In the eternal now of the strobe-lit sweatbox, innovation functions in a different way to the rest of culture. Yes of course, the thrill of the new has consistently been a vital part of dancefloor culture, but so has the familiarity of particular sonic signatures that emerged from its fervid evolutionary processes. From the endless echo of classic disco house and rave samples in the mainstream, to the purity of raw, churning acid house in underground basements: once something works, it works.

As the name suggests, the Near Jazz Experience owe a huge musical debt to jazz, but that’s not the full story by any means. For a start, the rhythm section has more in common with the motorik groove of Can and the general atmosphere is closer to the soundtracks of ‘60s TV shows and films like The Avengers and Bullitt than any of Miles Davis’ famous ensembles.

Billie Eilish may be one of the biggest names in new music, but here at the O2 Arena, she’s just Billie – the one who stares deep into your soul, smiles at you like she knows your secrets, and shouts “I love you” like she means it. “You are seen, you are safe,” she tells us. We believe her. And judging by the thousands of utterly hysterical fans, heaving and shaking with sobs amidst their singing – mostly clad in jorts, sports vests and ties – the feeling is mutual.

This second album from London-based septet Kokoroko welcomes you into its warm embrace with the gorgeous, beatific vocal harmonies of “Never Lost” anchored by drummer Ayo Salawu's pulsating backbeat.

Tubeway Army’s “Are ‘Friends’ Electric” hit the top of the UK single’s chart in the last week of June 1979. It stayed there for four weeks. Its parent album, Replicas, lodged itself in the Top 75 for 31 weeks. In April, just as Replicas was out, Tubeway Army began recording demos for the next album: the band which had been assembled for the task debuted on BBC2’s The Old Grey Whistle Test on 22 May.

War, pestilence, famine, death. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had my fill of them all. So what better time to visit the genuinely sunny uplands – the long-anticipated second album from Wet Leg.

My, those seemingly demure, Amish-styled girls have grown (see the demonic cover, replete with scary talons and an unhinged-looking Rhian Teasdale). They’ve officially supplemented the line-up with the three very hairy boys who’ve been playing with them on live shows and everybody’s been involved in the writing. And everything’s turned out very well indeed.

Tami Neilson’s career is long and storied. The short version is that she began with a 1990s Canadian family band (opening for Kitty Wells, aged 10!), moved to New Zealand and became a country star there, then, over the last decade, has been “discovered by" and worked with all manner of US artists, ranging from Ashley McBryde to Willie Nelson. Her latest album is named in honour of the signage on Nashville Broadway, “the patron saint of heartbreak in downtown”, as she puts it.

The branch of the fast-food chain Hesburger in downtown Tallinn shopping centre Solaris is busy. Nothing unusual as it’s located by the entrance to a multi-screen cinema. Double cheeseburgers and fries are going over the counter. Less typically, two-thirds of the people here are wearing traditional Estonian clothing. Men and boys with knee britches. Woman and girls in embroidered outfits with hats.

I met Mark Stewart once. It was on a platform at Clapham Junction, I wouldn’t normally approach a famous person like that, but I felt I had to pay my respects. It turned out he was getting on my train – going down to Dorset to “visit his old Ma” – and we talked on and off down to Southampton. He was hilarious, half scholar and gentleman, half lively uncle at a family function loudly telling old-school “blue” jokes, all in the thickest West Country burr this side of The Wurzels.

I was born Tamara Lee Neilson. I had an Uncle Kenny and an Aunt Dolly (who played guitar and banjo, respectively). I mean, did I really have a choice to become anything but a Country singer?