STERLING DRAKE, THE SHAPE I'M IN

Sterling Drake is a country singer-songwriter whose music reflects a deep connection to the American West and its traditions. Originally from South Florida, he grew up immersed in diverse musical influences, including hardcore and bluegrass, the latter introduced through his Appalachian roots.

After high school, Drake ventured west, working on ranches across several states before eventually settling in Montana. His travels, hands-on experience with the land, and the people he met along the way informed his songwriting and artistic identity, profoundly shaping his musical direction.

Following two EPs, Drake has now released his debut album, The Shape I’m In. Drawing on classic country, Delta blues, honky-tonk, Western swing, dance hall, and Celtic traditions, the album is a genre-blending exploration of roots music that feels both timeless and fresh. Recorded in East Nashville, the 14-track collection shows reverence for icons like Willie Nelson and Don Williams while establishing Drake's own individual voice. What emerges is an autobiographical album, rooted in tradition yet shaped by Drake’s own lived experiences and perspective. It’s an honest reflection of where he’s been, and where he’s going.

QUADE, THE FOEL TOWER

Within the remote Welsh valley of Elan stands the domed Foel Tower, a stone structure filled with valves and cylinders designed to raise and lower the Garreg Ddu reservoir’s water levels. Not far from the tower sits Nannerth Ganol Studios, a stone barn surrounded by barren moors, where Bristol band Quade spent ten days recording their second album. The stark, isolated landscape, shaped by wind, water, and history, became as much a part of the record as the music itself.

With the Foel Tower symbolizing the historical tensions between industrial expansion and rural displacement, and the valley serving as both a literal and metaphorical sanctuary, the barn offered a space for open dialogue and shared healing. Against this backdrop, Quade wove personal reflections into a textured soundscape, threading themes of connection to place, loss, resilience, and renewal throughout, a style they half-jokingly describe as “doomer sad boy, ambient-dub, folk, experimental post-rock.”

Quade approaches The Foel Tower with a confidence that leaves no room for joking. Their sound embraces the spirit of Bark Psychosis' Hex, the landmark album released 31 years earlier for which the term "post-rock" was first coined. It takes a bold band to occupy a similar musical space, and Quade does so with conviction. The Foel Tower draws clear lines to post-rock’s origins while pushing forward, favoring atmosphere, place, and form over traditional songwriting. Their compositions shift naturally between quiet intimacy and expansive force, de-emphasizing conventional structures and using instrumentation in non-traditional ways to build mood and movement. Ultimately, The Foel Tower stands as a statement of Quade’s growing artistry, offering an immersive listening experience.

ARCY DRIVE, THE PIT

What started as a joke between Nick Mateyunas and Austin Jones during their high school years in Northport, New York eventually led to the creation of Arcy Drive, with the duo recruiting friends Brooke Tuozzo and Patrick Helrigel to complete their lineup.

The band's first practice space was Brooke's backyard shed on Arcy Drive, the street that would eventually lend its name to the band. It was there they jammed and shaped their "Attic Rock" sound, a blend of indie rock with elements of country and Southern rock. Over time, they built a grassroots following by playing DIY shows across the country, often setting up wherever they could find a crowd: beaches, fields, parking lots, and even literal porches, while also sharing their music through TikTok sessions. Now, the band has released their debut album, The Pit. 

There's a cool vibe to The Pit. The band plays with a loose, live energy, and you can feel the easy chemistry between them. Across the album’s thirteen tracks, they land on a sound that feels warm, nostalgic, and dynamic, with standout moments like “Under the Rug,” “Louie,” and “The Itch” leading the way. A guest appearance by John Sebastian of The Lovin' Spoonful adds an extra touch of timeless authenticity to the album. 

ANNIE & THE CALDWELLS, CAN'T LOSE MY (SOUL)

Annie & The Caldwells’ debut album Can’t Lose My (Soul) is the triumphant culmination of a 40-year journey rooted in faith, family, and musical devotion. Annie Brown Caldwell first rose to local prominence in the 1970s as a member of the Staples Jr. Singers. When Annie was only 13, the group, which included her brothers A.R.C., Bobby, Cleveland, and Edward, self-funded their 1975 album When Do We Get Paid, selling a few hundred copies, mostly from the front lawn outside their home. 

