Search:dee

Rosettes are finally here with their debut album on Timmion Records, Lifestyles, a compelling journey into psychedelic soul, jazzy funk, and introspective grooves. For the listener, it creates an experience that manages to be both sophisticated and raw to the bone. Expanding on the sound they refined with their previous singles, this 10-track album captures the group in top form while crafting intoxicating sonic potions that pull you in. Featuring standout tracks like the soulful opener "The Call," the Isaac Hayes-inspired title track "Lifestyles," and the introspective groover "Spirals," the album weaves together cinematic instrumentals, intricate horn arrangements, and deeply personal storytelling, courtesy of lead singer Tytti Roto. Drawing inspiration from a range of vintage and contemporary masters_Cymande, SAULT, and Sade, to name a few_the rest of the eight-piece group doesn't linger in the shadows. Instead, they make it their mission to position the groove front and center. The album closes with "The Queen," the sole instrumental track, which evokes the spirit of 1970s blaxploitation soundtracks with its wah-wah and fuzz guitars and jazzy changes. Every track on Lifestyles is a testament to the Rosettes' ability to craft genre-blending masterpieces that are as emotionally gripping as they are musically intricate. For fans of adventurous soul and funk, this album offers a rich and rewarding journey.

180 grams / vinyl only


Based Faith unveils Spell Three Twenty Nine, a sacred incantation to the dance floor. This limited edition no repress release brings together four divine interpretations of the original track, each a hymn to the groove.
Cesare vs Disorder blesses us with deep, rolling pads that lead us into a meditative state, while Arval stirs the soul with a techy, high-energy remix designed to lift bodies in motion. Frink delivers a precise, floor-focused cut that radiates purity in its clean production, and finally, Richard Rozen presents the original-a slow-burning, capturing of a moment in time for those seeking deeper dance floor transcendence.
This record is a relic of the faith, pressed in limited numbers for true believers of the power of the dancefloor.

Star Trek – „30th Anniversary Vol. 1“: Der Original Soundtrack auf Vinyl für alle Trekkies! Für alle Star Trek-Fans und Vinyl-Liebhaber gibt es jetzt ein ganz besonderes Highlight: Der „30th Anniversary Vol. 1“ Soundtrack entführt die Fans erneut in die unendlichen Weiten des Weltalls. Das besondere Vinyl-Release feiert die große musikalische Erbschaft, die Star Trek über Jahrzehnte hinweg mit seiner kraftvollen und atmosphärischen Musik begleitet hat. Auf „30th Anniversary Vol. 1“ finden sich einige der berühmtesten Tracks aus der ersten Serie, die das Gefühl von Abenteuer und Entdeckung im All perfekt transportieren. Das knisternde, warme Klangbild der Vinyl sorgt zudem für ein authentisches Retro-Erlebnis, das Fans der ersten Stunde genauso begeistern wird wie die neue Generation von Trekkies.

Electronic music at its best offers a tantalising glimpse of the future, capturing the moment of conception where new worlds and genres are brought into being. Amsterdam-via-Berlin label Q1E2 (standing for “quality first, ego second”) embodies this expansive promise on their new various-artists compilation, a thrilling speed-run through the cosmic outer-reaches of contemporary club sounds that highlights the work of essential emerging producers from around the globe.

Milan producer Jack Bags opens the proceedings with “Natural Thing”, an astral deep-dance immersion with zero-gravity synthesizer pads and skeletal dub percussion that echo out through the void, sensuous vocal samples arriving like scattered transmissions from the stereo of some long-lost spacecraft. datSIM’s “Influx” races through kaleidoscopic sci-fi spacescapes, presenting a futuristic reimagining of UK bass sounds with dextrous organ melodics and widescreen atmospherics. Mike Riviera and Marco Ohboy bring us back down for a more earthly kind of ecstatic experience, cranking up the humidity and coaxing out the endorphins with the appropriately-titled “Euphoria” - a rugged, rave-adjacent heater that cleverly rearranges elements of classic house and garage into a decidedly modern club workout.

