Cyanide Sisters – Cyanide Sisters

Cyanide Sisters formed in Stockholm at the tail end of the 2020s — a time when a lot of indie rock was playing it safe. But these two, Christian Baringe and Daniel Jansson, brought something more unruly and unapologetically loud to the table. Christian, the punk-turned-producer, supplies the grit and the gnarl, while Daniel brings the melodic chops and emotional gravity. Together, they’ve sculpted a debut album that feels like a love letter to lost youth, slacker spirit, and the enduring power of a great, fuzzy riff.

Some albums don’t knock politely — they kick down the door, spill fuzz all over the floor, and demand your full attention. It’s a record that feels both haunted and defiant, channelling the primal noise-pop of Psychocandy-era Jesus and Mary Chain and injecting it with the garage-born weirdness of bands like The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. The result? A glorious, unkempt mess of melody, menace, and emotional wreckage.

Let’s take a walk through the noise…

The album’s opener, ‘Kill the Light’, is an understated fuzzed out lullaby. It’s a sugar sweet 60’s pop gem swathed in perfectly restrained feedback. The kind of tune that might’ve been penned by The Shangri-Las if they’d traded in their beehives for battered Jazzmasters. Guitar’s shimmer and hiss like a distant storm, while the vocals drift in soft and sorrowful — barely there. There’s a fragility beneath the distortion that’s quietly devastating. It doesn’t try to blow the doors off; instead, it slowly dissolves them with melancholic charm. A bold move to start the album so gently, but it pays off beautifully — it sets the tone for a record that’s as much about heartache as it is about volume.

Up next ‘Get in Line’ pulls off a masterful illusion. If you only listened to its intro, you’d think you were about to get a Sonic Youth like angular art rock number. Instead, what appears out of the cloud of distortion is another pop gem. The guitars wobble and detune like they’re melting in real time, but underneath it all lies a pristine melodic core — bright, buoyant, and oddly uplifting. The verses shuffle along with a lazy coolness, vocals delivered with a detached croon that recalls early Beck or even Lou Reed on a particularly glam day. There’s a subtle tension in the rhythm — a push-pull that keeps the track teetering on the edge — but the chorus opens wide, all sunlight and grit. It’s this constant tug-of-war between chaos and clarity that gives the track its charm. Cyanide Sisters are showing their hand early: this isn’t noise for noise’s sake — it’s noise in service of something beautifully bittersweet.

Now we’re floating in more psychedelic waters. ‘All That Glitters Isn’t Gold’ is a hazy, sunshine-soaked highlight — a gauzy wash of reverb-drenched guitars and tape-warped vocals. Think early Mercury Rev if they’d grown up listening to Revolver and Loveless on repeat. There’s a woozy, slow-motion grandeur to it — like falling backwards through a kaleidoscope of paisley and feedback. The track pulses with a dream logic all its own; melodies drift in and out like forgotten nursery rhymes, and the vocals sound like they’ve been dipped in honey and left out in the sun. There’s a touch of The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band here too — that sense of something beautiful just slightly out of reach, warped at the edges by time and tape hiss. Lyrically it’s one of the most evocative on the album — all tarnished promises and decaying glamour, delivered with a shrug and a sigh. It’s one of those songs you want to get lost in completely, eyes closed, volume up, letting the reverb rinse you clean.

‘Rainbows’ is next and the band are channelling their inner Stones as they play their most psychedelic card yet. The cyclical melody is hypnotic and pulls you in. It seems like there’s very little going on — but again, that’s an illusion too. Beneath the minimal surface is a swirling undercurrent of texture and tension. The guitars chime and pulse like they’re breathing, while the bass snakes its way through the mix with a lazy menace. There’s a wooziness here, like you’ve taken a wrong turn into the Velvet Underground’s more cosmic side. It’s the kind of song that’s deceptively simple — it feels like it’s looping endlessly, but tiny details keep shifting: a ghostly harmony here, a flicker of fuzz there, subtle shifts that keep you under its spell. It captures the feeling of being stuck in a beautiful daydream you’re not quite sure you want to wake up from. And just when it feels like it might lift off into something explosive, it dissolves instead, like smoke in sunlight.