When Annie was in high school, the family band dropped the Staples name and began performing simply as the Browns. After a performance at a church in West Point, Mississippi, a young man named Willie Caldwell approached Annie’s youngest brother, Ronnel, asking about the girl with the special voice. Caldwell, who played guitar and sang in a church group with his brothers, soon began courting Annie. Before long, the two were married. After moving to West Point, they formed a new family band. 

Throughout the 1980s and beyond, Annie balanced raising a family, running a clothing store specializing in church attire, and building the family band, Annie & The Caldwells, into a polished group blending gospel traditions with blues, funk, southern soul, and disco influences. The group toured churches and recorded albums. Their children were encouraged into the band through faith, a love of music, and sometimes playful family persuasion. Over decades of playing together, the Caldwells developed a sound that was both tightly knit and effortlessly spontaneous, deeply rooted in spiritual conviction.

Meanwhile, decades after its release, When Do We Get Paid was unearthed by crate-diggers and became a coveted find, with original copies fetching up to $700. The rediscovery of Annie’s early work led to interest from David Byrne’s Luaka Bop label, who signed the Caldwells to help bring their music to a wider audience. Now, with the release of Can’t Lose My (Soul), recorded in their home church, the Caldwells capture their energy, intuitive harmonies, and emotional storytelling. With songs that span from wailing gospel testimonies to joyful, danceable grooves, the album stands as a life-affirming statement and finally provides a spotlight to the family's music and solidifies their musical legacy long deserved.

MAYA DELILAH, THE LONG WAY ROUND

"What would Prince do?" That was the question Maya Delilah’s mom posed when Delilah considered becoming a surgeon. 

Having learned to play guitar by ear rather than through formal theory, an approach shaped by her dyslexia, the North London guitarist and singer-songwriter developed a distinctive blend of soul-pop, jazz, blues, and funk. As her voice and guitar skills fueled a growing online following, she eventually caught the attention of Blue Note and its president, Don Was, who encouraged her to fully embrace her wide-ranging influences rather than conform to a single sound, assuring her that her voice and guitar could serve as the unifying thread. The result is The Long Way Round, Delilah’s debut album. 

Going into the studio, Delilah had two goals: first, to create music that feels comforting, like a nostalgic Sunday morning soundtrack, records you turn to for warmth, reflection, and a sense of belonging. Second, to draw from her own life and the experiences of friends to chart an emotional journey of clarity, growth, and new beginnings. 

Delilah has accomplished both her goals with The Long Way Round. The album plays like the soundtrack that she envisioned. With songs capturing snapshots of vulnerability, resilience, and hope, balancing playful moments with quiet introspection. Whether it’s the breezy charm of “Maya, Maya, Maya” or the bittersweet ache of “I’ll Be There in the Morning,” each track feels like a lived-in memory, tenderly reimagined through her guitar and voice. It’s comforting, welcoming, and spot on for a Sunday morning.

BJØRN RIIS, FIMBULVINTER

In Norse mythology, Fimbulvinter is the merciless winter that precedes Ragnarök, a time of chaos and collapse that ultimately makes way for renewal. It’s a season marked by darkness, struggle, and survival. As the title of Bjørn Riis’ latest solo album, Fimbulvinter becomes more than a mythological reference, it’s a thematic anchor.

You may not have heard of Riis, which is a shame. He’s the co-founder and guitarist of Norway’s Airbag, one of progressive rock’s most compelling guitar-driven bands. For over 20 years, he’s helped shape a sound defined by atmosphere, precision, and emotional weight. Since 2016, he’s also built a solo catalog that pushes those qualities even further inward, offering deeply personal explorations through richly textured arrangements. 

