ANNAHSTASIA, TETHER

There’s something quietly defiant about Tether, the debut album from Los Angeles artist Annahstasia. It’s not built for attention or noise. It moves slowly, deliberately, and asks to be heard on its own terms.

That intention, it turns out, is no accident. In a recent conversation with Forbes, Annahstasia reflected on her resistance to the demands of the music industry and the digital age. “I never felt comfortable drawing attention to myself for no reason,” she said. Instead, she sees her music, and her presence, as something that invites rather than commands. Like someone in the corner of a party, waiting for real connection. “I’m going to just perform this at my volume, at my pace,” she said, “let everybody crouch to listen.”

Tether reflects that same honesty. Annahstasia writes to heal, for herself and for those who struggle to name what they feel. The songs are tender, vulnerable, and unguarded, what she calls “a baby bird with a broken wing.” What unfolds across the album is a quiet reflection on identity, forgiveness, and the slow work of coming home to yourself.

Tether is simply a beautiful album about finding steadiness within. It’s subtle and tender and lit by a kind of inner glow, and in this moment, that’s exactly what makes it so moving.

ART d'ECCO, SERENE DEMON

For Serene Demon, his fourth album, Canadian artist Art d’Ecco stepped into the streets of New York to chase something unfiltered and human. The result is a cinematic, glam-tinged art rock record that thrives on contradiction: playful yet brooding, structured yet abstract, existential yet driven by groove. For Art it's not just a sonic shift, it’s a philosophical one.

Influenced by Albert Camus, film noir, soul legend Curtis Mayfield, and jazz greats like Miles Davis and George Gershwin, Art uses the album to explore life’s central contradictions; freedom vs. fate, belief vs. doubt, good vs. evil. The title track itself is a long-form dialogue between a believer and an existentialist, built not just as a song but as a scene. Rather than offering answers, it invites the listener to sit with uncertainty. As Art puts it, Serene Demon is a story about the demons we carry and the strange beauty of questioning everything.

Sonically, Serene Demon draws from the DNA of art rock and glam pioneers like David Bowie, T. Rex, Roxy Music, and Japan, each leaving a distinct mark on its sound and style. Echoes of Bowie’s Station to Station shape the album’s noir-inflected grandeur, while the swagger recalls T. Rex and the sleek, art-pop detachment nods to Roxy Music. Japan’s synth-laced melancholy threads through its more restrained moments. Together, these influences provide a framework for Art’s own evolving vision.

Serene Demon is a master class in how an artist channels his view of the world, hazy, layered, and unpredictable, and transforms it into a distinct musical space that’s entirely his own. The result is a record that’s vivid, theatrical, and totally cool.

JESSE DANIEL, SON OF THE SAN LORENZO

When Jesse Daniel talks about Son of the San Lorenzo, there’s a quiet certainty in his voice. He produced the record himself, wrote and arranged each track with intention, and mapped out the arc like a story, starting with “Child Is Born” and ending with “The End.” It’s not just his fifth album. It’s a pivot point.

The title track first appeared back in 2020 on Rollin’ On, but this time around, it hits differently, slower, more reflective, and more rooted in identity. “A lot of people started calling me the ‘Son of the San Lorenzo,’” he says. “It stuck, and it gave me a sense of pride.” The nickname became the album’s title and, in many ways, its statement of purpose. This was the story he needed to tell before he could move forward.

Daniel's story runs deep. He's been clean since 2017, after years of addiction, jail, and recovery. Songs like “Crankster” and “One’s Too Many (And A Thousand Ain’t Enough)” speak plainly about that history. “He” takes a more reflective turn, written as a message to his younger self, built from the kind of hard-won advice he once got in recovery. “It helps me,” he says, “but I’m also trying to help other people.” Then there’s “Jodi,” a simple love song for his partner and longtime collaborator, Jodi Lyford. It covers a lot, addiction, loss, near-death experiences, but says it plainly. “It wasn’t easy to write,” he admits, “but it needed to be written.”

Sonically, the record pulls from the sounds that shaped him early on. “These are the deepest, most personal songs I’ve ever written,” Daniel says. “I wanted to get back to my roots, and a lot of the things I grew up on were country rock, classic rock, Southern rock, and a lot of country- and folk-influenced things.” The Byrds, the Eagles, the Flying Burrito Brothers, Led Zeppelin, the Allman Brothers, the Stones, they’re all in there. It all feeds into the way this record feels, less polished, more direct, more him.

At 32, Daniel is focused on telling his story in an open, honest way. Son of the San Lorenzo balances lived experience with bigger questions, how to use time well, how to keep creating, how to move forward without forgetting where you’re from. It’s personal, grounded, and sharp in its storytelling, a record about place, recovery, and clarity. It’s a story he needed to tell and was ready to tell it. And it couldn’t have been told better.

LITTLE SIMZ, LOTUS

From her early mixtapes and teenage freestyles to the Mercury-winning Sometimes I Might Be Introvert, Little Simz has always carved her own path. She avoided trends, favored complexity over simplicity, and stayed true to her voice. But at 31, the North London artist hit a wall. The spark that once drove her had faded, and for the first time, she questioned whether she had anything left to say. Self-doubt crept in, quietly and gradually, and left her uncertain. 

That loss of momentum was tied to the breakdown of her relationship with longtime producer and childhood friend Inflo. What had once been a close, creative partnership turned into silence, and eventually, legal conflict. The damage wasn’t just professional. It was personal, and it left Simz shaken. 

