Miraa May ft JME
Angles

How do I feel about this movement of angel-voiced 23-year-olds crooning anti-fuccboi anthems that teeter along the edge of spoken word, as if Lily Allen from that two weeks when she was good broke into a Jorja Smith recording session and ruined it? I feel quite good about it, actually. Angles is a song that overtly mentions Instagram without being embarrassing, and instead becomes a summer mega-banger.

Friendly Fires
Silhouettes

Great for a closing Black Mirror montage where two people fall in love within a video game and drive into the sunset (but wait? Is it doomed? What’s real, what’s not? Heh, you just got … Black Mirrored), but not really good for anything else. Every day, it feels as if we’re straying further away from God’s light (in this particular instance, God’s light is: the Aeroplane remix of Paris).

Ellie Goulding ft Juice WRLD
Hate Me

I am sure fans of Ellie Goulding – that’s “every girl at your secondary school who got a new-plate Mini for passing their A-levels” and literally no one else – will enjoy this one, where Goulding repeats the trick of doing a just-outside-of-her-comfort-zone dark-tinged half-banger, briefly featuring an of-the-moment rapper; something she learned how to do on Close to Me. Did you like Close to Me? This is Close to Me again, but Juice WRLD is on it. What colour Mini did you go for? Baby blue, was it?

Prophets of Rage
Made With Hate

I missed this news – probably because I’m not currently living in my van following a bitter divorce – but Chuck D, Tom Morello and B-Real formed a sort of cargo-shorts-dad supergroup called Prophets of Rage, which is a mashup of 90s-era middle-finger-up verses over crunchy sub-RATM guitar riffs. The result is … terrible. “Testosteromping that stink from the stage,” one bit goes, “we bust the sound of outrage against the hate y’all made.” OK, mate. If you don’t want to take the kids to soccer practice just write it on the slip. You don’t have to make an album about it.

Mika
Ice Cream

This is a song that is about being hot, yes, but also it’s a coded message about being horny. Look: “I want your ice cream / I want it melting on my tongue.” I have no doubt this was written in the midst of 2018’s heatwave. This song drips – cascades – with the threat of someone throwing a pint over you because Harry Kane scored a tap-in.