With Fimbulvinter, Riis draws on his own experience with anxiety to explore feelings of isolation, fear, and emotional collapse with striking clarity and conviction. The reference to Fimbulvinter isn’t just symbolic, it mirrors the album’s sonic and emotional arc. What begins in heaviness and unease gradually gives way to reflection and, ultimately, a faint but meaningful sense of hope. 

Musically, Fimbulvinter balances brooding, ambient passages with bursts of jarring energy. Across 45 minutes and six songs, Riis blends introspective melodies and layered soundscapes with hard rock edges, crafting a sound that’s as introspective as it is expansive. It not only evokes the myth of endings and rebirth, it delivers one of Riis’ more powerful solo statements.

PINCHIKO, GINKGO

Panchiko’s story reads like a plot from a movie, so unlikely it almost feels fictional. Four teens from Nottingham form a band in the late '90's, record a lo-fi demo, play only a handful of local gigs to mostly empty rooms, and then dissolve and fade into obscurity until that demo cassette resurfaces online in 20216. With no information attached, the warped, lo-fi sound piqued curiosity and eventually inspired a global online effort to track down the band.

By the time the members were located, now in their forties with day jobs in teaching and music mastering, their music had become an underground cult sensation. Teenagers were getting tattoos of the tape’s artwork, and Panchiko suddenly had a new and passionate fanbase, mostly in the U.S. Reuniting in 2021, the band began playing shows to sold-out audiences and, after two decades apart, faced the challenge of making new music that honored their lo-fi origins while reflecting who they are now.

In 2023, they released their debut album, Failed at Math(s), to great fanfare. It successfully retained the warped charm of their early work while embracing more refined production, and with it, love for the band only grew....As of January 2025, Panchiko has amassed 200 million listens on Spotify and draws 1.45 million monthly followers! Despite their unconventional reentry into music, the band approaches their second life with humility and humor, fully aware of the surreal odds that brought them back together.

With Ginkgo, Panchiko step fully into the present without losing sight of the beautifully warped past that brought them here. Where Failed at Math(s) felt like the band reintroducing themselves, reconciling dusty demos with decades of distance, Ginkgo sounds like them settling in, making music with the clarity, confidence, and creative freedom that eluded them the first time around. It’s both a progression and a homecoming, steeped in their trademark wistfulness, but more expansive in scope, sharper in execution, and looser in spirit.

BROWN HORSE, ALL THE RIGHT WEAKNESSES

Brown Horse has played their fair share of English pubs over the years. Formed in 2018 as a folk quartet, the band got their start performing old-time standards, Michael Hurley covers, and original songs in pub corners across the country. Those early days carried a homespun charm, steeped in tradition but always nudging toward something more expansive.

By 2023, the band had grown into a six-piece ensemble and begun leaning into a sound that fused their folk and ‘70s country roots with the fuzzier edges of '90s alt-rock. The lineup shift brought a broader sound and more room to experiment, and it shows on their sophomore record, All The Right Weaknesses.

Where their 2024 debut Reservoir leaned into a more open and slow-burning sound, this follow-up feels looser and louder. The album delivers an energized blend of slacker-rock and folk, with banjo, accordion, and pedal steel guitar woven into arrangements that add a rich musical texture. It’s the sound of a band that’s spent serious time on the road, tightened by repetition, but still open enough to be playful in moments, giving their music an easy, lived-in vibe. 

DESTROYER, DAN'S BOOGIE

Thirty years into Destroyer, Dan Bejar is still writing, still singing, still figuring it out. There’s a kind of bemused clarity in how he talks about it now. “Usually people go up or go away,” he says. “It’s strange to be still in the trenches, but everyone you know is gone.” That sense of being somewhere in the middle, not a star, not a struggler, just enduring, runs through his fourteenth album. 

Bejar doesn’t glamorize his longevity. In a recent interview, he was frank about the industry’s obsession with youth and candid about the toll of continuing to operate in a space that often seems to have moved on. But he’s still drawn to the work itself, albeit slower now, and maybe a little less certain. “How I do it is so unconscious. I don’t know what I’m doing. Like, I really don’t.” 

