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A cocktail of rebellious queer vocal fragments, deceptive percussive granules and swaying hammered vibrations, upsammy and Valentina Magaletti's first collaboration trembles with suspense. The seeds of 'Seismo' were sown following a commission from Amsterdam's Rijksmuseum to soundtrack an exhibition of work from the Museum Boijmans van Beuningen in Rotterdam and the duo didn't want to approach their collaboration flippantly. So, wandering the museum's maze of rooms, they recorded various improvised percussive sounds with their arsenal of microphones, using the space to inform various rhythms and textures that were sculpted later into electroacoustic vignettes. This was just the starting point, though; as Magaletti and upsammy began performing together, the project evolved and 'Seismo' began to take shape. The duo had struck on a salient aesthetic concept, using mostly digital and acoustic mallet instruments to blur the boundary between their roles and create friction between the synthetic and the authentic. And the finished record is a phantasmagoric push-and-pull between its various conflicting elements: harmony and dissonance, randomness and predictability, openness and constraint. 'Seismo' isn't the first time that upsammy has studied her environment in search of revelation. On her acclaimed second album, 2024's 'Germ in a Population of Buildings', the Amsterdam-based DJ, producer and multidisciplinary artist erected her complex, unorthodox rhythms and eerie melodies around a modernist frame of field recordings collected in various cityscapes, countering heavyweight basslines with subtle, microscopic sounds. London-based Italian vanguard Magaletti, meanwhile, has applied her unique logic to innumerable projects at this point, working with everyone from batida icon Nídia and hardcore-dub outfit Moin to French writer Fanny Chiarello and British bass scientist Shackleton. For years she's approached the drums with criticism, attempting to challenge any preconceptions, something that's most visible on 2020's 'A Queer Anthology of Drums'. And both artists' thoughtful perspectives are welded together seamlessly on 'Seismo', a dizzying suite of eight eccentric statements that's fragile but never insecure, gauzy but not indistinct. An unnerving sense of space characterizes 'It Comes to an End' as Magaletti's in situ improvisations herald for upsammy's microscopic glitches and chiming pitch-bent melodies. It's almost unbalancing to witness the track's impossible dimensionality, the interplay between reverberant marimba hits and bone-dry synths, or percussion that's been recorded and processed in consciously different settings. A new architecture emerges in the sound itself that the two artists scan and explore meticulously, testing its boundaries with undulating hybridized rhythms on the invigorating 'Superimposed' and offsetting the powdery drums with liquified smacks and alien voices. The duo's vibrations are knotted with piano flourishes on 'Hyperlocalize', balanced with artificial clanks and clangs that disappear into the track's sonorous atmosphere, replaced by whispers and half-hallucinated insectoid chirps. 'Seismo' is an album that feeds off the energy generated by its juxtapositions: the tension and anticipation that's melted by rapid, hyperactive movement and the finely drawn rhythms disrupted by a layer of indistinct, barely perceptible microsounds. It's a collaboration that sounds like two minds challenging each other but not wrestling, each peering from their own distinct vantage point and imagining a third landscape shaped by optimistic, queer vibrations.

Ashley Tindall, AKA Skeptical, returns in peak form with Blimp EP — the fourth release on his Rubi Records imprint — delivering four meticulously crafted cuts of uncompromising drum & bass.

Opening with the title track, Blimp sets the tone with a deep, steppy wobbler that nods subtly to the title track from his second Rubi Records release, Capsize EP. All the signature Skeptical hallmarks are here: hypnotic, pared-back metronomic drums and shimmy-inducing, undulating subs that demand movement. Yet this time there's a noticeable shift — warm, underlying melodic pads bring an unexpected emotional depth. It's not dreamy, but it is more introspective than we're used to, showing another layer to his sonic palette.

So Good flips the script entirely. A dark, cinematic growler, it leans into ghosted vocal fragments and a futuristic film-noir aesthetic. Tense, claustrophobic rhythms and sinister textures create an unsettling atmosphere — tailor-made for those lights-out, pressure-heavy dancefloor moments.

Third comes the undeniable monster of the EP, Technology. Trademark "stink-face" Skeppiness is in full effect from the first bar. Disjointed sci-fi stabs and eerie pads collide with clinical, almost militaristic drum programming, all anchored by a devastatingly weighty bassline. Movement isn't optional — this is pure Skeptical, uncompromising and lethal.

