Carpark Records News

There is an ecstatic melancholy in Dent May’s music. The bedroom pop auteur’s songs are both bittersweet and exuberant, breaking your heart while you can’t help but sing along.

Over six albums, May has built a wildly diverse discography spanning 17 years. He has typically worked alone, assembling perfect pop gems on his laptop, playing nearly every instrument himself. But when he began preparations for his new album, May’s tried and true process suddenly felt stale.

The Big One brings together both the scrappy DIY ethos of Elephant 6 Collective and early The Magnetic Fields with May’s lifelong affinity for the great ’70s singer-songwriters like Harry Nilsson and Ram-era Paul McCartney. The songs balance a clear-eyed view of the world with a cautious optimism, looking at the everyday experiences of disappointment and heartbreak with a sense of possibility for the good that may still come. Things might seem bleak, May tells us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be thankful for our brief time here on Planet Earth.

The title track is the beating heart of the record. Over a steady drumbeat, piano, and accordion, a melancholy May sings, “The big one’s coming, the big one’s on its way,” promising disaster. But May won’t wallow in the misery: “Thank the Lord for all my friends/We can make it ’til the end/No we can’t stop now/Who knows? Tomorrow it all could turn around.” For May, hope comes in the form of others.

It’s with this joyful melancholy Dent May draws in the world. Everything might be ending, the planet could be careening off into chaos, but tonight there’s a party down the block and you’re invited. Be sure and bring your friends.

Near the end of fifth grade, Eli Edwards’ mom gave him $20 and told him to go find a friend. His team had won its soccer game that day, so they were out celebrating at a local pizza parlor with games. But, more importantly, there had been one other Black kid that day on the pitch in Spanaway, WA, a Tacoma suburb and military-base town at the rainy northwest corner of the United States. That kid just happened to be Xayvien Young. An instant deep connection was formed between Edwards and Young—Eli and Xay, as they prefer to be called were inseparable— and now twelve years later they are the electrifying, boundary-skipping duo Casi.

Along the way, Eli had relocated to Los Angeles with the indie rock band Enumclaw he had helped found, but he found himself flying home maybe a little too much. He was ostensibly visiting his girlfriend, but he spent most of his time with Xay. They cut tracks in every bit of free time they found until they had an epiphany: Maybe this music they’d made together for a dozen years was actually something special. Casi’s 10-track, self-titled debut out on Carpark Records is the electrifying proof they needed.

On the record, they enthusiastically explore every musical interest they have ever had—explosive hip-hop and unbridled hardcore, high-gloss nü metal and a little bit of emo—as a pair. These songs don’t ignore genre lines; they delight in destroying them, in finding ways to slam hip-hop and hardcore, emo and nü metal together until it seems illogical that they were ever apart. Take “Jumper,” where heavy metal guitars and face-kicking drums stir the moshpit for rabid verses about crushing ICE and the lessons you learn riding the poverty line. And take closer “Bridges,” where the melodic imprint of Deftones meets the relentless confessions of Death Grips. Here are the hard, funny, and loud stories of two 23-year-olds, screaming about the world over a breathless composite of all the music they’ve ever loved.

When Eli was in Los Angeles, Xay missed his friend. But in his absence, he also felt the spark of inspiration. Music was something that had just been their childhood hobby, but now Eli was in a rock band that had press accolades and tours. He got serious about the craft. Eli would write about the dislocation and isolation he felt in California, while Xay would document the hardships of being a young Black man with a complicated family while working menial jobs in Spanaway.

This isn’t a coming-of-age album for Casi; it is, instead, a raw and riveting snapshot of that process, painful as it can be. “Eleven87” is a breakup song, a soul beat springing beneath arching emo vocals. And “Intrusive Thoughts” treats that topic like a punching bag, Eli and Xav fighting against the mental habits that keep them down. These 10 songs instantly close that gap.

When Ryan DeRobertis announced the name change of his project from Saint Pepsi to Skylar Spence, there was no indication of any stylistic departure, though the change arrived with a musical shift toward faster tempos and more pristine production. Whereas Saint Pepsi had often used decades-old boogie, disco, and new wave as grist for the sampling mill, Skylar Spence is intent on trafficking more overtly in those genre aesthetics through his own production techniques and vocal contributions. With Prom King, DeRobertis reorients his music for his new full-band live act and winds up with an album full of tight and enveloping dance tunes.

Working with Carpark Records 'gave me the confidence to 'go big' with the new material: to write pop songs with universal messages in the sonic wrapping paper that I've grown accustomed to,' DeRobertis says. 'A few songs on Prom King are about specific events in my life—a party where I got too messed up, watching a friend's life spiral out of control and trying to help—but I tried hard not to be too autobiographical because I want my music to unite, above all else. I'm much more interested in connecting with the listener than mystifying my personality.'

While DeRobertis' previous long-players have been more amorphous collections in the style of beat tapes, Prom King is compact and cohesive, with the album's varied stylistic references (new wave, UK garage, boogie) united through strong guitar melodies and Todd Edwards-ian cobblings-together of tiny vocal samples. 'I slowed some music down and called myself an artist,' DeRobertis sings on lead single 'Can't You See,' acknowledging in his lyrics what is already apparent in the music's tone—he can maintain fidelity to his vision while working in more uptempo, disco-based song structures.