That looseness has started to seep into the music in new ways. Where past Destroyer records often carried a stylized aloofness, Dan’s Boogie opens space for humor and unpredictability. He’d never have felt comfortable with that in the past, but now he embraces it, and it shows up in the album’s more madcap moments. 

“As you age, I guess you stop censoring yourself.” 

There’s a spontaneity to songs like “Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World,” which Bejar essentially improvised in the studio, grabbing surreal lines from the air without knowing what might come next. Still, even amid the chaos, there’s a core to hold onto: that unmistakable voice. A voice Bejar once loathed, but now recognizes as foundational to who he is. “I probably identify myself as a singer more than anything else in the world,” he says. 

If Dan’s Boogie proves anything, it’s that Bejar is still deeply in it—not reinventing himself, but relaxing into the strange, singular role he’s carved out over decades. It’s just the right place and space to experience Bejar. He really is one of a kind and Dan’s Boogie is yet another fantastic album in a storied career.

MDOU MOCTAR, TEARS OF INJUSTICE

Guitarist and singer Mdou Moctar’s musical life took root in Abalak, a small town in central Niger, where he built his first guitar from bicycle cables and scrap wood. What started as solitary experimentation soon turned into a regional phenomenon with his early recordings being circulated across West Africa through Bluetooth swaps and SIM card trades, long before they ever reached a formal release. Over time, that homespun spirit grew louder, sharper, more defiant. By the time Ilana: The Creator dropped in 2019,Moctar’s project had expanded into a full-fledged band, blending searing electric guitar with calls for justice, liberation, and cultural pride. Though still rooted in Agadez, the group’s reach had grown global.

Their new album, Tears of Injustice catches the band in a moment of dislocation. Stranded in the U.S. after a military coup back home, they recorded the album in Brooklyn, untethered from the familiar but tethered still to a collective grief. These are acoustic reworkings of songs from 2024’s Funeral for Justice, but they don’t feel like translations—they feel like returns. Stripped of distortion, the songs find power in quiet resolve: hand drums pulse like slowed heartbeats, Moctar’s guitar playing winds and loops with the precision of ritual, and the vocals carry the ache of distance. There’s clarity here, not just in sound but in intent—a reclamation of space, memory, and identity. It’s an album made in exile, but tied to a place and people with unmistakable force.

GREENTEA PENG, TELL DEM IT'S SUNNY

Greentea Peng is the kind of artist that grabs my attention. Self-describing as a psychedelic R&B artist, her genre-fluid experimentation with neo-soul and alternative R&B and fusion of spiritual consciousness and street realism makes her stand apart from easy categorization. 

Tell Dem It’s Sunny, her third studio album, Peng, whose real name is Aria Wells, turns inward. Where 2021’s Man Made responded to lockdown with outward protest, this record reflects on motherhood, mental health, and a growing skepticism toward mainstream ideas of healing. Despite its title, the album leans grey in both tone and sound. The phrase “Tell Dem It’s Sunny” began as irony but became a reminder of inner light. Moving away from the flower-child image often attached to her, Peng focuses on what she calls “the politics of the personal”—emotional unrest, identity, and staying grounded in a chaotic world. 

Musically, the album follows Peng’s intuitive process. Dub, soul, and psych elements drift through the tracks, with songs like “TARDIS” emerging through what she describes as channelling. The sound is loose and unpolished, with a great groove that’s more concerned with feeling than perfection. 

Reflection on parenthood, inner conflict, and staying present in a restless world, Tell Dem It’s Sunny is full of hope. For Peng, hope isn’t a pose—it’s something practiced. And she practices it here with feeling and great strength.

CHARLEY CROCKETT, LONESOME DRIFTER

It’s hard to keep up with Charley Crockett. He’s a man constantly on the move, recording and touring with the kind of urgency that’s become a signature. That includes rejecting the traditional 18- to 24-month album cycle and instead releasing new music roughly every six months for nearly a decade.

