetpacks’s standards of melancholy, is particularly autumnal in its execution. It may have taken its time in arriving, but their fourth album crackles with the passion and enthusiasm of a band who have finally hit their stride. Let’s hope there’s no stopping them this time.

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That’s an eternity by today’s standards, but the four-piece – Musa, Pete Darlington, Andy Morton and James Green – have clearly made some strides in the meantime. That album’s songs sounded utterly transformed in a live setting, and the band drew on that enthusiasm and intensity to create ‘A Better Life’, which stands in stark contrast to their debut; expanding on its vigorous garage-pop sound to create something darker, meatier and much heavier on all fronts. Blazing into life with the raucous ‘Animal’ after a brief, scene-setting intro, the record’s mood is different to what some might have expected, but the energy is still there in spades.

A scan of the track listing should give you a good idea of where Spring King’s heads are at: ‘Ready For War’, ’Paranoid’, ’Us Vs Them’. There’s plenty of social commentary on offer—the driving force behind a good deal of the record’s lyrical content is the unrest fostered by the Brexit fallout and wider geopolitical turmoil—but Musa and his cohorts are much more interested in personal trials and tribulations, and those two perspectives complement each other effortlessly.

The 14 track collection is certainly ambitious, with straightforward rock songs largely jettisoned in favour of a broader musical palette; the glam-pop stomp of ‘Radioactive!’ is delightfully audacious, while ‘Let’s Drink’ raises a glass to introverts everywhere (“I wanna dance on my own tonight / I wanna drink on my own tonight / Just wanna be alone in life”) with possibly the best chorus the band have penned to date – it’s a big-hearted pop song they wouldn’t have attempted a few years previously.

Emboldened by the slow-burn success of their debut, there are no half measures taken on a record that makes a mockery of the ‘difficult second album’ trope. While its exploration of the less savoury aspects of existence may lead some to think of its title as ironic, the searing honesty is tempered by the genuine desire to improve things; or, as the psychedelic highlight ‘Have You Ever Looked Up Into the Sky?’ puts it, “Let the light in / I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see in the dark.”

‘A Better Life’ is a tightly-wound 45-minute document of those who strive for better in a society that’s in dire need of hope. The quartet are no quitters and they’re ready to fight for change – will you join them?

It can be akin to capturing lightning in a bottle, but that extra gestation period has allowed the band to present the best version of themselves on ‘Only Self’, and it shows. Such has been the hype around them—particularly since their split single with Malice at the Palace last year—that they could have fully capitalised on it and knocked out a record that played into it. Thankfully, they’re much smarter than that, and as a result, the new material puts the older stuff in the shade. Opener ‘Lucid’ enters at a high dramatic pitch with an unsettling drone before erupting into life, keeping the listener guessing with rapid-fire tempo changes and abrupt shifts in tone that aren’t heard so much as felt.

Jesus Piece know how to elicit visceral responses to their music, and their secret weapon is producer Andy Nelson (Weekend Nachos, Harm’s Way, Like Rats etc.), who evens out the band’s hefty, metallic assault and ensures all elements of their sound are given space to breathe. Bassist Anthony Marinaro benefits most of all from Nelson’s approach, the rumbling low-end on tracks like ‘Punish’ and ‘In the Silence’ cutting through even front man Aaron Heard’s guttural roar to add a layer of oppressive sludge to the band’s expansive sound. As if that wasn’t enough, the record clocks in at 32 minutes across 10 songs, stitched together and meant to be listened to as a self-contained piece. ‘Intense’ isn’t the word.

Living up to the promise shown by pre-release singles ‘Curse of the Serpent’ and ‘Neuroprison’, the record is as forceful and focused as we’ve come to expect from Jesus Piece. Everything is held together by powerhouse drummer Luis Aponte, whose work on this record (particularly ‘Workhorse’ and ‘Dog No Longer’) indicates that he’s made some serious strides in three years and should be heralded as one of the best in the scene before much longer. Still a relatively new name in metalcore circles, being given time to develop has definitely paid off for Jesus Piece on record.