'Ridiculous!' and 'Bounce Is Back' are big groovers that capitalize on jacking hi-hats and hand drumming, respectively, and both have an air of Balearic warmth and smoothness. On the title track, DeRobertis entwines a chorus of unintelligible but expressive samples with his own vocals—what feels like a synthesis of two approaches—and the result is an affecting pattern of build and release. More contemplative sophisti-pop numbers like 'Fall Harder' and 'Affairs' add a realist's breadth of scope: thoughts of past foibles bleed into present-dwelling and dancing.

Prom King is DeRobertis making sense of missed opportunities. His high school did not have a prom king; he has filled the position with an imaginative album of personal and musical revisionism.

Artificial Go’s new 7” for Carpark Records signals the next chapter in the band’s gentle-but-rapid evolution. The Cincinnati-based rock ‘n’ roll combo dials in to their distinct sound while opening the doors wide to newness. In just two songs, they share joyous expression, frustrated anger, and curious exploration.
The 7” follows two beloved albums and loads of talked-about touring. The excitement is easy to connect with as 7” A-side “Triple Ones” spools out its coiled, bouncy lead guitar with a bass part worth following through the kitchen conga line and into the living room dancefloor. On the flipside, “Jane Ate The Apple Seed” provides a mysterious atmosphere and chorus of unusual trance.
The band’s live configuration is often so: lead vocalist Angie Willcutt, drummer Cole G Patrick, guitarist Ryan Sennett, and bassist Micah Wu. But on record, the members swap instruments and play whatever part necessary. For example, Sennett is drumming on “Jane Ate The Apple Seed,” with Patrick playing guitar, Wu on bass, and Willcutt playing an autoharp with a bow.
While the music is undeniably fun and mesmerizing, lead singer Angie Willcutt’s lyrics center serious matters. The story told in “Triple Ones” refers to a person undercut by those running the show. Willcutt calls it “the most blatantly upset Artificial Go song.” “Explain to me your delusional behavior,” she sings. “The world dealt me the cards of presumption/ I’ll play them right and use it to my advantage.” It might be groovy music, but Willcutt says, “When writing that song, I was just pissed off.”
Three of the bandmates live in the same house in Cincinnati. They practice in the basement, record in the haunted attic, and live in between. “Jane Ate The Apple Seed” started as a jam in that basement. The landlord came over to do maintenance and stayed to watch the jam become a song. Its lyrics tell the hidden story behind a well-known tale: “Jane ate the apple seed/ Johnny nowhere to be seen.”

Toronto’s Ducks Ltd. (formerly Ducks Unlimited), the bright jangle-pop duo of Tom McGreevy (lead vocal, guitar, bass, keyboards) and Evan Lewis (guitar, bass, drum programming), accomplish the impossible. The pair craft songs that play to very specific inspirations without drowning underneath them—immediately evidenced on their critically acclaimed EP, Get Bleak, and sharpened on Modern Fiction, their debut LP. “The Servants, The Clean, The Chills, The Bats, Television Personalities, Felt,” Evan rattles off. “Look Blue Go Purple is one I reference a lot with our production.” Echoes of ‘80s indiepop abound, but they never overwhelm. This is not a nostalgic record, after all, nor is it a derivative one. Instead, across 10 cheery-sounding songs, Ducks Ltd. explore contemporary society in decline, examining large scale human disaster through personal turmoil (hence the title, taken from a university course called Gnosticism and Nihilism in Modern Fiction, influenced by Graham Greene novels. Bookish indie fans, look no further.)

Writing the album was intimate. Tom drafted the nucleus of a song on an unplugged electric guitar and brought it over to Evan’s apartment, where the pair sat in his bedroom, placing percussive beats from a drum machine under nascent melodies, passing a bass back and forth, adding organs and bridges where necessary. “It’s computer music trying extremely hard not to sound like computer music,” Tom jokes. Fearful that limited and expensive studio time would kneecap the project creatively, eroding their charming naivete, the pair re-recorded the album in a storage space owned by Evan’s boss. Ornamentation through collaboration followed: there’s Aaron Goldstein on Pedal Steel in the Go-Betweens’ “Cattle and Cane”-channeling interlude “Patience Wearing Thin,” Eliza Niemi on cello (“18 Cigarettes,” a song loosely inspired by a 1997 Oasis performance of “Don’t Go Away”), and backing harmonies from Carpark labelmates The Beths (on an ode to friendship at a distance, “How Lonely Are You?,” “Always There,” and on the sped-up Syd Barrett stylings of “Under The Rolling Moon.”) While in his native Australia due to covid-19, Evan worked closely with producer James Cecil (The Goon Sax, Architecture in Helsinki) on Modern Fiction’s finishing touches—at one point, in the mountains of the Macedon Ranges in Victoria, recorded a string quartet (featured on “Fit to Burst,” “Always There,” “Sullen Leering Hope,” “Twere Ever Thus,” “Grand Final Day.”)

It’s danceable, depressive fun, with some relief: in “Always There” and “Sullen Leering Hope,” Modern Fiction’s faithful heart. “There’s a tendency in my writing, because of my world view, to be very bleak.” Tom explains. “A quality I don’t always see in myself and really appreciate in others is the courage to go on.” And yet, the record manages resiliency—enough for pop fans to fall in love with.

