Tonight We Dance

“Flood” is a superb album, by an artist who hasn’t even given us a glimpse of her potential. It’s charming and enjoyable and engaging and attractive and all of the adjectives you could ever want out of an indie-pop record - and not only does it hold up to multiple listens, it actually seems to expand and grow in stature with each run-through.

With “God Save the Animals”, these genre-resistant idiosyncrasies remain, though a few moments shine through with newfound clarity and vulnerability. Across the diverse and consistently excellent 13-track record, he hops between styles, perspectives and energies with abandon.

“Cruel Country” is neither ironic, nor frivolous: it’s a sprawling double-album that stands as one of Wilco’s best, an ever-moving meditation on the quest for connection in a country that’s often cruel but always worthy, in Tweedy’s eyes, of forgiveness.

For listeners who miss the simpler early days, “All the Truth That I Can Tell” is a treasure trove of comfort and familiarity, an utterly relatable collection of growth and hope tempered by the starkness of reality.

They’ve managed to create an album that feels fresh while also being the closest they’ve come to recreating the magic of earlier records. This is a band that has finally found a way to evolve without eliminating what it was that made them so special in the first place.

“FTHC” is likely to hit hardest with those who have grown with Frank, witnessing his evolution and the ways in which it’s helped chronicle their own. That’s not to say there’s not much to enjoy for new fans, though, who will no doubt find an empathetic ally in a man whose honesty and anger and heart continue to inspire.

“Doggerel”, in its hospitably decanted way, is every bit as transportive and absorbing as the early records, and further proof that Pixies’ music remains the alt-rock gold standard. Swill it around and savour.

With crisp as-ever songwriting, stellar production, and fantastic sequencing, Kevin Devine’s “Nothing’s Real, So Nothing’s Wrong” is not only another classic in his discography but a work of art that shines in a dimming world.

Brilliant stuff is still very much spooling out of Thom Yorke. His voice is revelatory on these tracks, better than ever, a peerless instrument; buttery and mellifluous in falsetto, snide and viperish on the growly bits. His magpie instincts for a tart one-liner remain razor sharp.

These are warm, lived-in songs, the sort that feel instantly classic, becoming canon without ever feeling like they’re trying all that hard to.