Elsewhere there’s a distinctive undercurrent of jazz flowing through the compilation, mapping out thrilling new evolutions of the music on and off the dancefloor. Dr Sud’s mesmeric rhythm excursion “Zaffiro” unfurls like the coils of a cosmic serpent, tessellating percussion and slinking subs tracing intricate beat geometries. A Soft Mist Production’s “Upside Down Rainbows” settles in for the afters with smoked-out soulful atmospherics, syrupy vocals curling and turning in the air like smoke vapors from the last vestiges of a still-lit cigarette. The Rabbit Hole’s “Tail Groove” closes out the proceedings with a surprising bait-and-switch - opening on lustrous lounge piano that could have been comped straight from a Bill Evans record, the track quickly gives way to interstellar bass ‘n’ breaks. The producer’s canny use of cello licks adds a grounded, organic feel, jazz futurism that recalls Photek or LTJ Bukem’s sampling experiments.

Taken together, the label’s new compilation provides a snapshot of a scene in constant evolution, taking the temperature of the modern electronic scene and finding it to be in rude health.

Written by Matthew Fidler

j.o.y.s. is both the moniker of and the debut self-titled LP by the Los Angeles based artist Ramon Narvaez. j.o.y.s. is an acronym for “jump out of your skin”. While the phrase can conjure moments of shock and surprise, Narvaez, however uses the phrase as a foot lamp illuminating a path towards momentary transcendence through creating beautifully conjured ambient music that recalls work by Daniel Lanois, suss, Dean Hurley and Tim Hecker. While the pedal steel is prominent, j.o.y.s., as a project, is more in conversation with shoegaze and noise than what has recently been deemed ambient country. Heavy brutalist slabs of noise, swirling feedback create the sound bed of these songs. Collaborator Justin Gaynor’s pedal steel on this album operates as important connective tissue as both the road and the traveler between the light and shadow zones. Drones are wrapped in distortion, processed just below the threshold where we’d throw the word “harsh” around. Rather, there is a delicate dance between Gaynor’s top-rope pedal steel lines - always sweet and always just a bit mournful - with Narvaez’s ringing bass notes and noise chatter. j.o.y.s. revels in intransigence. Nothing can last. As Matt Colquhoun puts in the introduction to Mark Fisher’s heartbreaking Ghosts of My Life - our identity and relationship to the past are “portals in perpetual collapse”. Depression, friendship, longing are all briefly satiated while in the peak experience of creating something as a response to them. But even that is impermanent. These sounds - improvised, exploratory, ecstatic - are eventually edited, whittled down and pressed to wax - not tombs but portals to the past.

"A mysterious object is revealed; the drum sound of the rite arouses; flares are blazing; the soul slides through water’s surface; the breath lights up the air; the body as a sacrifice, I hear myself, in this dream."

The 12 songs that constitute Dreams, the third full-length from the Kaohsiung trio Elephant Gym, explore the deep spacetime continuum that consciousness cannot capture. Beyond the trio’s staple instrumentation of guitar, bass, and drumset, Dreams blends in wind instruments, traditional drums, and Taiwanese narrative. Through collaboration with Hakka singer-songwriter Lin Sheng Xiang and pop musician 9m88, notable for their accomplishments in jazz, soul, and R&B, Dreams is a sweeping narrative about a fantastical dream that crosses the boundary. After pressing play, please do close your eyes, and enjoy the dream.

A sprawling patchwork of the artist’s dreams and fears, Parannoul’s third album After the Magic explores the enigmatic solo artist’s life in the wake of his second album’s overnight success.

Expanding on the shoegaze-shaded emo that made Parannoul’s To See the Next Part of the Dream so beloved by lo-fi and indie rock fans alike, After the Magic sees the anonymous auteur striving to write a follow-up as worthy of acclaim as the last.

Across the album’s ten songs, Parannoul plunges yet deeper into his diverse pool of influences, coming back to the surface with a record that captures and extends the magic of its predecessor. Unexpected flashes of orchestral ambient and glitched-out electronica meld seamlessly with Parannoul’s signature passages of noisy, distortion-laden shoegaze, offering a real time glimpse into the maturation of one of indie rock’s most exciting artists.

In the artist’s own words, “This album is not what you expected, but what I always wanted.”

