There is humour here, but it is rarely lightweight; beneath the wit sits a sharp eye for hypocrisy, politics, relationships and the absurdities of everyday life. The Reids remain masters of turning conversational language into songs that land with considerably more weight than their simplicity might initially suggest.

There was always something gloriously unpredictable about Dexys Midnight Runners. Kevin Rowland never seemed particularly interested in giving people what they expected — and on LOVE, he still isn’t.

Marillion understands the art of emotional slow-burn better than most bands. More than four decades into their career, they remain masters of turning a concert hall into something approaching a shared state of mind – intimate one moment, overwhelming the next.

As the Mediterranean sun shines down from a cloudless azure blue sky when walking out of Ibiza airport there is something else that catches the eye: the huge advertising hoardings. These, however, are not directing you to the nearest burger restaurant or shopping mall but to a more thriving prospect that has become part of the summer landscape on this Balearic island – the Superstar DJ.

Ricky Warwick has never been short on attitude – Fire & Vengeance feels like the sound of a man with nothing left to prove and absolutely no intention of slowing down.

Airbourne has never been a band particularly interested in subtlety. Seven years after Boneshaker, the Australian hard-rockers return with their self-titled sixth album – and they have absolutely no intention of reinventing the wheel.

George Michael’s life has always seemed almost too big to fit between the covers of a book. From global pop stardom with Wham! to becoming one of the most distinctive and accomplished solo artists of his generation, his story is one of extraordinary success, personal struggle, reinvention and, ultimately, tragedy.

Released by St7dio as a digital single rather than packaged within a fuller album, it stands entirely on its own merits. From the opening bars, this concerto sings. Ruehr's writing is accessible without ever feeling slight, its lyrical lines unfolding with real confidence in what the violin can do. She understands the instrument intimately, and the orchestral accompaniment is judged with equal skill: nothing overwhelms the soloist, nothing sits idle. The woodwind, in particular, is excellent throughout.

There is something about Alex Warren’s music that feels deeply personal while somehow remaining universally relatable. His songs have an unusual ability to sit beside you in the messier corners of life, offering neither easy answers nor polished clichés, but the comforting sense that somebody else understands. On WILDCHILD, that quality develops into something particularly affecting: an endearing, emotionally charged and remarkably honest pop record about surviving the past, finding connection in the present and learning to embrace the life that remains.