Closing the EP is Bad Generation, a sound system–influenced weapon that finds Skeptical operating at his dubwise best. Fusing minimal D&B with heavyweight, roots-inspired rhythms is no easy task, but here it's executed with effortless authority. It's equally suited to shelling down a rave or getting lost in a deep, eyes-closed session.

Four tracks. Four distinct moods. 100% Skeptical.
Blimp EP confirms once again that his sound continues to evolve — sharper, deeper, and more refined with every release.

Support: Ben UFO, Joy Orbison, Gilles Peterson, dBridge, Break, DLR, Doc Scott, Mefjus, Kasra, Kings of the Rollers, Alix Perez, Jubei, Dub Phizix, Flight, Tasha, Loxy, Lens.

The album opens with the ominous guitar-driven Hollow Sky, accompanied by its haunting music video's verdant vistas. The song, with Iceglass ghostly vocals, shimmers with that sounds like an Omnichord flittering like sonic firefly lights and brooding bass. This perfectly scores the less traveled wanderings through the dark wooden path of Dante's perdition, leading to the titular well that graces the album cover. The Crater opens with an unsettling riff and bass, with low, repetitive frequencies on the synth create a sense of unease. Here, Iceglass recounts a fatalistic requiem for the king of romance that is cataclysmic and leaves a scar upon the earth. With Fall Industrial Wall, once again, Iceglass channels a silky and Nico-like emotive deadpan; against a dirgelike melody backed by minimal synth, bass, and drum. Almost medieval and plaintive, with its folk droning horns, deep and shallow in their resonance. This song is anachronistic, setting the scene of ruins centuries-old with crumbling edifices strewn about like memories lost in time. With the poetic lyrics of The Chamber do we find the eponymous abyss. Here, dualities are laid bare; besides love, there is heartbreak, and without this sorrow, what meaning would there be to love if one knows not what it is to lose? This song encapsulates the idea that love is heartbreak, and love lost is reaching the deepest chamber of the heart. This is carried through a sombre horn, minimalist drum machine, and deliberate bassline overlaid with Iceglass german and english lyrics. The Well is led in with a softly distorted bassline overlaid with eerie banshee howls give way to Iceglass otherworld vocal refrain, echoing through time as if emanating from a hole in the ground, and encircling that hole is a garden of woe and despair. The sinfully seductive song The Moor features a captivating SAX SOLO courtesy of Perseas; a welcome shift in tone, juxtaposed well with the intensity of Iceglass tenebrous vocal purr. This hitherto unexplored foray into dark sensuality takes the song into sordid mid 80s territory, bringing to mind a dusky drive along a serpentine road, with equally haunting instrumentations straddling time with icy fire. Broken Characters is an acoustic folk interlude featuring Selofan's Dimitris Pavlidis on guitar. Here we find a more gentle approach with its earnest and romantic lyrics. The song's melodic hook is a soft caress along with the forlorn horn elements highlighting Iceglass at her most Nico-sounding vocal yet, singing the sorrowful truth that most artists are indeed broken characters. Chimerical opens with dirgelike synth organs. The chill of winter has befallen the lamentations sung by Iceglass carried by haunting chord progressions and minimal percussion, plaintively beseeching the song's subject to remain elusive, idealistic, and a dreamer. After an album highlighting more Jill than Jack, our male protagonist finally makes his ascent in the sonorous and breathtaking Dark Hill, a masterful march of sweeping synth horns, and trepidatious drum machine with William Maybelline's bellowing voice cracking like thunder, rattling the atmosphere like his heart against his ribs. Spirals swirls in a cautionary knell of cathedral-esque droning synth dirge, with Icarian lyrics shining like a sombre ray of hope; like the sun's rays creeping into the darkest of places. The song, minimalist in its tight percussion, echoes with the solace of Larissa Iceglass vocal litany; invoking elements of the supernatural, almost like a Casio preset sequenced to the beating of an angel's wings.

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.

“Al destino”, the new album by Steve Pepe, began to take shape in 2023 after roughly a year of highly abstract sound research. The original intention was to create a dancefloor-oriented record, moving away from down-tempo structures, built around minimal, percussive compositions and high BPMs, with sound conceived primarily as a functional element.
In 2024, however, the process shifted. Less time was spent producing and more time reflecting. Emotions hovered between the urgencies of the present and unresolved past traumas, and almost without conscious intention, singing returned to the center of the project. It was not a calculated choice, but an inevitable one.
The resulting album does not draw its energy from distant places, nor does it focus on sonic experimentation as an end in itself. Instead, Al destino offers an intimate perspective on how memories and emotions shape the inner self, on the sensation of being simultaneously alone and deeply connected to everything, and on the struggle to reconcile feelings, sensations, love, and desire.