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The Beths occupy a warm, energetic sonic space between joyful hooks, sun-soaked harmonies, and acerbic lyrics. Their debut album Future Me Hates Me, forthcoming on Carpark Records, delivers an astonishment of roadtrip-ready pleasures, each song hitting your ears with an exhilarating endorphin rush like the first time you heard Slanted and Enchanted or 'Cannonball.'

Front and center on these ten infectious tracks is lead singer and primary songwriter Elizabeth Stokes. Stokes has previously worked in other genres within Auckland's rich and varied music scene, recently playing in a folk outfit, but it was in exploring the angst-ridden sounds of her youth that she found her place. 'Fronting this kind of band was a new experience for me,' says Stokes. 'I never thought I had the right voice for it.'

From the irresistible title track to future singles 'Happy Unhappy' and 'You Wouldn't Like Me,' Stokes commands a vocal range that spans from the brash confidence of Joan Jett to the disarming vulnerability of Jenny Lewis. Further honeying Future Me Hates Me's dark lyrics that explore complex topics like being newly alone and the self-defeating anticipation of impending regret, ecstatic vocal harmonies bubble up like in the greatest pop and R+B of the '60s, while inverting the trope of the 'sad dude singer accompanied by a homogenous girl-sound.'

All four members of The Beths studied jazz at university, resulting in a toolkit of deft instrumental chops and tricked-out arrangements that operate on a level rarely found in guitar-pop. Beths guitarist and studio guru Jonathan Pearce (whose other acts as producer include recent Captured Tracks signing Wax Chattels) brings it all home with an approach that's equal parts seasoned perfectionist and D.I.Y.

'There's a lot of sad sincerity in the lyrics,' she continues, 'that relies on the music having a light heart and sense of humor to keep it from being too earnest.' Channeling their stew of personal-canon heroes while drawing inspiration from contemporaries like Alvvays and Courtney Barnett, The Beths serve up deeply emotional lyrics packaged within heavenly sounds that delight in probing the limits of the pop form. 'That's another New Zealand thing,' Stokes concludes with a laugh. 'We're putting our hearts on our sleeves—and then apologizing for it.'

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On The Beths’ album Expert In A Dying Field, Elizabeth Stokes’ songwriting positions her somewhere between being a novelist and a documentarian. The songs collected here are autobiographical, but they’re also character sketches of relationships – platonic, familial, romantic – and more importantly, their aftermaths. The shapes and ghosts left in absences. The question that hangs in the air: what do you do with how intimately versed you’ve become in a person, once they’re gone from your life?

The third LP from the New Zealand quartet houses 12 jewels of tight, guitar-heavy songs that worm their way into your head, an incandescent collision of power-pop and skuzz. With Expert, The Beths wanted to make an album meant to be experienced live, for both the listeners and themselves. They wanted it to be fun -- to hear, to play -- in spite of the prickling anxiety throughout the lyrics, the fear of change and struggle to cope.

Most of Expert was recorded at guitarist Jonathan Pearce’s studio on Karangahape Road in Tāmaki Makaurau, Aotearoa (Auckland, New Zealand) -- and sometimes in the building's cavernous stairwell at 1am -- toward the end of 2021, until they were interrupted by a four-month national lockdown. They traded notes remotely for months, songwriting from afar and fleshing out the arrangements alone, the first time they’d written together in such a way. The following February, The Beths left the country for the first time in more than two years to tour across the US, and simultaneously finish mixing the album on the road. That latter half felt more collaborative, with everyone on-hand to trade notes in real time, until it all culminated in a chaotic three-day studio mad-dash in Los Angeles. There, Expert finally became the record they were hearing in their heads.

Expert is an extension of the same skuzzy palette the band has built across their catalog, pop hooks embedded in incisive indie rock. The album’s title track “Expert In A Dying Field” introduces the thesis for the record: “How does it feel to be an expert in a dying field? How do you know it’s over when you can’t let go?” Stokes asks. “Love is learned over time ‘til you’re an expert in a dying field.”

The rest is a capsule of The Beths’ most electrifying and exciting output, a sonic spectrum: “Your Side” is a forlorn and sincere love song, emotive; while “Silence is Golden,” with its propulsive drum line and stop-start staccato of a guitar line winding up and down, is one of the band’s sharpest and most driving. “When You Know You Know” skews a bit groovier, pure pop and a natural addition to the band’s live set. “Knees Deep” was written last minute, but yields one of the best guitar lines on Expert. There’s a certain chaos across the 12 tracks, the palpable joy of playing music with long-time friends colliding with the raw nerves of pain.

Stokes strings it all together through her singular songwriting lens, earnest and self-effacing, zeroing in on the granules of doubt and how they snowball. Did I do the wrong thing? Or did you? And are we still good people at the end of it? She isn’t interested in villains, but instead interested in just telling the story. That insecurity and thoughtfulness, translated into universality and understanding, has been the guiding light of The Beths’ output since 2016. In the face of pain, there’s no dwelling on internal anguish - instead, through The Beths’ music, our shortcomings are met with acceptance. And Expert In A Dying Field is the most tactile that tenderness has been.