Still, she returned to the one place that had always made sense to her, the studio 

Simz’s sound has always blended blended elements of nu-soul, orchestral jazz, and alternative hip-hop. On Lotus, her sixth album, that foundation remains, but her voice feels sharper, more open, and more vulnerable. This record didn’t come from confidence. It came from fracture. 

“This album is the most exposed I’ve ever felt,” she said. “Literally, here’s my diary.” Unlike earlier records that carried a sense of control, Lotus feels like release. The songs don’t cover the wounds, they show them. But there’s strength in that. She may have been hurt, but she isn’t hiding. The album leans into contrast and contradiction, and in that space, something honest takes shape. 

Named after the flower that grows in muddy waters, Lotus is an album about rebirth. Its strength lies not just in its candor or rage, but in Simz’s quiet decision to stay, to create, and to grow through loss. It’s a risk born of hope, and what she offers now isn’t just personal. It’s powerful. 

FLORRY, SOUNDS LIKE...

“People naturally search for patterns in their lives and want some kinda reward of knowledge from the things that happen to them, when a lot of the time good or bad stuff happens to people for no reason at all.” 

Francie Medosch, the heart of Florry, the Philly-rooted, Vermont-based band, is drawn to the ragged edges of life. On the band’s new album Sounds Like…, her songs center on characters “groping” toward clarity, borrowing a phrase Alex Chilton once used to describe Big Star’s Third. These are people caught mid-transformation, flickering between hope and disillusionment, trying to make sense of love, identity, history, and tragedy. “It’s unclear whether these things are distractions or actually significant,” Medosch admits. “That slight anxiety is with all of us.”

Ultimately, she wants her songs to feel like real lives: inconsistent, haunted by small decisions, and defiantly messy.

Musically, Florry isn’t chasing nostalgia or imitation, but their influences are worn proudly. Echoes of The Rolling Stones, Neil Young, and The Band surface in the looseness and grit of their playing. There’s movement, energy, and, as Medosch puts it, “dirt under the fingernails.” It’s a sound that mirrors the emotional volatility in her lyrics, songs that swing, stumble, and eventually find their footing.

Together, the band’s music and lyrics are neither neat nor tidy, and that’s entirely the point. Sounds Like… captures something raw and unfiltered, an authenticity that makes it feel more honest than polished.

THE LOFT, EVERYTHING CHANGES EVERYTHING STAYS THE SAME

In the summer of ’85, things were looking up for Peter Astor (vocals, guitar), Bill Prince (bass), Andy Strickland (guitar), and Dave Morgan (drums). Fresh off a record deal, riding a wave of critical praise for a string of standout singles, and poised for a breakthrough debut, their band The Loft seemed destined for success, until it all unraveled in a dramatic onstage implosion witnessed by 3,000 people. Forty years later, that long-delayed debut has finally arrived.

Following brief reunions in 2006 and 2015, the original lineup came back together in 2022 with a sense of unfinished business. Recorded in just five days in 2024 with producer Sean Read (Dexy’s Midnight Runners), Everything Changes Everything Stays the Same was purposefully left raw and guitar-driven.

“One of the things we did with Sean was we left him, completely, to mix it and edit it. We purposely exited the studio for that week. But Andy and I did keep saying to him, ‘Don’t forget, this is a guitar record.’” -Peter Astor-

The surprising thing is how youthful it all sounds, tight, wiry, full of momentum. You could easily mistake it for the work of a band in their twenties. But listen closely, and the lyrics tell a different story, one of time, age, and perspective. “You start to become very aware of time when you get to a certain age, don’t you?” Astor reflects. Now years on, The Loft deliver an exceptional album that looks forward as much as it looks back, rooted in the past, but definitely alive in the present.

HOTWAX, HOT SHOCK

HotWax’s rise from school friends in Hastings to one of the UK’s most talked-about new rock bands is a story fueled by urgency, camaraderie, and discovery. Formed in 2019, vocalist-guitarist Tallulah Sim-Savage, bassist Lola Sam, and drummer Alfie Sayers have built their reputation on instinct, relentless touring, and a creative drive shaped by what excites them. Their debut album Hot Shock channels that momentum, a ten track burst shaped by the spirit of their live shows and a shared desire to push further.

The album began to take shape after producer Catherine Marks caught their set and proposed capturing that sweat-soaked energy on record. The band embraced the approach, recording in sessions that favored spontaneity and experimentation. They describe their sound as a fusion of 1990s grunge and psychedelic rock, drawing influence from artists like Beck, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and PJ Harvey, a mix that comes through clearly on Hot Shock. The album blends gritty textures with melodic turns, landing on a sound that feels feels deliberately unpolished and purposeful. It’s a debut that made turning up the volume feel like the only right move.

LISA KNAPP & GERRY DIVER, HINTERLAND

South London native Lisa Knapp is a folk singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist best known for her expressive fiddle playing and inventive approach to traditional music. Her partner in life and music, Gerry Diver, is a composer, producer, and fellow multi-instrumentalist celebrated for his boundary-pushing work in contemporary folk. Though long-time collaborators, Hinterland marks the first time they have written and recorded an album together, a union that delivers something truly remarkable. 

 Rooted in folk traditions but unafraid to experiment, Hinterland blends old ballads, original songs, and immersive instrumentals. The lead single, “Hawk & Crow,” sets the tone with eerie harmonies and natural percussion, offering a portal into a sonic world where the natural and supernatural intertwine. Across nine tracks, the album explores themes of nature, folklore, and the mysterious spaces between, crafting a soundscape that feels both traditional and daringly modern. It’s a captivating album, one that deepens with each listen, as Knapp and Diver move further into more evocative terrain and less familiar corners of the folk tradition.

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.