Good As True (2026), the 12th studio album from Yonder Mountain String Band, leans into a warm, expressive sound — bluegrass shaped with an indie edge, rock undertones, and a hint of country. Recorded live in the studio, its eight original tracks trace romantic, personal, and societal relationships and the work it takes to stay connected. The lead single “Brand New Heartache” pairs rock-driven verses with a bluegrass-lifted chorus as it follows the fallout of a breakup and the uneasy hope of starting again, while “Blind” opens with a striking instrumental riff that lingers long after the song ends, while its lyrics confront regret, mental health struggles, and the pull to become something better. “Long Ride” delivers a sharp, sarcastic look at life in a touring band; “Nothing New” and “The Lie” confront political rigidity and division; “One to One Another” and “Always Almost” pull toward quieter emotional corners; and “Barroom Feather” drifts into indie-folk terrain with one of the album’s most atmospheric jams. Across Good As True, Yonder moves between high-tempo runs, layered harmonies, and moments that breathe — a reminder that nearly three decades in, they’re still charting new ground.

On Blinking as the Starlight Burns Out Paula Kelley explores her reverence for the dark edges of pop music, crafting a deeply personal song cycle informed by her career as a musician, song-writer and arranger. Channelling some of her most treasured pop-noir classics by Judee Sill, Colin Blunstone and Big Star, the songs on her first album in almost 20 years are filled with heart-wrenching melodies and layer-upon-layer of lush, kinetic instrumentation.

Death Is Not The End present a further volume of Arja Kastinen's eerie amalgamations of 110 year old wax cylinders with her own meticulously transcribed takes, this time focussing in on Armas Otto Väisänen's field recordings of kantele player Iivana Mišukka (b. 1861 d.1919).

"Ivana Mišukka (1861–1919) was one of the Karelian kantele players recorded by the folk music researcher Armas Otto Väisänen on wax cylinders in 1916 and 1917. In the early 20th century, the remote areas of Border Karelia were undergoing the final phase of a transformation in musical culture, with the ancient runo song tradition giving way to newer forms of music. This transition is reflected in Mišukka's repertoire and choice of instrument. The ancient small kantele, hollowed out of a single piece of wood, was already rare at the turn of the century. Mišukka's kantele was a new type of instrument with 26 strings, constructed of several parts, but he played it using the traditional plucking technique. Like other Border Karelian kantele players, his repertoire consisted of music rooted in runosong culture, as well as newer dances and songs from the east and west. Most of the recorded material falls into the latter category.

Ivan Bogdanov Mišukka was born out of wedlock in Suursara village, Suistamo, on 1 May 1861. He began playing the kantele at the age of five or six, quickly mastering the instrument. In adulthood, he was considered one of the area's best master players. Mišukka was landless for most of his life and lived in different parts of the Suistamo parish. His first wife, Tekla Markintytär, died in 1897 at the age of 40, and his second wife, Jevdokia Filipintytär Jeminen, died in 1907 at the age of 50. Seven children were born from the first marriage, two of whom died young. The third wife, Maria Ignatintytär Gurnan (Kuurnanen), was a well-known master of lamentations. Together with Maria, Iivana Mišukka worked as a tenant farmer in the village of Suursara. Mišukka suffered from rheumatism, which prevented him from participating in physical work like Maria. This was apparently partly the reason why Iivana Mišukka went to earn extra money by playing the kantele on gig trips. He often had other traditional artists from Suistamo as his travelling companions, such as the runosingers Konstantin Kuokka and Iivana Onoila. Iivana Mišukka died in Leppäsyrjä village, Suistamo, on 18 May 1919 at the age of 58, and his kantele was donated to Teppana Jänis.

Mišukka only used 14 of the 26 strings on his kantele, playing the same tunes either a fourth higher or lower. He tuned his kantele to the major scale using fifths, except for a low seventh scale degree on the upper strings, but not below the fundamental. Since he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all, he could use the major scale both lower and a fourth higher with this tuning. According to Mišukka, the sound of higher, or 'finer', strings is 'more beautiful', while that of lower ones is 'greater'. Among runosingers, the size of the thirds varied, ranging from major to minor to neutral. A similar phenomenon can be observed in kantele tunings, where the third, sixth and seventh scale degrees vary in a comparable way.