The feedback returns for ‘Stay Down Here’, another Spectoresque wall of sound track that takes that 60s aesthetic and throws Mary Chain guitars into the mix. The backing vocals are simply sumptuous — all sighs and soft harmonies, like The Ronettes floating ghostlike over a sea of distortion. There’s a romantic desperation at the heart of this one, buried under squalls of fuzz and echo, like someone yelling “don’t go” into a hurricane. The production is massive — layers upon layers that somehow never swamp the melody. It’s like Cyanide Sisters are building their own cathedral of reverb, brick by brick, crash by crash. The drumbeat is primal and pounding, the guitars both caress and crush, and through it all those backing vocals shimmer like mirages. It’s a modern doo-wop meltdown, soaked in heartbreak and amplifier buzz — and it’s absolutely glorious.

It’s a moody, darker atmosphere next with ‘Trash Can’. The delicious descending chords create an understated vibe that gives the vocals much more room to breathe. This one’s less about attack and more about space — that glorious negative space where the tension simmers quietly. There’s a downtempo menace to the rhythm, something slow-burning and cynical in its bones. It’s got shades of The Velvet Underground’s Pale Blue Eyes but passed through a filter of Scandinavian gloom and post-punk grit. The vocal delivery is almost conspiratorial — close-miked, intimate, like it’s being whispered right into your ear at closing time. Lyrically, it’s loaded with imagery that’s both bleak and strangely beautiful: decay, repetition, the comfort of giving up. It’s a standout moment of restraint — a reminder that Cyanide Sisters know when to go big, and when to let the cracks speak for themselves.

‘Fat and Old’ next reminds me of Manfred Mann’s Earth Band with its spacey pop sensibilities. The distortion is dialled down here, with vocals being pushed through the tightest of compression to great effect. It feels like a transmission from some lonely satellite — distant, metallic, yet oddly warm. There’s a woozy charm to the whole thing, like it’s floating through zero gravity with only a busted keyboard and broken dreams for company. The chord progression is simple but evocative, full of melancholy wrapped in shimmer. And lyrically, it’s one of the album’s most tender punches — grappling with aging, identity, and the slow disintegration of youthful ambition. But there’s humour too, that Cyanide Sisters balance between sadness and smirk. It’s a slow dance for the disenchanted, a space-age crooner for the romantically wrecked. And despite the title, it’s one of the most emotionally youthful tracks on the record — wide-eyed and wondering, even through the fog of time.

The curtain call, and what a haunting one it is. ‘Another Winter’ is slow, swirling, and nearly ambient at points. The vocals are ghostly and distant, as if the singers already halfway gone. It doesn’t so much end the album as it dissolves it — like ice melting in the morning sun. An elegy in fuzz, echo, and frostbite. The guitar tones are fragile and skeletal, trembling over a bed of glacial synth textures and looping reverb trails. It’s less a song in the traditional sense and more a feeling — cold breath in the air, a cracked windowpane, a memory you’re not sure is yours. There’s something deeply cinematic about it too — you can almost see the closing credits rolling over grey skies and deserted streets. If Pet Sounds had a goth cousin raised on delay pedals and Scandinavian winters, it might sound something like this. Cyanide Sisters bow out not with a bang, but a shimmer, proving once again that restraint can be the most devastating instrument of all.

So, there it is — a debut album that doesn’t just arrive, it quietly infiltrates. Cyanide Sisters aren’t here to blow the roof off, they’re here to haunt the hallway afterwards. From the sugar-rush fuzz of ‘Kill the Light’ to the glacial dissolve of ‘Another Winter’, this record plays like a love letter to pop’s faded glamour and guitar music’s ghost-stained past. They’re not reinventing the wheel — they’re burying it in distortion, digging it back up, and giving it a hug.