It remains to be seen how they progress from here, but they save the most impressive cuts for last, with counterparts ‘I’ and ‘II’ cut from much different cloth than the rest of the record; their cavernous, menacing take on atmospheric doom a fully-realised version of the band’s more restrained side. We’re only given glimpses of that throughout ‘Only Self,’ a record that concerns itself more with creating a maelstrom of aggression, but the last two tracks offer a tantalising glimpse into the future, whatever form that may take. Never mind the hype; their debut album deserves —no, demands — to be experienced free of outside influence. Give yourself into it for half an hour or so and prepare to be floored.

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Delta Sleep provided a fine example of this on their 2015 debut album Twin Galaxies, which itself built on the foundations laid by 2013’s Management EP, its wide-ranging sonics sticking in the mind as much as its nautical metaphors and cleverly-crafted breakup songs, albeit ones that never got lost within the throes of their own complexity. There was an element of accessibility to those 10 songs that clearly resonated with a wide audience, as the band played shows as far afield as Mexico and Japan off the back of the record. They’re every bit as tight live as you’d expect, and second LP ‘Ghost City’ benefits greatly from the band road-testing their new songs before hitting the studio.

It shows a different side to the band; more structurally and conceptually ambitious than previous offerings. Set in a world where ‘organic nature and wildlife are a thing of the past – a myth,’ the record explores a dystopian near-future world and the mind of the protagonist looking to escape it. “There must be more to life than concrete walls,” frontman Devin Yuceil exclaims midway through the album on ‘Dotwork’, the near-six-minute centrepiece around which the five tracks either side of it are anchored, and that sense of longing runs throughout all these songs. Style over substance isn’t something Yuceil and his cohorts are interested in, instead choosing to craft richly textured songs that sometimes border on emotionally raw.

Even when things get heavy lyrically, the musical landscape is never less than dazzling, with the beauty of the natural world extolled on ‘El Pastor’ providing the catharsis the protagonist—perhaps even Yuceil himself—has been looking for, led by a virtuoso performance from drummer Blake Mostyn, whom has shone on record before but never quite like this. That track pairs nicely with the atmospheric instrumental ‘Glass’ to offer the listener a chance to come down from the euphoric feelings that the higher-energy cuts on ‘Ghost City’ induce.

Imbued with feelings of hard-won positivity, even at its most introspective there is plenty of light shining through. Sombre opener ‘Sultans of Ping’ won’t exactly have you dancing at the disco, bumper-to-bumper, its slowly-unfolding soundscapes and stately tempo inviting you into the ‘tech-noir’ world the album inhabits; but the eruption around three minutes in is quite the payoff. It’s a reliable indicator of where the band’s evolved sound is headed; as over the following 40 or so minutes, the listener is treated to Delta Sleep at their most confident, streamlined, and—yes—emotionally resonant. Pushing themselves to create a self-contained piece of work, the record’s flow is assisted by field recordings and almost imperceptible segues, even looping back around on itself with closing track ‘Afterimage’. On ‘Ghost City’, Delta Sleep present us with an unsettling vision of the future but make sure to remind us, through their music and vivid lyrics, that there’s still hope, and they do so with the kind of self-belief most bands would kill for.

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Seven years on from their formation out of the ashes of post-rock band Hunter Gatherer, neither scenario quite fits Foxing, but they still consider themselves lucky to have got to where they now find themselves: in the position of a band who have stopped caring about what people might want them to be, and are instead focused on what they both can and could be. “I’d sell my soul to be America’s pool boy, the crown centrefold / My few good years left / A tribute to anyone who wants me at all / Does anybody want me at all?” front man Conor Murphy asks on the title track of their third album, that nagging question forming the song’s surging chorus and bringing the question of artistic integrity into sharp focus.

Maybe not everybody wants him, but clearly the right people do. Led by Murphy’s impressive vocal ability, the quartet made the jump to Triple Crown – a label with considerable heft whose stature has grown further in recent years – within months of their debut LP ‘The Albatross’ being released towards the end of 2013. Follow-up ‘Dealer’ dialled up the intensity of their sound and allowed them to take their searing live show to places they could only have dreamed of months prior.