During a meeting, Väisänen suggested that Mišukka play the smaller kantele belonging to Konstantin Kuokka. The idea was to bring it closer to the horn to improve the recording quality. However, the kantele was completely out of tune, and now Mišukka tuned it to the Lydian scale (track 18).

Using the old plucking technique, Mišukka placed his right middle finger on the fundamental tone, his right index finger on the second scale degree, his left middle finger on the third scale degree and his left index finger on the fourth scale degree, and his right thumb on the fifth. The thumb also played the notes above the fifth note of the scale. As Mišukka remarked to Väisänen: 'Peigaloll' tuloo enemb ruadoa' (the thumb has to do more work). However, he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all. Below the fundamental note, he played the seventh and sixth notes of the scale with his right middle finger of and the fifth note of the scale with his right ring finger. This fifth scale degree below the fundamental is almost always used as a drone. Sometimes, when the melody required it, Mišukka, like other players, also varied the fingering. He would also occasionally strike the same string with the side of his fingernail after plucking it.

The wax cylinder recordings of Karelian kantele players are kept in the archives of the Finnish Literature Society in Helsinki, Finland. Copies were made of them onto reel-to-reel tapes in both the 1960s and 1980s. The 1960s copies are mono and the 1980s copies are stereo. However, not all kantele recordings from these decades have survived.

The sound of the kantele is difficult to hear in wax cylinder recordings due to its low volume, and it occasionally becomes completely obscured by noise. During the copying process, the cylinder sometimes rotates unevenly, resulting in breaks or jumps in the music. Additionally, the rotation speed of the cylinder in the copies does not correspond to the performance speed of the original music, which alters the pitch. However, since Väisänen's precise notes are available in the archive, it is possible to deduce the melodies, their speed, and the tuning level of the kantele in the recordings. Of the copies of the original recordings from the 1960s and 1980s, I have selected the one that best met the requirements of this publication and adjusted the speed of the recording to align with Väisänen's notes. To enhance the listening experience, I have replayed the songs, which now partly overlap the old recordings on this release."

— Arja Kastinen

Death Is Not The End present a further volume of Arja Kastinen's eerie amalgamations of 110 year old wax cylinders with her own meticulously transcribed takes, this time focussing in on Armas Otto Väisänen's field recordings of kantele player Iivana Mišukka (b. 1861 d.1919).

"Ivana Mišukka (1861–1919) was one of the Karelian kantele players recorded by the folk music researcher Armas Otto Väisänen on wax cylinders in 1916 and 1917. In the early 20th century, the remote areas of Border Karelia were undergoing the final phase of a transformation in musical culture, with the ancient runo song tradition giving way to newer forms of music. This transition is reflected in Mišukka's repertoire and choice of instrument. The ancient small kantele, hollowed out of a single piece of wood, was already rare at the turn of the century. Mišukka's kantele was a new type of instrument with 26 strings, constructed of several parts, but he played it using the traditional plucking technique. Like other Border Karelian kantele players, his repertoire consisted of music rooted in runosong culture, as well as newer dances and songs from the east and west. Most of the recorded material falls into the latter category.

Ivan Bogdanov Mišukka was born out of wedlock in Suursara village, Suistamo, on 1 May 1861. He began playing the kantele at the age of five or six, quickly mastering the instrument. In adulthood, he was considered one of the area's best master players. Mišukka was landless for most of his life and lived in different parts of the Suistamo parish. His first wife, Tekla Markintytär, died in 1897 at the age of 40, and his second wife, Jevdokia Filipintytär Jeminen, died in 1907 at the age of 50. Seven children were born from the first marriage, two of whom died young. The third wife, Maria Ignatintytär Gurnan (Kuurnanen), was a well-known master of lamentations. Together with Maria, Iivana Mišukka worked as a tenant farmer in the village of Suursara. Mišukka suffered from rheumatism, which prevented him from participating in physical work like Maria. This was apparently partly the reason why Iivana Mišukka went to earn extra money by playing the kantele on gig trips. He often had other traditional artists from Suistamo as his travelling companions, such as the runosingers Konstantin Kuokka and Iivana Onoila. Iivana Mišukka died in Leppäsyrjä village, Suistamo, on 18 May 1919 at the age of 58, and his kantele was donated to Teppana Jänis.