What’s most striking is how deftly the band dances on the edge of contradiction. Every moment of noise is carefully measured, every sweet hook layered in shadow. This is an album that sounds like it was made by two men obsessed with the beauty of decay — pulling threads from The Jesus and Mary Chain’s nihilistic romance, tapping into the zoned-out wonder of The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band, and wrapping it all in a very modern, lo-fi sort of existential ache.

It’s shoegaze for the soft-hearted cynic, psychedelic pop for the broken dreamer, and indie rock for anyone who ever fell in love with a band that no one else at school had heard of. Cyanide Sisters have made a debut that feels less like a statement and more like a secret — one that’s whispered through tape hiss, buried in fuzz, and meant just for you.

So, what are you waiting for? Dim the lights. Press play. Let it all wash over you. And when it’s done? Play it again. This one’s not just worth hearing — it’s worth holding onto.

Cyanide Sisters is out now streaming in all the usual places and you can grab a digital copy over on the Cyanide Sisters Bandcamp Page.

You can follow Cyanide Sisters on social media here….

Bedridden – Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs

The indie underground has long been a breeding ground for the most visceral, urgent, and emotionally raw music. Enter Bedridden, the Brooklyn-based quartet whose debut album, Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs, is set to release via Julia’s War Recordings—a label revered for its dedication to the restless and the reckless. Bedridden are the latest torchbearers in this lineage, carving out their own niche at the intersection of shoegaze, punk, and ’90s alt-rock.

Helmed by frontman Jack Riley, Bedridden have been steadily building a reputation for their unfiltered sound and intensely personal lyricism. Their 2023 EP, Amateur Heartthrob, was a glimpse into their chaotic world—blown-out guitars, lo-fi production, and anthems for the disaffected. It was enough to catch the ear of Douglas Dulgarian, the mastermind behind Julia’s War Recordings, who promptly brought them into the fold. Fast forward to 2025, and Bedridden’s lineup has cemented into a formidable four-piece: Riley (vocals/guitar), Sebastian Duzian (bass), Nick Pedroza (drums), and Wesley Wolffe (guitar). Their combined influences, ranging from jazz to hardcore, infuse Bedridden’s sound with a dynamic, unpredictable energy.

The album title comes from a mysterious missive Riley received on astrology app Co-Star.

“Last year I was way too reliant on other people — my partner at the time, my friends.

I was strapped to them in a weird way — and flying in circles. This album is about that time.”

Let’s get right in amongst this!

If there’s a mission statement buried anywhere on Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs, it might be ‘Gummy’. From the first clatter of drums, it’s like being flung into someone else’s memories mid-chaos—no warning, no easing in, just full-body impact. The guitars are serrated, slicing their way across a rhythm section that lurches like a panic attack in real time. Is this grunge? Is this gaze? The answer is yes and what a great blend of the two it is. As an opener, it’s a gutsy move. No room for polite introductions or easing the listener in. Instead, it grabs you by the collar and drags you through the emotional undergrowth. If you’re still standing after ‘Gummy’, you’re ready for the rest of the ride.

There’s a distinct shift in temperature next with ‘Etch’. Less about chaos, more about the kind of slow-burn resentment that builds behind gritted teeth. Sonically, it’s hostile but hollowed out; the band dial back the immediacy just enough to let the tension breathe. It captures that sensation of spiralling through an imaginary argument, reliving each hypothetical punchline or sharp comeback you should’ve said. It’s a haunting, uneasy track and one of the album’s most emotionally articulate moments.

‘Chainsaw’ follows. Clocking in like a three-minute eye-roll set to distortion, it’s Bedridden at their most sardonic, most wired, most fed up. This one kicks all sorts of ass, and it does so with purpose: it’s petty, it’s specific, and it’s gloriously unhinged. Inspired by an argument over the purchase of a lamp (yes, really), ‘Chainsaw’ transforms domestic squabbling into pure sonic carnage. It’s fast, furious, and fuzzed-out, chasing that Lemonheads-meets-Jawbreaker sweet spot, but without the bittersweet gloss—this is more like being chased through IKEA with a power tool.