There’s an alternate reality where everyone makes a living wage and the cleanest buses you’ve ever seen arrive every other minute. Where the most intense songs are about confessing your love to a crush at the apple orchard, and where gentle feelings and chaotic energy are inseparable best friends. This is the timeline where Cootie Catcher is right at home. This Toronto based four-piece exudes both vulnerability and unbridled excitement, creating a sound that hypercharges the open-hearted tenderness of twee pop with spiraling synths and giddy electronics. New album Something We All Got is the clearest and most vibrant reading of Cootie Catcher’s vision yet, with songs of sweetness, nervousness, and expectancy that beam out unguarded.
After releasing music made primarily in basement recording environments, Something We All Got is the band’s first flirtation with studio recording. The edges are still sharp, however, with some parts assembled from time-honored lo-fi methods and fun, personally-sourced samples seeping into the production. The sound is explosive and upbeat, with euphoric guitars, bubbly synth lines, speedy drums both played and programmed, and all other manner of sound constantly colliding. Cootie Catcher has three songwriters, Sophia Chavez, Anita Fowl, and Nolan Jakupovski, all of whom have distinctive voices but still manage to overlap in their writing on shared concerns like navigating the lines of romantic and platonic relationships, their city’s social scenes, and struggles in both the microcosmic experience of playing in a band and the zoomed-out challenges of living through late-stage capitalism.
Joy still touches every surface of Something We All Got. “Quarter Note Rock” bounces around the room in a fit of jangling guitar chords, scratched samples, and interplay between breakbeat loops and somersaulting live drums. It’s a blast of positivity even with lyrics about how disappointing it can be to meet your heroes. A smiling electro pop instrumental supports lyrics about having to step painfully away from an almost realized love on “Gingham Dress,” a song that subverts themes of domesticity as a backdrop for the dashed wilt of hopeless devotion.
Cootie Catcher rolls down hills and jumps through flaming hoops throughout Something We All Got without ever dumbing down the visceral emotions that drive these songs. There’s a palpable tension between the band’s exhilarating sonics and the raw, often uneasy sentiments expressed, but it’s an integral part of what makes them unique. Rather than hide behind the kind of calculated vagueness that plagues so much of the indie rock landscape in the time of cursed algorithms, Cootie Catcher runs full-speed toward every confusion and excitement, fearlessly direct and embracing the reality they’re in.

The anticipation is there in Elizabeth Stokes’ solo guitar riff under the opening lines of “I’m Not Getting Excited”: a frenetic, driving force daring a packed Auckland Town Hall to do exactly the opposite of what the track title suggests.

As the opener of The Beths’ Auckland, New Zealand, 2020 expands to include the full band, the crowd screeches and bellows. It’s a collective exhalation, in one of the few countries where live music is still possible.

The album title, and film of the same name, deliberately include the date and location, lead guitarist Jonathan Pearce says. “That’s the sensational part of what we actually did.” In a mid-pandemic world, playing to a heaving, enraptured home crowd feels miraculous.

In March 2020, everything seemed on track for another huge year for The Beths. Home after an 18-month northern hemisphere tour, they had just finished recording sophomore album Jump Rope Gazers and were primed for more extensive touring. But within days, New Zealand’s lockdown split the band between three separate houses. All touring was cancelled.

“It was existentially bad,” Stokes says. As well as worrying about economic survival, they lost something crucial to the band’s identity: live performance. “It's a huge part of how we see ourselves... What does it mean, if we can't play live?”

The band found an outlet through live-streaming, returning to the do-it-yourself mentality of their early days to connect with a global audience. The album and film have their genesis in that urge to share the now-rare experience of a live show, as widely as possible.

The fuzzy-round-the-edges live-streams pointed the way aesthetically. Native birds, wonkily crafted by the band from tissue paper and wire, festoon the venue’s cavernous ceiling while house plants soften and disguise the imposing pipes of an organ. The presence of the film crew isn’t disguised: much of the camerawork is handheld; full of fast zooms and pans.

With much of the material still fresh, the band was less focused on re-invention than playing “a good, fast rock show”, Pearce says. The tempo is up on crowd favourites “Whatever” and “Future Me Hates Me” (released as a live single on its third anniversary) as both band and audience feed off the mutual energy in the room.

Certain songs have taken on special resonance post-Covid. Pearce has found “Out Of Sight”, a tender rumination on long-distance relationships, hits particularly hard with live audiences.

Album closer “River Run” visibly brings Stokes to tears as a mix of achievement and relief kicks in. “You can finally relax at that point … You play the last note, breathe out a sigh and look up - and you’re in a giant room full of people happy and smiling.”

Talulah’s Tape is the debut offering from magnetic Midwest-jangle collective Good Flying Birds. Across a patchwork mixtape of stripped-down home recordings that span the independent-guitar spectrum, the band delivers colorful, intricate pop songs perched between the immediacy of DIY punk and the intimate sweetness of twee. Breakbeats, memes, and noise glue everything together, making the album feel as chronically online as it is timeless.

Originally released on cassette in January 2025 by Midwest-punk legend Martin Meyers’s Rotten Apple label, the tape sold more than 300 copies in under a month and quickly became an out-of-print and coveted item. Meyers called it “certified catnip for popheads.” Now, with a refined track list and a fresh master from Greg Obis, Talulah’s Tape returns on LP and CD via Carpark and Smoking Room in October 2025.