Mišukka only used 14 of the 26 strings on his kantele, playing the same tunes either a fourth higher or lower. He tuned his kantele to the major scale using fifths, except for a low seventh scale degree on the upper strings, but not below the fundamental. Since he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all, he could use the major scale both lower and a fourth higher with this tuning. According to Mišukka, the sound of higher, or 'finer', strings is 'more beautiful', while that of lower ones is 'greater'. Among runosingers, the size of the thirds varied, ranging from major to minor to neutral. A similar phenomenon can be observed in kantele tunings, where the third, sixth and seventh scale degrees vary in a comparable way.

During a meeting, Väisänen suggested that Mišukka play the smaller kantele belonging to Konstantin Kuokka. The idea was to bring it closer to the horn to improve the recording quality. However, the kantele was completely out of tune, and now Mišukka tuned it to the Lydian scale (track 18).

Using the old plucking technique, Mišukka placed his right middle finger on the fundamental tone, his right index finger on the second scale degree, his left middle finger on the third scale degree and his left index finger on the fourth scale degree, and his right thumb on the fifth. The thumb also played the notes above the fifth note of the scale. As Mišukka remarked to Väisänen: 'Peigaloll' tuloo enemb ruadoa' (the thumb has to do more work). However, he did not use the seventh note of the scale on the upper strings at all. Below the fundamental note, he played the seventh and sixth notes of the scale with his right middle finger of and the fifth note of the scale with his right ring finger. This fifth scale degree below the fundamental is almost always used as a drone. Sometimes, when the melody required it, Mišukka, like other players, also varied the fingering. He would also occasionally strike the same string with the side of his fingernail after plucking it.

The wax cylinder recordings of Karelian kantele players are kept in the archives of the Finnish Literature Society in Helsinki, Finland. Copies were made of them onto reel-to-reel tapes in both the 1960s and 1980s. The 1960s copies are mono and the 1980s copies are stereo. However, not all kantele recordings from these decades have survived.

The sound of the kantele is difficult to hear in wax cylinder recordings due to its low volume, and it occasionally becomes completely obscured by noise. During the copying process, the cylinder sometimes rotates unevenly, resulting in breaks or jumps in the music. Additionally, the rotation speed of the cylinder in the copies does not correspond to the performance speed of the original music, which alters the pitch. However, since Väisänen's precise notes are available in the archive, it is possible to deduce the melodies, their speed, and the tuning level of the kantele in the recordings. Of the copies of the original recordings from the 1960s and 1980s, I have selected the one that best met the requirements of this publication and adjusted the speed of the recording to align with Väisänen's notes. To enhance the listening experience, I have replayed the songs, which now partly overlap the old recordings on this release."

— Arja Kastinen

Pariah’s cult album re-issued! “Blaze of Obscurity” brings you pure Thrash Metal fury! Satan changed their name to Pariah in 1988-1989. There’s Heavy Metal, Power Metal, Thrash Metal, Death Metal, the list seems almost endless. Sub-genres are important in metal and bands are quickly classified and labeled. Pariah (the last re-incarnation of Satan) is one of few bands that are difficult if not impossible to classify. Is it Heavy metal? NWOBHM? Thrash Metal? Pariah did not make it easy to describe their sound. It might be too sophisticated to simply label it Heavy Metal, which in its infancy was a rather simple affair.

They don’t sound like any Metal band out there, perhaps discounting some of the more aggressive and technical ones, and then the signature NWOBHM sound is added. The guitar playing by Russ Tippins and Steve Ramsey is undeniably what defines Pariah as well as Satan in the past. Undeniably, Satan has gone a long way; from humble NWOBHM beginnings, to Experimental/Melodic Mettal (in Blind Fury) and something that could be described as a NWOBHM/Thrash Metal hybrid (“The Kindred”). It’s as if they’ve been experimenting trying to find their identity, and theyfinally found it. Stylistically, “Blaze of Obscurity” could be seen a step back to “Suspended Sentence”, but this time around they got everything right, down to the last note. Those who have heard Satan know what to expect: great guitar playing.

And sure enough, “Blaze of Obscurity” is a demonstration of guitar mastery and is overall a very guitar-driven album, with plenty of mind-boggling riffs and solos are all over the place, but more importantly, it’s a demonstration of some amazing songwriting as well. This is easily Pariah/Satan’s creative peak and one of the most consistent albums I’ve ever heard, featuring eight great and conceptually perfect songs with lyrics that come across as sophisticated and thought-provoking. It is not fair to put the entire spotlight on Tippins and Ramsey though since the drumming and bass work from Sean Taylor and Graham English really shines. The rhythm is fast and tight, keeping it focused, aggressive and intense till the end. Vocalist Michael Jackson (yes, that’s his name) has to be commended too as this is easily his careers best performance.