Now, the Texas-born troubadour, long known for his fiercely independent approach, is entering a new chapter with the release of his 15th album, Lonesome Drifter. After years of self-releasing music through his own label, Crockett has signed with Universal Music Group’s Island Records, marking his first major label deal. In a message to fans, he wrote, “Some say time is money. I say time is a train, and I'm running alongside of it on the only highway.” It’s a poetic line that perfectly captures his forward motion and refusal to be fenced in.

Despite the shift to a major label, Crockett secured full creative control and ownership in the deal, ensuring the freedom he’s always prized remains intact. And like his previous recordings, he worked with a sense of urgency and momentum with The Lonesome Drifter, recording it in just 10 days in Los Angeles with producer Shooter Jennings.

Musically, Lonesome Drifter is classic Crockett: storytelling-rich, rooted in country, folk, and blues, and deeply reflective of everyday struggles. “Game I Can’t Win,” inspired by Woody Guthrie, critiques systemic inequity, while “Easy Money,” born from a poem he wrote while watching Midnight Cowboy, explores illusions of fast wealth. The album closes with a bold take on George Strait’s “Amarillo By Morning”—a song Crockett initially hesitated to touch, but ultimately embraced for its honesty and grit. “I’m not George Strait,” he said. “I’m not a rodeo guy. But ‘I’m not rich, but Lord, I’m free’—that’s how I live my life.”

Crockett’s story, from busking on the streets of New Orleans, California, and Paris to handing out homemade CDs, has always been rooted in hustle, instinct, and staying true to his vision. With Lonesome Drifter, he’s not slowing down. In fact, it’s just the beginning of a planned trilogy. The second installment is already complete, and the third is underway.

Charley Crockett may be running alongside time like it’s a train on the only highway, but make no mistake, he’s the one laying down the tracks.

STEVEN WILSON, THE OVERVIEW

To Steven Wilson, 2001: A Space Odyssey is the defining film about space—not as a conquered frontier or a backdrop for adventure, as many movies depict, but as a vast, indifferent expanse of terrifying scale and emptiness where humanity is insignificant. It’s this understanding of space’s true nature that served as the genesis of his new album, The Overview, in which he seeks to capture that of overwhelming perspective.

Inspired by the "overview effect"—the cognitive shift astronauts experience when seeing Earth from space—The Overview mirrors that moment of existential realization. The album consists of two extended compositions: Objects Outlive Us (23 minutes) and The Overview (18 minutes), designed as immersive sonic journeys that take listeners beyond our world. Its structure follows a trajectory from our solar system into deep space, passing celestial landmarks before plunging into the Eridanus Supervoid—a cosmic void spanning 1.8 billion light-years.

Though the album wrestles with existential themes, Wilson does not intend for it to be bleak. Instead, he embraces the idea that humanity’s fleeting existence is something beautiful—a rare and random occurrence in an unfathomably large universe.

Wilson has long been closely associated with progressive rock and often hailed as its torchbearer for decades. Yet he has consistently resisted strict genre classifications. On The Overview, however, he fully embraces progressive rock, citing its grand scale and conceptual ambition as a natural fit for the album’s themes. Still, he avoids predictable prog tropes, favoring dynamic arrangements, melodic motifs, and unexpected production choices.

Lyrically, the album juxtaposes the mundane details of everyday human life with the incomprehensible forces of the cosmos—a contrast he developed with Andy Partridge (XTC), whose observational storytelling helps bridge the two perspectives.

I've always been an enthusiast of long-form musical structures, and this approach naturally fits the album’s themes, reinforcing its cinematic scope. While echoes of Pink Floyd may surface in The Overview, Wilson acknowledges that certain elements might also remind listeners of Blade Runner, a film and soundtrack deeply embedded in his creative DNA. However, he considers his primary influence to be his own evolving body of work, constantly pushing himself to explore new creative terrain without repeating the past.

It’s Wilson’s relentless pursuit of new creative spaces that I admire most about him as an artist. With each new album, he carves out a unique musical world, asking listeners to suspend disbelief—along with their expectations—and embark on a journey with him. With The Overview, that journey becomes a 42-minute celestial odyssey that is immersive, arresting, and a visionary achievement.