Mit ihren unberechenbaren Live-Auftritten und Songs wie "Zurück zum Beton" und "Industriemädchen" sorgten S.Y.P.H. Ende der 70er für Furore - als eine der Bands, die rund um Düsseldorfs Ratinger Hof begannen, deutschsprachig zu texten. Die Band brach von Beginn an mit genre-konformistischen Erwartungshaltungen und machte Musik, die sich bei Rock, Punk und Kraut genauso bediente wie bei der Zügellosigkeit des Dadaismus und der Realität des Tagesgeschehens. Nach dem ersten Album und mehreren Singles (wiederveröffentlicht bei Tapete Records im Dezember 2024) produzierte die Band zwei weitere Alben - Pst und S.Y.P.H. (Album 4) - gemeinsam mit CANs Holger Czukay. Tapete Records veröffentlicht beide Alben gemeinsam mit einer Sammlung zuvor unveröffentlichter Raritäten - Punkraut 1978-1981.

Legendary producer Ant, best known for his work with Atmosphere, proves once again how irreplaceable he is with Collection of Sounds: Vol. 4. This latest release showcases the lifetime of dedication behind his craft, blending his unparalleled skills with a fresh, expanded vision. With previous volumes in the Collection of Sounds series, Ant has traced his musical evolution, spanning hip-hop, funk, reggae and more, all influenced and inspired by extensive travel dating back to his youth. Vol. 4 deepens this exploration, introducing rock-inspired elements—guitars that wail, gnaw, and groove—while maintaining his signature sound.

Despite these genre experiments, Vol. 4 is firmly grounded in hip-hop. The opening track, “Hearing In Dark Colors,” sets the tone, evoking long drives up desolate highways in the dead of night. Tracks like “Created With a Heavy Brush” and “Just Another Three A.M.” reveal a mastery of diverse soundscapes, while the triumphant “Day After 2010" takes listeners on an unexpected journey. As the album circles back to hip-hop on tracks like “A Pinch Brighter” and “Prelude Revisited,” it leaves listeners transformed, further solidifying Ant’s status as a visionary artist.

With Umwelt, room, An’archives releases the first vinyl LP by Japanese singer, songwriter and guitarist, Kotonashiso. An elegant collection of seven slow-moving, free-ranging song forms, Umwelt, room is reflective, pensive, and yet has a great, expansive sense of movement, each song’s parameters feeling almost infinitely flexible.

Born in Tokyo in 1984, Kotonashiso began playing music in 2000. After taking a long break from making music between the years 2005 to 2016, he returned with renewed focus, and over the past eight years, he’s toured Japan and Europe, performing in venues, street performances and open mic events. Currently, Kotonashiso plays either solo, on in three separate duos, with Sou Mori, 泥, and Hideya Kyooka, respectively. He’s not released much music, as yet – a single, “in the cavern”, with Sou Mori, in 2021, and a soundtrack to Hiroki Nakajima’s solo exhibition, Ray, the following year.

All of this gives Umwelt, Room the feeling of a major statement, a debut shot across the void. The seven songs collected here were recorded in 2024, with a guiding principle, for Kotonashiso, being his desire to “imagine the time when people started recording blues and folk songs on analog records,” creating a ghost-like presence in the listener’s room. When talking about the songs on Umwelt, Room, Kotonashiso focuses on a number of concepts, such as prayer, tragedy, ‘the cycle of life’, and the disappearance of the gulf between fantasy and reality.

They’re songs with deep, rich resonance, performed without guile. You might be able to hear, at times, the fragility of fellow Japanese singer-songwriter Hisato Higuchi, or the bluesy touch of Loren Connors in the guitar. However, Kotonashiso’s aesthetic remit is wide, identifying with artists like Bill Callahan, Scout Niblett, Inukaze, and Tomoko Shimazaki, and sharing sympathies with “the psychedelic rock, avant-garde and ambient communities.” Ultimately, though, the pellucid, dream-like songs of Kotonashiso, somewhere between folk, pop and blues, sit, disarmed and lovely, within their own universe.

Fraufraulein, the San Francisco duo of Billy Gomberg and Andy Guthrie, are master world builders. Their work is immersive — it wraps around you like a warm coat, guiding you deep into a trance-like state. Time moves in slow circles, folds in on itself, and unspools like caught fishing line. It’s tempting to say Guthrie and Gomberg construct a new reality with their work, but I think they’re revealing the contours of familiar territory, gluing together a complicated mirror more than constructing a quotidian diorama. Their music reflects a truth that we all share in some way. It’s the pauses between thoughts, the little observations that color a day, the beauty of how others’ lives imbricate for brief moments before pulling apart completely. Fraufraulein’s music feels beamed from inner space, the soft parts of our consciousness that glow like a flashlight beneath fingertips.