The verdict: “Blaze of Obscurity”: the level of musical genius expressed here, along with near flawless songwriting, is more than enough to skyrocket it to heights reserved only for classics. Probably not your choice for some light listening those quiet Sunday evenings, but those who take a more serious, intellectual approach when selecting their music will find very much to appreciate here.
Tracklisting

With their third album, Inanimate Objects of the 21st Century, Newcastle’s The Pale White prove once again that there’s no slowing them down. Following the success of their introspective sophomore album The Big Sad, brothers Adam (vocals/guitar) and Jack Hope (drums) return louder, sharper, and more defiant than ever. This third full-length is their most expansive yet: a record that blends the anthemic punch of classic rock with the urgency and edge of modern alternative.The title, Inanimate Objects of the 21st Century, is a nudge to the uncomfortable irony of our time – as technology accelerates, humanity feels increasingly frozen in place. Lead singer Adam Hope says: “Technology is moving, but we are not. Human civilization entered the 21st century wide-eyed and naive with mobile phones that would barely fit in our pockets. Fast forward a few decades and we’re so far from where we were that it almost looks like a bad 80’s sci-fi movie. Back then, that film would be watched in packed-out cinemas after an eagerly anticipated release, but now they stand emptier than they once were, attended mainly as a nostalgic experience in the age of Netflix and doomscrolling.

The birth of AI, algorithms, cryptocurrency, drones, holographic concerts, autonomous cars… we’re living in a strange transitional period which is both fascinating and terrifying in equal measure. We humans have now in fact become the inanimate objects - mannequins.After our softer, melancholic second album ‘The Big Sad’, we felt it was only right to move as fast as our world is moving and release our next within the year. ‘Inanimate Objects of the 21st Century’ is the evil twin, the Yin to The Big Sad’s Yang.”

Formed in Galway City, Ireland James McGregor (vocals/ guitar), Sean Connelly (guitar) and Damian Greaney (drums) went to school together there and met Tom Freeman (bass) on the music scene. Relocating to London in 2019, the quartet signed to Alan McGee's new record label 'Creation23' almost overnight. They have since impressed audiences across Europe with live performances at festivals including Rock Werchter, Eurosonic and Electric Picnic, performing to a huge crowd at Sefton Park in Liverpool in support of Kings of Leon, as well as a head- turning televised appearance on Sky 1's Soccer AM. Media have been quick to show their support too plus previous singles, taken from their 2023 debut "Exit Strategy" received praise on BBC Radio 1's Annie Mac on her "New Names" showcase, BBC 6 Music's Steve Lamacq on his 'Recommends' show, received day-time radio play on RTE 2FM, and impressed the legendary Rodney Bingenheimer on Sirius XM.

The four-piece are drawn together by not only a mutual appreciation of music past and present but also a love of films and books, notably the ones on the more 'noir' side of the spectrum. You could say Arctic Monkeys got them into a band, The Strokes showed them how tightly you could distil it and Radiohead showed them how wide you could take it. But these days there not afraid to also put Billie Eilish and Charlie XCX into that mixture and films from director Fellini to "Drive". What matters is that from starting out playing acoustic folk, that turned into 3 minute (post-)punkish songs, they now have expanded a lot from there, taking in all the experience they have now recording and touring. Pushing the emotion by being authentic and creating what you really want despite the noise and haste around you.

José González has delivered a new album, Against the Dying of the Light, a companion and further meditation on the themes of his critically acclaimed album, Local Valley. Where Local Valley turned inward toward place, language, and personal reflection, this new record widens its gaze, becoming an urgent call to preserve the light of humanity with all its flaws, at a moment when, technology increasingly shapes how we think, feel, and relate to one another.

While José has always embraced technological advancement, he questions the assumption that every new possibility must be pursued to its maximum potential, especially when progress comes at the expense of human flourishing, attention, and empathy.

Keeping in the tradition of folk music as protest, José’s new single — sharing its title with the forthcoming album — urges listeners to resist systems that dehumanize and divide: “Disconnect from every algorithm, every perverse incentive that drags you down. Let’s rebel against the replicators, against the dying of the light. Kill the codes that feed the hate, keep the codes that make you thrive, celebrate the **king fact that we’re alive.”