From the jump, ‘Heavens Leg is heavy. Not just in tone, but in sheer weight. The guitars are monolithic, layered like geological strata—thick, feedback-laced slabs of sound that hit like concrete. Wolffe and Riley go full tectonic here, trading dense, chugging riffs with dizzying melodic fragments that flicker and vanish like stained glass catching the light. The Smashing Pumpkins parallels are there but with added sneer. By the time the song hits its soaring climax, walls of guitar blazing, drums thundering like a church collapsing—it’s clear: this is Bedridden at their most anthemic, their most emotionally charged. And yet, it never feels grandiose. It’s grounded in dirt and doubt, in awkward conversations and uncomfortable truths.

‘Philadelphia, Get Me Through’ is the deluded geography-as-salvation anthem none of us asked for, but all of us need. It thrashes, it burns, it sweats desperation. Right from the opening snare crack, the energy is feral. Pedroza’s drumming is completely unhinged—nervy, stuttering, relentless—while the guitars explode in this messy, slightly out-of-tune swirl that sounds like someone trying to outrun their own brain. The production leans into the mess too. Everything’s a little too close, a little too loud, like it was recorded in a moving vehicle that’s on fire. Utterly compelling and leaves you breathless.

Coming in hot like a DIY hardcore demo left too long in the microwave, ‘Mainstage’ is mean, messy, and over almost before you realise it just set your eyebrows on fire. The backstory’s classic Bedridden lore: a New Year’s Eve show in the suburbs, Riley misfiring internally while everything around him goes pear-shaped. There’s no resolution here, no redemptive arc. Just flailing limbs, bad lighting, and the kind of drunk emotional intensity that leaves dents in drywall and friendships. Musically, this is a full-blown sprint. No intro, no easing in—just snarling guitar stabs and drums that sound like they’re trying to break out of the kit. Wolffe’s guitar work here is more weapon than instrument, screeching and gouging like nails across a whiteboard, while Duzian’s bass pulses with the kind of punky defiance that dares you to stay on your feet.

Forget tenderness. ‘Snare’ is a blast of full-frontal rejection, a punk anthem with a bruised emo undercurrent that cuts deep because it’s fast. This one barrels in with a wiry, impatient urgency, like it’s trying to outrun the shame of showing up somewhere you shouldn’t be. And honestly? That’s exactly what it’s about. It’s is a whiplash-inducing sprint. The guitars are jagged, melodic in that punchy kind of way. Wolffe’s leads scurry around the edges like they’re avoiding eye contact, while Duzian’s bass holds everything steady in that classic “barely-holding-it-together” emo-punk fashion. Pedroza is locked in on drums—tight, aggressive, but with just enough swing to give the whole thing that scrappy, heart-on-fire energy.

With its jangly, melancholic guitars and that unmistakable air of theatrical self-loathing, ‘Uno’ might be the most Smithsian moment on Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs—and not just musically. It’s bitter, wry, and delivered with a wink so crooked it’s practically a twitch. Riley’s vocal delivery is sly but exhausted, like he’s trying to maintain a smirk while the room spins. “I guess the big finale of that song was my response to dealing with this recurring experience of feeling like I wasn’t good enough by getting really into whippets,” he confessed in a recent interview—and that pretty much sums it up. ‘Uno’ is the sound of spiralling inward with a sad little flourish, masking pain with detached irony and just enough glammy sparkle to pass it off as cool.

Well,  if there was ever a track that truly earned its name, it’s ‘Bonehead’. This one’s got all the rawness and deliciously messy simplicity of classic nu-metal, wrapped in a self-aware, tongue-in-cheek bow. Think Deftones, but with the messy emotional fallout of a cringey dinner turned full-on disaster. Yeah, it’s ridiculous—but it’s also strangely effective. The real gem here, is the self-awareness. The name ‘Bonehead’ isn’t just about the argument; it’s a nod to the almost delicious simplicity of the track itself—because sometimes, the best songs are the ones that don’t overthink it. The guitars grind away with a satisfying, almost stoic repetition, while Pedroza’s drums crash along like a dude who’s just lost his patience. Riley’s vocals bring just the right amount of self-deprecating bite.