It’s also tempting to call Greater Honeyguide, the duo’s new record — and first in four years — a tool for fostering presence. Each composition can serve as a meditative space, and observing the quietly unfurling layers of sound — a footfall and a quiet breath, scraps of overlapping melodies sung like notes to self, synthesizers droning lightly in the distance — can be a very calming, grounding experience. But I also love to let these pieces guide me through the sulci of my brain like a slot canyon, emerging at some long-forgotten memory or idea. Think of it as a passively-active experience, like looking out of a train window, watching the scenery blur together. At the end of the album’s 37 minutes, I feel transformed. Not necessarily different, just in tune with something else. Something beyond. Something within.

Liz Stringer has been a steadfast and captivating feature of the Australian musical landscape over a six album career. Venerated by her musical peers and devoted fanbase alike, Stringer's world-class vocals, multi-instrumental prowess, notoriously powerful live performances and story-rich, genre-defying songs place her among the most important songwriters of her era. Mirroring the scope and complexity of Stringer's sensibilities and accomplishment as an artist, The Second High draws from Stringer's wider influences of jazz, funk and soul, and takes her ability to dissect the minutiae of the human condition through song - and connect with her audience - to a new level. The album is redolent with motifs of self-actualisation, lessons learned, sharp and ever-relevant commentary on social issues, and a strong and consistent focus on justice and equality. Fuelled by keys-driven grooves ranging from poignant grand piano lamentations (When You Met Me), the Rhodes-led jazz odyssey of On the Level, hip-hop flavoured keys brightening the bottom-heavy and deeply funky The Second High, to virtuosic keys that dance between strings and soaring multi-layered vocals in To Survive, Stringer's seventh studio album is a fresh and engaging ride to a destination yet uncharted, even by Stringer's standards - thrilling, stark and transformative. If 2021's First Time Really Feeling was an excavation, The Second High is an exorcism.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Almost as soon as Σtella Chronopoulou began writing Adagio, her fifth album as Σtella, she knew the time had finally come to sing in Greek, her native tongue. It would be a first. She started the record almost by accident in 2019, during an 11-hour boat ride to the island of Anafi. Σtella had recently gone through a patch of personal turmoil and needed a break from home. On the ferry, she pulled out her cell phone as the boat clipped through the Mediterranean and began with a simple melody, steadily piecing together a rough instrumental. As psychedelic keyboards twinkled and swayed above staccato drums, the track suggested some deep exhalation, as if Σtella were letting go of long-unnecessary baggage. For a spell, she set the instrumental aside. She wasn’t ready yet, or in a rush. Σtella, after all, grew up in a slow place. During her youth in a relatively rural suburb of Athens, Greece, she and her friends played unfettered in empty streets, not worried about cars or permission, and living felt easy. But in the last decade life has steadily become busier for Σtella, now based in the heart of Athens. She has become one of modern Greece’s most popular musical exports, with three sophisticated, playful pop albums rendered with international élan. After her Sub Pop debut, Up and Away, in 2022, she catapulted beyond three million monthly Spotify listeners. That success was a blessing, but Σtella sometimes found herself pining for the slower pace of her youth. That longing is the thread that loosely binds together her fifth album, the entrancing Adagio. Borrowing its name from the term for music that’s meant to be played slowly, Adagio is a pop record that feels like a very warm blanket, its nylon-string guitars and featherlight percussion swaddling its listeners for three minutes at a time. Written and recorded over the span of five years, with a consortium of international collaborators including !!!’s Rafael Cohen and British songwriter Gabriel Stebbing, Adagio is a 27-minute meditation on love and desire, rest and time. Though the bulk of it is sung in English, Σtella delivers her first two songs in Greek here—“Omorfo Mou,” the one that began on the boat, and a cover of a 1969 cult classic of the Greek New Wave, Litsa Sakelariou’s “Ta Vimata.” It is a sign of the self-assurance that radiates throughout these tender and smitten little tunes. Start to finish, Σtella sounds more at ease and comfortable than she’s ever been on Adagio. These fetching songs will not slow her career or grant her that title track’s wish. But, for half an hour, Adagio adds a measure of warmth to the world, with time loosening its grip even if it doesn’t slow down.● Athens, Greece-based Σtella’s new album Adagio is a pop record that feels like a very warm blanket, its nylon-string guitars and featherlight percussion swaddling its listeners for three minutes at a time.● Features Rafael Cohen and British songwriter Gabriel Stebbing.• Σtella’s breakout hit “Charmed” from her 2022 album Up and Away has nearly 100 million streams, and was recently featured in the hit Max show Industry.• On Spotify, Σtella has 3.4 million followers, 66k monthly listeners.