Then, in a manner of speaking, things hit the skids for a bit; at the end of 2016 they were left reeling from a van crash towards the end of that year’s tour, and by the end of 2017 founding member Josh Coll had left the band to pursue his filmmaking career. He was involved in the creation of ‘Nearer My God’, though – a record dense enough that Foxing will need several extra pairs of hands to do it justice in a live setting.

Hooking up with Chris Walla (Death Cab for Cutie member turned in-demand producer) to record a cover of Dido’s ‘White Flag’ in the wake of their van being totalled ended up being a fortuitous pairing. As far as they were concerned, they’d work with nobody else when it came to taking the songs they’d workshopped across Europe and whipping them into shape for their new record. Making a conscious effort to capture their live sound on record, the band’s latest offering is an hour of dizzying ambition and the sort of musical scope that puts a good number of their peers to shame.

Kicking off with the jittery electronic pulse of ‘Grand Paradise’, the record offers precious little respite from there on out. While there are traces of their previous work audible on the likes of ‘Lich Prince’—which dips in and out of Muse-like histrionics and proggy diversions when it’s not playing up the band’s indie rock sensibilities—and lead single ‘Slapstick’ (a song of two halves: the first heavy on R&B influences filtered through a typical rock band setup, and the second moving firmly into noise-rock territory), the majority of the record is a whole new ballgame.

‘Gameshark’ and ‘Crown Candy’ are prime examples of how ‘Nearer My God’ can surprise even the most open-minded listeners, with Murphy’s vastly improved vocal range allowed to take centre stage over multi-layered musical backdrops, twisting chord progressions and gritty riffs. ‘Five Cups’, meanwhile, is a nine-minute atmospheric trip that does away with traditional song structure by its halfway point. The album’s not so much a hard sell as it is the work of a band putting all their cards on the table; the diversity across its 12 tracks is such that even if you couldn’t get on board with any of the singles, you’ll find enough sticks by the end of your first listen that you’ll be tempted back for another go.

Taken as a whole, the record can seem overwhelming, but each of its songs has plenty to offer. If you can avoid getting stuck on the magnificent, string-drenched offbeat pop of ‘Heartbeats’ or the grandiose sweep of penultimate track ‘Won’t Drown’, the album’s back half proves to be just as strong as its first. Foxing have always written albums meant to be listened from start to finish, and this is no exception. It’s the kind of record they went all out on because they knew they’d only get one shot at making it, and now that it has been made, they’ve opened up so many avenues that could be explored on future albums.

The possibilities stretching out before them are equal parts daunting and electrifying, much like the record that’s paved the way for them. You owe it to yourself to give ‘Nearer My God’ the time it deserves.

The feverish anticipation surrounding what would become ‘Melancholia Hymns’ began its gradual swell when the band returned to the fray late last year with the sombre ‘Curtains’, their first offering since the introduction of Jack Wrench (InDynamics) as their new drummer. It makes prominent use of synth strings and electronic textures, both of which feature heavily on the album, and reaps benefits when put into its proper context as part of a complete work, as do the three succeeding singles ‘Off the Floor’, ‘Matter’ and ‘Everything [All at Once]’, the latter of which will delight fans of the trio’s riff-driven material. It acknowledges the complex structures and shifting time signatures of their earlier efforts while also packing a concentrated melodic punch.

Of course, the band’s acts of musical dexterity would be for naught if they were incapable of combining technical prowess with hooks, and that’s where ‘Melancholia Hymns’ really shines. ‘Matter’ opens with Groves’ falsetto soaring over a synthesised backdrop, before Wrench’s drumming kicks in and the song explodes, anchored by a chunky guitar hook and a strident, take-no-prisoners forward momentum that means the track is over before you know it. From there, a spacey interlude makes way for the album’s first epic, ‘Indigo’, which stretches to six-and-a-half minutes while flying the flag for the band’s embrace of electronic music. It’s a definite departure from the norm for them, but ‘Melancholia Hymns’ is all about pushing things forward. This spirit of adventure extends to sequencing and the creation of the album experience, too. Here, Arcane Roots present the most diverse and multifaceted version of themselves across the album’s 10 tracks, stitched and segued together until you don’t know where one ends and another begins.