THE LATHUMS, MATTER DOES NOT DEFINE

Self-described as "four young whippersnappers" from the town of Wigan, Greater Manchester, England, The Lathums are out to prove that melodic "jangle pop" guitar music lives on. And they do so in great fashion on their third album in four years, Matter Does Not Define.

Since forming in 2018, the band has cultivated a distinctive sound shaped by a diverse array of musical influences. The Smiths, The Housemartins, Arctic Monkeys, and The Beatles have all found their way into The Lathums' unique blend of British rock.

While their inspirations remain clear, The Lathums never sound like imitators. Instead, they channel the spirit of classic British indie rock through a lens that’s their own. Alex Moore’s vocals carry a heartfelt sincerity, whether soaring over shimmering guitars or settling into quieter, contemplative moments. Scott Concepcion’s guitar work, often drawing comparisons to Johnny Marr, provides the band with its bright, intricate melodies, while the rhythm section of Ryan Durrans and Matty Murphy keeps the songs grounded with a tight, dynamic energy.

On Matter Does Not Define, The Lathums continue to build on their signature blend of jangly, melodic guitar work and earnest lyricism, delivering a record that feels both nostalgic and fresh. From the anthemic swell of No Direction to the introspective musings of Reflections of Lessons Left, the album showcases a band growing in both confidence and musical depth.

For me, Matter Does Not Define is The Lathums' best album to date. With each release, they refine their craft, and here, their songwriting is sharper and their arrangements more ambitious. The result is an album that feels like a natural evolution—one that reaffirms their place in the modern indie landscape while paying homage to the timeless sound they so clearly love.

RAPT, UNTIL THE LIGHT TAKES US

Jacob Ware’s musical journey begins in the home he grew up in, surrounded by the sounds of Joni Mitchell, Pentangle, and Van Morrison. These artists, rich with storytelling and intricate instrumentation, quietly shaped his sensibilities long before he ever picked up an instrument himself. However, his first real foray into music was far from the gentle strums of folk—he found his place in the extreme metal scene as the founding bassist of the UK black metal band Enslavement.

For eight years, Ware immersed himself in the relentless intensity of black metal, a genre built on aggression and atmosphere. But over time, something in him pulled away from the distortion and fury. His childhood influences never left him, and he gradually gravitated toward music that mirrored the warmth and introspection of the records that played in his youth. This transition led to the creation of Rapt—a project that fuses his metal roots with a newfound appreciation for ambient textures and folk’s delicate vulnerability. 

Ware's approach to songwriting is as unorthodox as his musical evolution. Rather than writing songs and then deciding on a title, He begins with an album name and builds the music around it. Until the Light Takes Us, his latest release, emerged from this process. The title, borrowed from a 2008 documentary about the Norwegian black metal scene, served as a foundation for the album’s themes: mortality, endings, and the unknown that follows. It’s an album about finality, but not in a way that feels entirely bleak—there is a certain peace to the way Ware explores these ideas, a sense of acceptance rather than fear. 

Musically, Until the Light Takes Us is a tapestry of lush acoustic guitar, atmospheric piano, and airy, melancholic vocals. The album is steeped in folk traditions but carries the weight and cinematic depth of Ware’s past in metal—his ability to craft immersive, heavy moods, even in this softer setting. Through this record, he hoped not only to explore the idea of endings but also to create something that meets listeners wherever they are in their own experiences with change and loss. Ultimately, Until the Light Takes Us is a meditation on the unknown, offering solace in its contemplative beauty. It’s gorgeous, thought-provoking, comforting, and near perfect.

DITZ, NEVER EXHALE

I have always appreciated artists who challenging convention and defy expectations along the way—it’s one of the reasons I listen to music. DITZ, a Brighton-based noise rock and post-hardcore band, is one of those artists. Since forming in the mid-2010s, they have built a reputation for their abrasive sound, chaotic live shows, and unfiltered intensity.