During the pandemic, The Ophelias transformed uncertainty into Spring Grove, their fourth album and most dynamic offering yet. Named after a Cincinnati cemetery, the album blends nostalgia with fresh perspective, reflecting on themes of relationships, identity, and power dynamics. Singer-songwriter Spencer Peppet draws from her OCD diagnosis during the pandemic and the clarity that comes with growing older, resulting in lyrics that explore the cracks and complexities of human connection.

Produced by Julien Baker, who adds lush textures and harmonies, Spring Grove marks a turning point in the band’s evolution. Recorded at Young Avenue Sound in Memphis, the album centers on the core quartet—Peppet, violinist Andrea Gutmann Fuentes, bassist Jo Shaffer, and drummer Mic Adams—with arrangements that balance cinematic intensity and delicacy. Gutmann Fuentes’s violin provides striking countermelodies, while Shaffer’s bass lines, inspired by doom metal, explore melodic depth. Adams’s drumming reflects his first project after transitioning, offering nuanced rhythms that blend power and tenderness.

With one queer and two trans members, the band has moved beyond the reductive label of an “all-girl” group, delving deeply into themes of womanhood and identity. Tracks like “Salome” and “Parade” examine power dynamics and friendship, while nature imagery in songs like “Cumulonimbus” and “Vulture Tree” mirrors lived experience. Across 13 tracks, the album’s cinematic and introspective journey scavenges the past for meaning, ultimately embracing transformation. On the closing track, “Shapes,” Peppet reaches serene acceptance, singing, “I see what’s coming after... a reflection in the water. I am rippling forever.”

Spring Grove captures the band’s evolution, offering a transcendent meditation on self-awareness, identity, and growth, leaving listeners with a sense of profound discovery.

The Forlorn Divide by Accuser is back on vinyl, and it’s more intense than ever! Released by the German thrash metal legends, this 2016 album marked a triumphant return to their raw, relentless roots. Known for their blistering riffs, sharp precision, and aggressive vocals, Accuser captures the gritty essence of thrash metal with a modern edge, making this release essential for any fan of the genre. The Forlorn Divide dives deep into themes of alienation, societal decay, and inner turmoil, resonating with listeners through both its lyrical content and powerful instrumentation. The album’s standout tracks, including "Lust for Vengeance" and "Impending Doom," showcase Accuser’s refined songwriting and fierce musicianship, driving their iconic sound forward. With founding member Frank Thoms leading on guitar and vocals, supported by Dennis Rybakowski on guitar, Frank Kimpel on bass, and Olli Fechner on drums, Accuser creates a wall of sound that’s as intricate as it is unyielding. This reissue offers a chance to own a vital piece of thrash metal history perfect for collectors and metalheads everywhere.

The Forlorn Divide by Accuser is back on vinyl, and it’s more intense than ever! Released by the German thrash metal legends, this 2016 album marked a triumphant return to their raw, relentless roots. Known for their blistering riffs, sharp precision, and aggressive vocals, Accuser captures the gritty essence of thrash metal with a modern edge, making this release essential for any fan of the genre. The Forlorn Divide dives deep into themes of alienation, societal decay, and inner turmoil, resonating with listeners through both its lyrical content and powerful instrumentation. The album’s standout tracks, including "Lust for Vengeance" and "Impending Doom," showcase Accuser’s refined songwriting and fierce musicianship, driving their iconic sound forward. With founding member Frank Thoms leading on guitar and vocals, supported by Dennis Rybakowski on guitar, Frank Kimpel on bass, and Olli Fechner on drums, Accuser creates a wall of sound that’s as intricate as it is unyielding. This reissue offers a chance to own a vital piece of thrash metal history perfect for collectors and metalheads everywhere.