While production and approach vary, a through-line of sensitive self-contemplation rests on bright, scrappy guitars and hyperactive melodic bass. Opener “Down on Me” rides a buoyant bass line while jangling guitars frame reflections on overcoming trauma: “I see you in the mirror every time I cry / I hear your voice every time I try.” Next, the guitars trade twinkling counter-melodies on “I Care for You,” pairing sugary, lovestruck lyrics with effervescent strums: “You catch me when I fall / You build me up so tall.”

The rosy grin occasionally twists into a wicked smirk. “Dynamic” warns, “You used to paint the face, but now you’re just the clown,” while “Glass” asks, “Is it lonely at the top when everyone follows the trend, and you hold the pen?” Both tracks brim with sparkling guitar interplay. By the closing, nearly five-minute “Last Straw,” Good Flying Birds stand far beyond conventional indie-pop or 4-track punk, unveiling a roller-coaster of unpredictable changes, vocal harmonies, and instrumental cross-talk.

Altogether, Talulah’s Tape is a pastel-yellow, candy-coated shell filled with thoughtful juxtapositions and melodic experiments. Standing on the same ground as idiosyncratic songwriters like Connie Converse and Daniel Johnston, Good Flying Birds find sweetness in sadness, tear stains on a colorful flower-print couch. Simultaneously, it’s packed with the scratchy guitars and vibrant rhythms of Scottish guitar groups like The Pastels, Orange Juice, and Josef K. It’s a tremendous opening statement from a band just getting started.

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The Beths occupy a warm, energetic sonic space between joyful hooks, sun-soaked harmonies, and acerbic lyrics. Their debut album Future Me Hates Me, forthcoming on Carpark Records, delivers an astonishment of roadtrip-ready pleasures, each song hitting your ears with an exhilarating endorphin rush like the first time you heard Slanted and Enchanted or 'Cannonball.'

Front and center on these ten infectious tracks is lead singer and primary songwriter Elizabeth Stokes. Stokes has previously worked in other genres within Auckland's rich and varied music scene, recently playing in a folk outfit, but it was in exploring the angst-ridden sounds of her youth that she found her place. 'Fronting this kind of band was a new experience for me,' says Stokes. 'I never thought I had the right voice for it.'

From the irresistible title track to future singles 'Happy Unhappy' and 'You Wouldn't Like Me,' Stokes commands a vocal range that spans from the brash confidence of Joan Jett to the disarming vulnerability of Jenny Lewis. Further honeying Future Me Hates Me's dark lyrics that explore complex topics like being newly alone and the self-defeating anticipation of impending regret, ecstatic vocal harmonies bubble up like in the greatest pop and R+B of the '60s, while inverting the trope of the 'sad dude singer accompanied by a homogenous girl-sound.'

All four members of The Beths studied jazz at university, resulting in a toolkit of deft instrumental chops and tricked-out arrangements that operate on a level rarely found in guitar-pop. Beths guitarist and studio guru Jonathan Pearce (whose other acts as producer include recent Captured Tracks signing Wax Chattels) brings it all home with an approach that's equal parts seasoned perfectionist and D.I.Y.

'There's a lot of sad sincerity in the lyrics,' she continues, 'that relies on the music having a light heart and sense of humor to keep it from being too earnest.' Channeling their stew of personal-canon heroes while drawing inspiration from contemporaries like Alvvays and Courtney Barnett, The Beths serve up deeply emotional lyrics packaged within heavenly sounds that delight in probing the limits of the pop form. 'That's another New Zealand thing,' Stokes concludes with a laugh. 'We're putting our hearts on our sleeves—and then apologizing for it.'

Chaz Bear (formerly Bundick) was a musician from birth. Growing up, it was normal to hear music across genres, from Michael Jackson to Elvis Costello to The Specials, in the Bundick household. These influences were quite unique for a biracial kid growing up in South Carolina, contributing to the complexity of Chaz’s self-understanding and expression through his own music.

Chaz began playing and recording original compositions in his preteen years, forming multiple indie bands starting in middle school and continuing until his personal project, Toro y Moi, was signed by Carpark Records in 2009. Before getting signed, he was already an incredibly prolific artist, having released over 10 Toro y Moi albums on his own (and undoubtedly retaining a vast compendium of unreleased songs). His personal work drew upon a vaster array of influences than did his full band. Early Toro work called upon Chaz’s childhood exposure to 80’s R&B, pop and electronic music, while also evolving with his discoveries of acts like My Bloody Valentine and J Dilla and his burgeoning interest in French house. Just before his graduation from the University of South Carolina, where he earned a degree in graphic design, Chaz caught the attention of music bloggers and record labels with his dreamy, bedroom recordings.

Outer Peace, was written and recorded in the Bay Area after Chaz’s return from a one year stint in Portland. It is somewhat of a homecoming celebration, filled with features by friends and saturated with a playfulness that had not previously been embraced in past Toro albums. Outer Peace stands in contrast to the more sparse and contemplative Boo Boo, an album recorded while in Portland in relative isolation. With Outer Peace, Chaz showcases his ability to remain on the cutting edge of music’s evolution while not taking himself too seriously. There are contemporary hip hop references mixed in with funk, Eurodance and ambient elements, all interwoven expertly and retaining that quintessential Toro y Moi aesthetic.