With Never Exhale, their third album in four years, the band distills their sound into a striking, urgent form, blending punishing walls of sound with moments of eerie restraint. Recorded in London, the album’s restless nature explores themes of alienation, frustration, and self-reflection, with lead vocalist and guitarist Cal Francis delivering lyrics that blur the line between personal confession and universal angst.

There’s something cathartic about listening to Never Exhale. It forces a release of something I didn’t even realize needed to be let go. In doing so, I found myself drawn to the album not only for challenging convention but for reshaping my expectations of the kind of album that can take me to a place I didn’t even know I needed to be.

HEARTWORMS, GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT

Guitarist, singer, and songwriter Jojo Orme has carved out a distinctive space in London's underground post-punk scene by channeling her personal struggles and experiences into her music. Navigating the industry as an outsider, she has wrestled with self-doubt and imposter syndrome, using these emotions as a driving force behind her work. Her sound is defined by a mix of tension and release, where sharp guitar work and striking vocals meet introspective, emotionally charged lyrics. The themes in her music often mirror her own journey—battles with identity, resilience in the face of uncertainty, and the discipline it takes to push forward in a world that can feel unwelcoming. 

Under the moniker Heartworms, Orme has released Glutton for Punishment, an album that expands on her post-punk foundations with the addition of synthesizers and electronic elements. This combination creates a sound that is both brooding and expansive, layering mechanical precision with fierce emotion. Her lyrics reflect both personal and historical narratives, blending war imagery with confessional storytelling. Each track moves with a calculated intensity, reinforcing the push-and-pull dynamic between control and turmoil. It makes Glutton For Punishment a compelling listen.

LUKE SITAL-SINGH, SPRING’S FOOL

Often, at winter’s end, Mother Nature cruelly throws out false signals that spring has arrived—a brief warm spell, only to be followed by another cold stretch. Fool’s Spring. It’s a fitting metaphor for the emotional landscape Luke Sital-Singh explores on his latest album, capturing the push and pull between hope and disappointment. After uprooting his life from the UK to Los Angeles, he found himself caught in a similar cycle—the excitement of starting a new phase of life, sun filled adventures, the weight of a pandemic, and the struggle to start a family, which eventually led he and his wife back to the UK for IVF treatment. That tension—between light and dark, expectation and reality—sits at the heart of the record, making it one of his most personal yet.

Fool’s Spring builds on Sital-Singh’s introspective songwriting while reaching for something bigger. As his first self-produced album, it has a handcrafted feel, every note and texture carefully placed. The arrangements shift from sparse and delicate to full and soaring, creating an ebb and flow that mirrors the emotional currents of his lyrics. He recorded much of it himself over an extended period, layering rich instrumentation that gives the album a warmth even in its heaviest moments. And though Sital-Singh’s songs don’t shy away from doubt and longing, they carry an undeniable resilience—proof that even in the coldest seasons, spring is still out there, waiting.

 

MOTORPSYCHO, MOTORPSYCHO

Thirty-five years and over thirty albums in, Motorpsycho’s Hans Magnus "Snah" Ryan and Bent Saether enter a new era as a duo, embracing full creative freedom on their epic, self-titled album. As a band enthusiast, it’s thrilling to hear Ryan and Saether deliver the full spectrum of the Motorpsycho sound—from tight pop-rock tracks to sprawling prog epics, acoustic meditations, and psychedelic explorations.Their first double album since the Gullvåg Trilogy, Motorpsycho is both a return to form and a step forward, proving that even in a leaner form, their ambition remains limitless.

More than just another entry in their vast catalog, Motorpsycho feels like a statement of intent—a reinvention that embraces the past while carving out some new ground. Across 81 minutes, Ryan and Saether sound as vital and adventurous as ever, pushing their sonic boundaries with the same restless creativity that has defined them for decades. This is Motorpsycho distilled to its purest essence—uncompromising, immersive, and utterly their own.

SHANE PENDERGAST, WINTER GRACE

Nestled beside a river on Prince Edward Island, folksinger Shane Pendergast’s home offers a view of an ever-changing landscape that continually inspires his music. Drawing from this setting, the lore of his Maritime home, and his university years performing in Toronto pubs, Pendergast crafts songs rooted in themes of community, history, and the sea. Those songs have helped Pendergast establish himself as one of Atlantic Canada’s premier folk voices.

