The tongue-in-cheek Scottish punk duo are back with a scorcher — fan favourite track ​‘Punched In The Head’ has been performed in front of many a bouncing room, yet has only just been released, but the wait was well worth it. Full of swagger and energy, it’s a sub-two minute rollick of punchy (yes, yes) stripped-back punk about — in a surprise to absolutely nobody — getting punched in the head. Simple, catchy lyrics and an enormous riff make this feel utterly huge, but even the fantastic version on streaming doesn’t quite compare to hearing it in the flesh, an experience that truly can’t be recommended enough. (Jasmine Longhurst) 

Essence Martins finds the funny side of financial struggle on ​‘A Confession (I’m broke)’, turning declined cards, gifted clothes and expensive tube journeys into a bright, instantly relatable pop confession. ​“Got a confession and a bag of clothes / But no money, not to take me home” captures the track’s central contradiction, as polished appearances collide with the realities of trying to make it as a young artist in London. Buoyant production keeps things light, while Martins’ candid writing gives the track its charm, transforming an all-too-familiar experience into something playful, personable and genuinely catchy. (Gemma Cockrell)

The latest offering from foot foot, darlings of Bristol’s underground scene, is a rare thing: it is a true love song. ​‘callous wall’ captures the magic of the early, uncomplicated days of an infatuation — the hope of what might be — somehow managing to be sweet without being cloying. The track opens with tuning strings, reminiscent of the anticipation-heavy moments before a live show is about to begin. A rumbling bassline is introduced. Soft, dreamy guitarwork enters the picture, before Esther Pollock’s starry-eyed vocals make the song whole. (Emily Wilson)

A gleaming confluence of Midwest emo sonics and post-rock structures, ​‘New Song’ displays the lighter, brighter side of London newcomers Long Distance Runner. ​‘New Song’ emerges from the distinctly precise and dextrous school of Japanese math rock, but combines it with the influence of second-wave post-rock groups taking pointillist polyphonic guitars and breaking them apart with a dousing of reverb and distortion. Refreshing and vital where a lot of similar work falters, on ​‘New Song’ Long Distance Runner are invigorating and restorative in equal measure. (A. L. Noonan) 

Already a staple of Madra Salach​’s live repertoire, ​‘Ribbon Factory’ finally emerges into the wider world as a striking example of this band’s sheer honesty. The song begins, fearlessly, with a trademark harmonium drone, setting the music at an ominous pitch and ensuring that any potential for lightness is always tempered with realism. Strident guitar and mandolin provide rhythm, and as always Paul Banks never shies away from demonstrating vocal emotion – one reason Madra Salach’s performances have become legendary. Here, his words are delivered with a spirited rawness that becomes tangible, even through a pair of headphones. An immersive instrumental provides a solid centre to the song and, later, a long outro as all dissolves into industrial clamour. (Phil Taylor)

One of music’s intangible effects is its ability to teleport the listener from the banal drudgery of the everyday to somewhere far far away. Listening to Pearl2 is one of the best modes of aural-spatial transportation available. Through ​‘Replay’ you are snapped into the anxious world of an imagined Nicolas Winding Refn film populated by neon, bass and swagger. Combining house with a trip-hop murkiness, ​‘Replay’ is as cool as it is unsettling with strutting vigour and art-school confidence rolling atop a churning psychedelic wonk beneath. Buy the ticket, take the ride. (A. L. Noonan)

‘blocking a scene you can’t remember’ is another heartbreaking episode in the tragic yet cathartic journey of PISS. This is a track that reads like a diary entry inhabited by the damned stream of consciousness prose from vocalist Taylor Zantingh. We are introduced to the harsh realities of self-harm and sexual assault in such a brutal way that this sub-five minute recital is quite unbearable to listen to. Zantingh’s voice is nervous and delivered at a frantic pace that struggles to gasp for air all the while heady drums and fuzzy bass tones keep the piece afloat. (Lewis Oxley)

If Pollyfromthedirt had a YouTube cooking channel, he would show you how to whip up memorable dinners from simple ingredients. On ​‘White wine vinegar’, the masked artist from Darlington didn’t have to tweak the recipe much to deliver another off-kilter anthem: a handful of spare yet sticky guitar riffs, a splash of lo-fi Britpop, and a good measure of everyday misery and joy. Highly recommended for anyone whose musical diet ranges from Oasis to Tirzah. (Gabriele Naddeo)

What is the left in wreckage of excessive enjoyment? What remains of ourselves after one too many fateful decisions? Few artists can encapsulate, as Sarah Meth does, with artistry and poise, precision and irony, these considerations. Meth’s latest single, ​‘Fun’, deals with the aftermath of impulsive choices, what happens when the moment is over, when the thrill subsides. Momentarily abandoning the more acoustic sound that some of us have familiarised with Meth, the music now adorns a more intensified electric element – still those beautiful, indelible and spectral vocals remain – but there’s an unabashedly sincere harshness to be found. A stylish and effective musical decision as it creates a world we can live in, one that is recognisable through the mutated marrying of the lyrics and melody. A world seen in the music video, which cleverly identifies the iconography of modern connection – many cascading photographs, which overwhelm and excite. (Teddy Maloney)

The name may suggest otherwise, but it’s a French touch that Spanish Horses display on sophomore single ​‘Some People’. Drummer Cyril Stephan leads with a relaxed shuffle, and his hits drive the Parisian band into a bridge that feels like a veritable coming-of-age. A carefree synth line seems to ride into the sunset against mirrored descending bass and guitar lines in the scenic, dancey final chorus. ​“Some people live their lives like moles in a ditch and / Some people live a life of love”, sings frontman Tom Onezine. There will be no difficulty identifying which philosophy the band subscribes to. (Tien Albert)

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