Across the album, González works within a deliberately minimal framework, pushing his familiar palette to new heights through subtle variation, restraint, and detail. Each song unfolds with its own distinct character, proving how much emotional and musical range can be achieved within self - imposed limitations. Written in English, Swedish, and Spanish, the record reflects his Swedish - Argentine roots and frames its humanist message as a global one rather than a purely personal or political statement.

José González is one of the most quietly influential artists of our generation. The Swedish - Argentine artist has built a singular musical world from hypnotic, minimal guitar work and his unmistakably gentle voice — a sound that has become deeply personal to millions of listeners worldwide. With billions of streams across platforms and hundreds of thousands of physical records sold, González’s songs often act as emotional landmarks. Ask almost anyone, and they can name at least one of his tracks tied to a defining moment in their lives.

London-based, Wrexham-raised artist and producer Art School Girlfriend announces her third studio album 'Lean In', due March 11th 2026 via Fiction Records. She also shares new track 'The Peaks', and announces a 2026 run of headline dates. Armed with the freedom and space to experiment, 'Lean In' was self-produced in her own East London studio and sees Art School Girlfriend set to move from cult bedroom artist to one of the UK's most vital artist/producers operating at the moment, tackling alternative rock, electronic pop and experimental ambient sounds in her most cohesive work to date

The A side “Mostra” is taken from the upcoming LP “Eternal Almost”, which is set to release on April 1. The B side “Punch” is exclusive strictly to this 7”

Devotional music most often gets distilled into earthy chants and ancient folklore, it doesn't always ascend to the sky like Julinko’s ‘Naebula’ an album that from the first organ note clearly trades in terrestrial dreams for ethereal visions. A feverish quality permeates the whole record, as if a ritualistic performance was being captured from start to finish, a collection of hallucinatory doom, synthetic neo-folk hymns and ghostly art-rock.

Julinko, stage name for Giulia Parin Zecchin, has long been one of the best kept secrets of the experimental community in North-East Italy, with three records that helped define her unique blend of heavy psychedelia, slowcore and dark ambient. On ‘Naebula’ what really stands out is how powerful and soaring her voice is, a weapon of undeniable force that can transform into a vessel of raw fervour or glide effortlessly as a delicate lament. Her unconventional approach shines through on tracks like ‘Jeanne De Rien’, where a marching pulse acts as a pillar for an extended mantra, almost verging into powwow territory. ‘Peace Of The Unsaid’ uses its arrhythmical structure to create space, a crepuscular night ode that reaches the heights of Sinead O’Connor’s most intimate force-fulness while retaining a sweet composure. Whether it’s glacial murderous shrieks or gospel-esque vitality, songs like ‘Cloudmachine’ or ‘Kiss The Lion’s Tongue’ seem to draw as much from a tradition of European minimalism, the use of drones and repetition, to the tradition of folksongs as hymns, where modal harmonies make way for an apparent stasis. Another key element in Julinko’s songwriting is the seamless blend of her minimalistic approach with these dense textures borrowed from a distant outsider metal heritage, Lynchean noir on steroids or wordless exorcisms with deep undercurrents.

Consuming you in one swoop, through 10 tracks of poetic electronic-pop odyssey’s, Evadney’s sensational voice acts as the guiding force, weaving between piano, strings, harp, driving electronic elements, and almost beatless moody textures.

Following the release of 3 eps on Black Acre, being remixed by I.JORDAN, inclusion on Jamz Supernova’s BBCRadio ‘Ones To Watch’ list, the Glastonbury Emerging talent list and creating an audiovisual live show performed in the UK and Shanghai, Evadney’s debut album ‘It’s Dreaming’ looks set to solidify him as a bold new voice on the UK music scene, bringing with him a new world of melancholy, narrative-driven pop.

The subjects of sexuality, love, family and a yearning for the divine are played out across this cinematic piece of work. “I’m asking myself and everyone to consider; Where is your love? What does it mean for you? What are your boundaries around it and why?” - Evadney.  On ‘Plie’ Evadney’s vivid storytelling flows effortlessly in a surreal conversation with an angel who teaches him how to dance. ‘Qualia’’ is a harp laden ode to his parents and their enslaved ancestors, whilst ‘Leathered & Laced’ and ‘Good Lord’ are devastatingly beautiful and honest stories of Evadney pulling himself out of his darkest moments of lost direction and substance abuse.