“My hero’s back,” Madeline Kenney sings on the second track of her newest effort, Kiss from the Balcony. In a sense, she means herself; made with friends Ben Sloan and Stephen Patota across just a few in-person studio sessions in Oakland, these tracks represent a culmination of Madeline’s musings on growth and resilience reaching back years, brought to life through this generative and vibrant collaboration. Close listeners can hear the breadth of stylistic elements and themes carried through from various eras of her work, which all come together in a cohesive and timeless record.

In two week-long intensive sessions, the three collaborators grew these nine songs from fragments, sketches, and seeds. With a background in experimental percussion and sound design, Ben Sloan brings an electronic sound to Kenney’s writing; Stephen Patota provides ingenious guitar melodies throughout and grounds the project in acoustic elements. Kiss from the Balcony was originally intended to be an EP, but the sessions brought forth such fruitful ideation and play that the project was expanded to a full length album. It sits in Madeline’s discography as a thematic and musical progression that sees her iterate on ideas about love and explore new sonic motifs through her work with Patota and Sloan.

Much of Kiss from the Balcony is a meditation on modern relationships, a feminist and utterly human contemplation of power and who holds it. “Hereditary backward leaning,” she describes in ‘Slap,’ of the female condition; “But no-one ever likes to see the girls break down / So they keep it to the bathroom floor” she sings in the rapturous opener, ‘Scoop.’ While the songs are shrouded in metaphor, the ubiquity of heartbreak and resilience decode much of the internal conflict Kenney depicts. The album sees her recognize the precarity and peculiarity of life and take it by the horns, realizing she controls her own narrative:


She explores the relationships between joy and suffering, choosing to see them as inseparable, two sides of a single coin. “It’s never over / When will they love me?” Kenney asks on ‘They Go Wide,’ describing her positionality both as a woman in relationship and as an indie artist in the modern music industry.

A playful hopefulness pervades the record, providing a sense of revelation in the journey throughout, Kenney’s radical acceptance of life as it is like a lyrical tongue out at the absurd.

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Everything changed for The Beths when they released their debut album, Future Me Hates Me, in 2018. The indie rock band had long been nurtured within Auckland, New Zealand’s tight-knit music scene, working full-time during the day and playing music with friends after hours. Full of uptempo pop rock songs with bright, indelible hooks, the LP garnered them critical acclaim from outlets like Pitchfork and Rolling Stone, and they set out for their first string of shows overseas. They quit their jobs, said goodbye to their home town, and devoted themselves entirely to performing across North America and Europe. They found themselves playing to crowds of devoted fans and opening for acts like Pixies and Death Cab for Cutie. Almost instantly, The Beths turned from a passion project into a full-time career in music.

Songwriter and lead vocalist Elizabeth Stokes worked on what would become The Beths’ second LP, Jump Rope Gazers, in between these intense periods of touring. Like the group’s earlier music, the album tackles themes of anxiety and self-doubt with effervescent power pop choruses and rousing backup vocals, zeroing in on the communality and catharsis that can come from sharing stressful situations with some of your best friends. Stokes’s writing on Jump Rope Gazers grapples with the uneasy proposition of leaving everything and everyone you know behind on another continent, chasing your dreams while struggling to stay close with loved ones back home.

"If you're at a certain age, all your friends scatter to the four winds,” Stokes says. “We did the same thing. When you're home, you miss everybody, and when you're away, you miss everybody. We were just missing people all the time.”

With songs like the rambunctious “Dying To Believe” and the tender, shoegazey “Out of Sight,” The Beths reckon with the distance that life necessarily drives between people over time. People who love each other inevitably fail each other. “I’m sorry for the way that I can’t hold conversations/They’re such a fragile thing to try to support the weight of,” Stokes sings on “Dying to Believe.” The best way to repair that failure, in The Beths’ view, is with abundant and unconditional love, no matter how far it has to travel. On “Out of Sight,” she pledges devotion to a dearly missed friend: “If your world collapses/I’ll be down in the rubble/I’d build you another,” she sings.

“It was a rough year in general, and I found myself saying the words, 'wish you were here, wish I was there,’ over and over again,” she says of the time period in which the album was written. Touring far from home, The Beths committed themselves to taking care of each other as they were trying at the same time to take care of friends living thousands of miles away. They encouraged each other to communicate whenever things got hard, and to pay forward acts of kindness whenever they could. That care and attention shines through on Jump Rope Gazers, where the quartet sounds more locked in than ever. Their most emotive and heartfelt work to date, Jump Rope Gazers stares down all the hard parts of living in communion with other people, even at a distance, while celebrating the ferocious joy that makes it all worth it -- a sentiment we need now more than ever.

o encapsulate the themes. “Aseurai means around you in the atmosphere, hard to reach, fading away,” Choi says. “It’s a poetic expression. You wouldn’t say it in normal conversation, but I like that.”

Following the four-piece band’s 2024 self-titled EP, Aseurai adds disco and city-pop influences while staying true to dream-pop roots. While Phoebe Rings was originally a solo project of Choi’s, Aseurai marks a shift with contributing songwriting credits from the whole band. The four musicians cut their teeth working on other notable NZ projects such as Princess Chelsea, Fazerdaze, Tiny Ruins, AC Freazy,, Sea Views and Lucky Boy.