Starting with the spine-tingling beauty of ‘Before Me’, a song that’s far enough removed from the rest of their catalogue as to completely wrongfoot the listener, the album unfolds as a single 55-minute piece. In a manner of speaking, there is no easy entry point to ‘Melancholia Hymns’ itself, as the album’s flow and structure is such that it demands — and deserves — to be experienced as a whole. Going for this all-or-nothing approach to sequencing the record will no doubt have its detractors, but Arcane Roots have never been ones to do things by halves. Less abrasive and more textured than the sound they’ve cultivated for the previous decade — though the likes of ‘Arp’ and ‘Solemn’ will surely satisfy newcomers as well as more seasoned fans — ‘Melancholia Hymns’ is an absolute beast of an album in sound and scope.

Listeners will try and fail to take it all in on their first go-around, but while the record can seem daunting and flat-out overwhelming at times, its replay value is through the roof and it will no doubt be similarly impressive in the live arena, in which the band excelled even before they were able to recreate that intensity in the studio. Getting the most out of their new record will require putting plenty of work in, but the ‘eureka!’ moment makes everything worth it. If you’ve been looking for a challenging, forward-thinking and staggeringly ambitious ‘rock record’ (in the loosest sense of the term), then congratulations, here’s your album of the year.

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The spirited drums and muscular guitar riff of ‘A Place to Hide’ make for an ideal opening statement. The lyrics clash with the major-key melodies, however, hinting at the band’s exploration of ennui and struggling with myriad emotions. “Sneaking out for liquid healing / Bored but recklessly appealing / Everyone’s gone mad waiting around”, vocalist Austin McCutchen declares. Listeners seeking miserablism should direct their ears elsewhere, though.

As its title suggests, ‘Dark Glow’ explores the human condition in all its peaks and troughs: ‘Holiday Girls’ recounts formative experiences in “basements filled with wonder” and struggling to establish your sense of self. ‘Head in the Oven’, meanwhile, is a breakup song given an introspective twist, lurching between different tempi as McCutchen explores the effects that mental ill-health can have on a relationship (“Honest, I had good intentions; got caught up and forgot to listen”).

The opening tracks highlight the band’s chemistry, with a particular focus on the rhythm section. Bassist Josh Cameron and drummer Wil McCarthy assert themselves on ‘Keep It Under’ & ‘The Gardener’, the latter of which doffs its cap to mid-’90s Britpop and provides one of the album highlights in the process.

Having made their presence felt, Cameron, McCarthy and second guitarist Micah Kelleher allow McCutchen his moment in the spotlight with a gut-wrenching plea to his ‘Mother’, now home alone “battling demons” as her son has moved away: “I know your nest feels abandoned … I know I heard you cry in the mirror / Don’t give in to your fears.”

It’s a stark and unsettling song that bleeds into the plodding sturm und drang of ‘Sequencer’ in a way that is undeniably disorienting; the stylistic shift should not work, yet somehow, it does. ‘White Gloves’ is a much more conventional affair, its breezy indie rock helping the album recoup some lost steam before starting the home stretch, with ‘Lucifer Yellow’ and ‘Hard to Hold’ playing to the band’s strengths. That pair of songs does a fine job of summing up McCutchen’s lyrical conceits on ‘Dark Glow’; the latter is about how romantic relationships can toy with a person’s feelings, and the former deals with the fear of being alone in an uncaring world.

This is an intensely personal set of songs that are simultaneously universal and deeply relatable. Come for the hooks, stay for the lyrics and leave with the sensation that Choir Vandals have put your emotions through the ringer. Hopefully they won’t be disappearing again any time soon.

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