The breakthrough album. Enrico Rava's second solo record, recorded in Milan in January 1973 and released on the German BASF label, is nothing less than a cornerstone of Italian jazz-rock - the record that caught Manfred Eicher's attention and opened the doors to ECM. Rava himself has called it his breakthrough, and history proved him right.

The lineup is killer: John Abercrombie on guitar, Bruce Johnson on bass, Chip White on drums. Four musicians operating at the absolute peak of early seventies fusion energy - electric, cosmopolitan, burning with that particular fire that only existed in that brief window when jazz met rock and nobody knew the rules yet. Abercrombie, already on his way to becoming one of the most distinctive voices in electric jazz guitar, delivers some of his most ferocious early work here. White's drumming is relentless, pushing the music forward with an intensity that never lets up.

If Miles' Bitches Brew-era speaks to you, if Ian Carr's Nucleus gets you moving, if you know Sun Ra's Lanquidity and Don Cherry's Relativity Suite by heart - this is essential listening. Rava's vision was already fully formed: South American rhythms, Mediterranean warmth, free jazz ferocity, rock power - all flowing together without borders or categories. By the early seventies, Rava had absorbed everything - the New Thing, the European free scene, the electric revolution coming out of Miles' studio - and forged something entirely his own.

The seven tracks cover serious ground. "Bunny's Pie" introduces the music with an almost cosmic atmosphere of suspense, hovering in that liminal space before it trails off into the up-tempo vibrant frenzy of "Trial N. 5" - Abercrombie and Rava trading swirling solos at full intensity, the rhythm section locked in tight. "Dimenticare Stanca" moves from Rava's expressive balladic intro into pure funk, guitar and trumpet steering over the rhythmic drive with absolute confidence. The title track carries the lyrical feel and cadence of an Incan-Peruvian folksong - that cosmopolitan spirit made audible. "Fluid Connection" rides a funky bass riff into fusion heaven, with standout trumpet and guitar solos that build and release with perfect tension. "Cheerin' Cherry" pays homage to the great Don Cherry - Rava's spiritual mentor and fellow traveler in world music - exploring a North African soundscape that points toward the global jazz to come. Johnson's "Peace" closes the album with a minute and a half of serene, blissful calm - a moment of stillness after the storm.

This audiophile reissue - cut from the original masters, pressed by Pallas in Germany on 180gm vinyl, housed in a thick laminated hand-glued gatefold - does full justice to an album that remains a collector's holy grail.

Don't sleep on this one. Limited Edition.

Born in Douarnenez, at the far edge of Brittany (France), Komodor has quickly established itself as one of the most vibrant names in the French rock landscape. Their high-energy rock, fueled by fuzz, sweat, and vocal harmonies woven in the spirit of MC5 and T. Rex, immediately drew attention: Rolling Stone, Rock & Folk, Libération and Rock Hard Germany all praised the fiery impact of their debut album Nasty Habits (which sold over 2,000 vinyl copies). Since then, the quintet has mostly lived on the road: a long European tour, followed by the larger-than-life saga of Komodrag & The Mounodor, carrying them to stages such as Hellfest, Les Vieilles Charrues, and the Francofolies de La Rochelle, among many others.

Their second album, Time & Space, reveals a band in full metamorphosis. Without abandoning the explosive force that defines them, Komodor widens its scope: volcanic riffs, more sinuous grooves, mist-laden harmonies, psychedelic flashes… The energy is still wild, but more inhabited, more liberated, almost ceremonial at times. The record opens with two telling bursts: Bliss & Joy, a libertarian charge with the feel of a manifesto, and Soul Tricker, a rock incantation where trance overtakes sheer electric assault. Two sides of the same coin, pulled taut between urgency and enchantment.

On stage, Komodor remains a true shockwave, forged across European festivals (Freak Valley, Motocultor, Fête du Bruit, and more) and now awaited at the legendary Desertfest London. Their music feels made for such spaces: a visceral, flesh-and-amp kind of rock, drawing from the seventies’ heritage to speak even more vividly to the present. A band moving forward at full volume, without nostalgia or calculation, carried by a simple conviction: as long as the amps are hot, rock can still burn.

In short: Komodor is the band of friends from Douarnenez bringing pencil-and-paper rock into the streaming age while preserving its analog soul (with the album mastered at the legendary Miraval Studios), the smell of warm tubes, the grain of vinyl. With this second album, they hit harder, truer, and more vividly than ever.
Time & Space stands as a “must-have French rock record”, a tangible piece worth cherishing in any collection.