With a more ambitious collection of instruments, Choi says this album heralds the start of true collaboration: “I feel more precious about this LP because it includes everyone’s gems.” Guitar/synthesist Simeon Kavanagh-Vincent spearheads unexpected arrangements, with bold fuzzy guitar textures, to spice up the mix. Benjamin Locke adds maturity to the lyrics, paired with perfectionist bass lines. And drummer Alex Freer’s slick production soars Aseurai to diverse and synergetic heights. The broth is richer with more cooks in the kitchen, and the brewing of textures creates a distinct ‘Phoebe Rings’ sound.

If the EP was spacey, then Aseurai settles on earth, rooted in tangible moments. “Without getting too gloomy, it’s a weird world out there. A lot has changed in the world since the EP came out,” says Kavanagh-Vincent on this transformation. The album delves into hope and longing across all possibilities, and this exploration of holding on and letting go is organically threaded throughout. Across ten songs, Phoebe Ring’s storytelling ranges from tongue-in-cheek musings on gentrification to tender autobiographical memories.

아스라이 흩어지는 하늘의 별이 (May the falling light of faraway stars) / 그대의 손 끝에 닿아 숨이 돼주길 (Reach your fingertips and let you breathe),” Choi sings in the title track “Aseurai.” Imagined as a breezy track inspired by a 90’s Korean pop band, Choi discovered, when fleshing out the lyrics, that it was about yearning for people she couldn’t see anymore. In the old-school disco track, “Get Up,” Locke addresses struggles with mental health in a Matrix-inspired driven mantra:  ‘Just get up / Just get up.’ The groove persists with ‘Fading Star,” a quirky ballad filled with steely jazz/rock guitar solos dedicated to a suburban aging musician. Kavanagh-Vincent’s lead single ‘Drifting’ is an unrequited celestial love song with bouncing bass and playful synths.

The band wrote, produced, and engineered the album across studios and band members’ homes in 2023/2024 in Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland). It features mixing/mix production by local legend Jeremy Toy (Bic Runga, Aaradnha, Princess Chelsea) and mastering by Kelly Hibbert. With Aseurai, Phoebe Rings mark out a brilliant new constellation in their sky, bringing their individual compositions to the fore whilst seamlessly threading them into one celestial body - launching skyward on Carpark Records in June 2025.

That’s the Price of Loving Me marks Dean Wareham’s (Galaxie 500, Luna, Dean & Britta, ) evocative return, rekindling his partnership with producer Kramer for the first time since Galaxie 500's This Is Our Music in 1990.

Recorded in six days in Los Angeles, the album is steeped in lush, haunting soundscapes, driven by Wareham's signature reverb-soaked guitars and melancholic, dreamlike vocals. Britta Phillips joins on bass and harmonies, while Gabe Noel’s cello adds depth and tension. “Two takes yield more treasure than twenty,” notes longtime friend Matt Fishbeck, as Kramer's insistence on spontaneity infuses the project with raw immediacy.

Thematically, Wareham delves into the poetry of memory, set against a backdrop of wistful nostalgia and existential reflection. "Songs are in dialogue with other songs" Fishbeck writes. The lead single, “We’re Not Finished Yet,” is a playful, introspective meditation where Wareham drops his own name while relishing the tactile joy of the guitar. “You Were the Ones I Had to Betray” unfolds like a somber narrative, underpinned by Noel’s cello and crowned with a haunting bass harmonica by Kramer, encapsulating the emotional ambivalence of friendship and loyalty.

“That’s the Price of Loving Me” pulses with conga rhythms and Kramer’s vintage Moog, capturing Wareham’s musings on the life of a performer and the sacrifices it demands. Fishbeck describes “The Mystery Guest” as "an acrostic poem" and concludes by saying "We're not finished yet." 'Loving Me' also includes two covers, Mayo Thompson's 'Dear Betty Baby' and Nico's 'Reich der Träume.' The latter highlights his love for blending history and homage, sung entirely in German for a chillingly authentic touch.

Dean returns with his fourth solo album and his first album for Carpark Records. Inspired by the past yet resonant in its present-day relevance, the album’s sonic palette is reminiscent of Galaxie 500’s dream-pop roots, tempered with the matured introspection of Wareham’s later works. “Dean traffics in memory,” writes Fishbeck, reflecting on the record’s seamless blend of intimate recollections and catchy hooks. The result is a cohesive work encapsulating the duality of Wareham’s career: haunted by the past, yet steadfastly pushing forward. As Fishbeck poignantly puts it, “Imagination is nothing but the working over of what is remembered.”

That’s the Price of Loving Me marks Dean Wareham’s (Galaxie 500, Luna, Dean & Britta, ) evocative return, rekindling his partnership with producer Kramer for the first time since Galaxie 500's This Is Our Music in 1990.

Recorded in six days in Los Angeles, the album is steeped in lush, haunting soundscapes, driven by Wareham's signature reverb-soaked guitars and melancholic, dreamlike vocals. Britta Phillips joins on bass and harmonies, while Gabe Noel’s cello adds depth and tension. “Two takes yield more treasure than twenty,” notes longtime friend Matt Fishbeck, as Kramer's insistence on spontaneity infuses the project with raw immediacy.

Thematically, Wareham delves into the poetry of memory, set against a backdrop of wistful nostalgia and existential reflection. "Songs are in dialogue with other songs" Fishbeck writes. The lead single, “We’re Not Finished Yet,” is a playful, introspective meditation where Wareham drops his own name while relishing the tactile joy of the guitar. “You Were the Ones I Had to Betray” unfolds like a somber narrative, underpinned by Noel’s cello and crowned with a haunting bass harmonica by Kramer, encapsulating the emotional ambivalence of friendship and loyalty.