On his third album, Winter Grace, Pendergast’s insightful storytelling is vivid and rich in imagery. Like the shifting scenery outside his window, on “Only Drifting By” he reflects on people with meaningful connections becoming strangers and the emotions that come with drifting apart: “Glances that we gave, I can not forget. Through the rosy glow, and the blue regret. Saw you in the bower, with my roving eye. Now I walk the coast, haunted by your ghost. Only drifting by.”

Blending his deep connection to Maritime and traditional folk traditions with intricate guitar work and subtle modern elements, Winter Grace stands out as a beautifully crafted album. Pendergast’s ability to weave heartfelt narratives with rich melodies results in songs that are timeless, yet infused with contemporary touches, making Winter Grace a truly memorable album.

LAMBRINI GIRLS, WHO LET THE DOGS OUT

29 minutes and 27 seconds was all it took for Lambrini Girls to win me over with their debut album, Who Let The Dogs Out. That’s also about the max I could handle before its unrelenting energy laid me out. With distorted basslines, blistering guitar riffs, and hammering drums, Phoebe Lunny and Lilly Macieira don’t just play punk—they pummel you with it. But beneath the mayhem, Lunny’s sharp, biting lyricism keeps everything focused, fusing humor and fury to take on toxic masculinity, police brutality, gentrification, and homophobia. The result is an album that’s unapologetically loud, unyielding, darkly funny, and impossible to ignore. 

LOW ROAR, HOUSE IN THE WOODS

In 2010, Ryan Karazija relocated from California to Reykjavík, Iceland. The quiet, stark landscapes of the country mirrored his introspective nature and became central to his identity as an artist, as he embraced solitude and personal discovery through his work. In 2011, he released his first new music under the name Low Roar. In time, he was joined by musicians Leifur Björnsson and Logi Guðmundsson. Over the next ten years, Low Roar released five albums. Then in 2022, Karazija passed away at age 40 from complications of pneumonia. Soon after, Björnsson and Guðmundsson made known that a sixth album had been completed before Karazija’s passing. Now, three years later, that album, House in the Woods, has been released.

It has been said that Karazija poured his soul into this album, combining minimalist indie, ambient sounds, and deeply personal lyrics. With themes of isolation, nature, and reflection, his songs offer a glimpse into Karazija’s inner world—one that I found to be poignant and moving. On the closing, title track, he sings, “And I'm beginning to drown. I'm staring death in the eyes. You were the rock that I needed. You were the tree I would climb. Now I'm a passing thought. And I'll try to survive. And I will write what I've seen. Will you read what I write? My endless love.” There’s a heavy sense of longing in Karanzija's words, echoing through the subdued, melancholic tones of the album. Released posthumously, it all feels hauntingly bittersweet—a powerful and fitting farewell.

SQUID, COWARDS

Ollie Judge (vocals, drums), Louis Borlase (guitar, vocals), Anton Pearson (guitar, vocals), Laurie Nankivell (bass), and Arthur Leadbetter (keyboards) were drawn together while studying in Brighton, England, united by a shared love for experimental music—its unpredictability, freedom, and ability to push beyond conventional song structures. In 2016, they formed Squid, quickly developing a distinctive sound that blended post-punk, jazz, and electronic influences. Since then, they have embraced the challenge of crafting music that feels spontaneous and immersive, incorporating unusual rhythms, shifting time signatures, and layered textures.

Their first two albums pushed sonic boundaries in ways which I have to admit was a bit much for me at times. But with their third release, Cowards, Squid introduces a new sense of restraint, which is welcomed. While still adventurous, its nine songs are more approachable, balancing complexity with clarity. Exploring themes of evil and moral ambiguity, Cowards is an evolution for Squid, refining their experimental tendencies without losing their edge. It’s singular in its creativity and one of the more fascinating albums that I’ve heard in some time.