“That’s the Price of Loving Me” pulses with conga rhythms and Kramer’s vintage Moog, capturing Wareham’s musings on the life of a performer and the sacrifices it demands. Fishbeck describes “The Mystery Guest” as "an acrostic poem" and concludes by saying "We're not finished yet." 'Loving Me' also includes two covers, Mayo Thompson's 'Dear Betty Baby' and Nico's 'Reich der Träume.' The latter highlights his love for blending history and homage, sung entirely in German for a chillingly authentic touch.

Dean returns with his fourth solo album and his first album for Carpark Records. Inspired by the past yet resonant in its present-day relevance, the album’s sonic palette is reminiscent of Galaxie 500’s dream-pop roots, tempered with the matured introspection of Wareham’s later works. “Dean traffics in memory,” writes Fishbeck, reflecting on the record’s seamless blend of intimate recollections and catchy hooks. The result is a cohesive work encapsulating the duality of Wareham’s career: haunted by the past, yet steadfastly pushing forward. As Fishbeck poignantly puts it, “Imagination is nothing but the working over of what is remembered.”

Chaz Bear (formerly Bundick) has been immersed in music from a young age, shaped by a household rich with sounds ranging from Michael Jackson and Elvis Costello to The Specials. Growing up biracial in South Carolina, these diverse influences contributed to the unique blend of styles Chaz weaves into his work. Nominated for Best Dance Recording at the 2020 Grammy Awards for his collaboration with Flume on “The Difference”, Chaz’s genre-defying sound has won critical acclaim. His journey began in earnest with early home recordings that showcased his prolific nature, leading to over 10 Toro y Moi albums released independently before signing with Carpark Records in 2009.

Chaz’s debut album under Carpark, Causers of This, was a seminal release that sparked a movement of sample-heavy bedroom recordings. Its success led to early assumptions that he was limited to this sound, but Chaz quickly proved his versatility with 2011’s Underneath the Pine, recorded between tours and featuring entirely live instrumentation. This pivot set a pattern for Chaz’s career: each subsequent release explored new terrain, from the psych rock of What For? to the R&B-influenced Boo Boo, all tied together by his signature production and melodic sensibilities.

Following Boo Boo, 2019’s Outer Peace marked Chaz’s return to the Bay Area after a year in Portland, embodying a celebratory homecoming filled with collaborations and vibrant playfulness. Featuring friends and eclectic references to contemporary hip hop, funk, Eurodance, and ambient textures, Outer Peace was a sharp contrast to the contemplative, isolation-driven Boo Boo and solidified Chaz’s place on the cutting edge of music.

Five days post-release, Chaz teased Soul Trash on Instagram, sharing a cassette titled SOUL TRASH V1 with a Dropbox link, which was later removed. The mixtape was officially released digitally on October 29, 2019, and has since garnered over 39 million streams. This album was also his first collaboration with Elijah Kessler, who later released an album on Chaz’s Company Records. Now available on vinyl for the first time, Soul Trash epitomizes Chaz's experimental spirit, featuring ambient sounds, lo-fi loops, and contributions from Old Grape God, and Caleon Fox. Released alongside more recent projects like Mahal and Hole Erth, Soul Trash bridges his past with his ever-evolving artistry, proving Chaz’s creative well is far from dry.

Tanukichan, the musical project of Oakland, CA’s Hannah van Loon, has been a prominent figure in modern shoegaze music since 2016, when she first collaborated with Chaz Bear of Toro y Moi. Together, they released an EP and two full-length albums under Bear's Company Records, culminating in 2023's GIZMO. With her new EP Circles, out September 20th, 2024, via Carpark Records, van Loon ventures into new territory by teaming up with a new producer for the first time – Franco Reid.

The genesis of their partnership dates back to the GIZMO campaign, when Reid noticed van Loon wearing an Incubus shirt in a press photo on Instagram. Intrigued by whether or not van Loon was a genuine fan, he sent her a DM. Their shared musical interest sparked a dialogue that eventually led to the creation of the single "NPC" in 2023.

Lead single “City Bus,” offers a reflection on van Loon's childhood bus rides in San Francisco, evoking the stop-and-go rhythm of commuter life through hard-hitting drums and heavy guitar feedback phasing in and out of the mix. Themes of self-reflection and societal belonging permeate the track, echoing van Loon's ongoing personal journey.

While much of Circles delves into internal struggles, “It Gets Easier” takes on a more celebratory tone as van Loon realizes she’s developed a heightened sense of maturity when dealing with hardship. “It feels easier to let go of situations or people that don’t serve me,” reflects van Loon, “Or if they can’t be avoided, at least I don’t have to dwell on the sadness or discomfort I feel when letting someone down.” Introduced by Reid, nu-gaze sensation Wisp, contributes a verse in her similarly ethereal vocal style.

There is a notable shift on Circles when you consider the first three Tanukichan releases were produced by a pioneer of the chillwave genre. With van Loon’s consistently dreamy songwriting and Reid at the helm, Tanukichan enters new sonic territory that feels larger, arena-ready, and more like a highspeed night drive than the hazy summer dream of its predecessors.