After all the chaos, the flailing, the self-loathing, and the messes we made—Bedridden finally take a step back, wipe the sweat off their brows, and point their gaze toward the future. ‘Ring Size’ may be their answer to the question that hangs heavy through the whole record: What now? Musically, this one’s a whole different beast. The jangly guitars glide in, immediately giving us that shimmer of hope—the kind of radiant, crisp texture you’d expect from a band that’s ready to leave behind the distortion and find some clarity. It’s effortlessly dreamy, yet tinged with that uncertainty that defines their whole journey. You can almost hear the sunshine peeking through the clouds—only, like Riley says, it’s hard to see clearly when you’re still trying to figure out what to do with your life.

Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs is a fiery, cathartic journey through the chaos of self-doubt, messy relationships, and the angst of growing up. From the fast-paced, punk-infused urgency of ‘Snare’ to the jangly, hopeful uncertainty of the closer ‘Ring Size,’ the band blends raw, emotional honesty with a punk-rock defiance, creating something both cathartic and relatable.

Through it all, Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs feels like a messy, imperfect attempt to understand what it means to grow up. It’s not about neatly tying up loose ends—it’s about embracing the uncertainty and finding beauty in the struggle. Bedridden make it clear that this is only the beginning of their journey, and if this album is any indication, the road ahead is bound to be just as thrillingly messy.

Moths Strapped to Each Other’s Backs is out digitally and on cassette Friday 11 April via Julia’s War Recordings. You can also source it from the Bedridden Bandcamp page.

You can follow Bedridden on social media here…

Go With Strangers – Ave, Reverie

​Go With Strangers is the evocative moniker under which Malaysian musician Eugene San channels his creative energies. Emerging from Kuala Lumpur, San’s musical odyssey has been both diverse and transformative. His earlier ventures saw him delve into the realms of alternative metal with Kojira, explore modern classical and ambient soundscapes as Gene Shanzo, and experiment with electro-pop in Mint Cherry. However, it was during the introspective solitude of the 2021 lockdowns that San found his true calling. A spontaneous cover of Mogwai’s ‘Ritchie Sacramento’ reignited his passion for guitar-driven music, leading to the birth of Go With Strangers. Confronting personal challenges, notably his social anxiety, San took the bold step of becoming the vocalist for his project, marking a significant evolution in his artistic journey.

The debut EP, Finding Ikigai, released in early 2022, was a testament to San’s self-discovery and pursuit of purpose. The term “Ikigai” refers to one’s reason for being, and through tracks like ‘Further’ and ‘In Other Words’, San encapsulated themes of introspection and resilience. This self-produced endeavour showcased his adeptness at blending ambient textures with alternative rock, setting the stage for his subsequent musical explorations. ​

Fast forward to 2025, and San has unveiled his much-anticipated full-length album, Ave, Reverie. He had this to say about his inspiration for the songs on the album.

“In my adolescent years, I used to sometimes lie down in the middle of a nearby field or park, looking up at the night skies, wondering what is going on in the world out there”

“What is happening in the lives of people I know, and people I have not known, and those that I will never know. No mobile phone, no internet, social media had yet to even exist. And believing that no one around me relates to this strange emotion – It was just this feeling of a cosmic and empty disconnection.”

Let’s dive in and see what we have in store.

The album opens with ‘I’ll Miss You, Never’, a track that immediately immerses you in a textured shoegaze ambiance. Lush, understated vocals beckon with the plea, “just let me in,” while layers of guitar distortion and rhythmic percussion build a crescendo of sound. The chorus, with its harmonious swells, delivers the poignant farewell, “goodbye forever,” encapsulating themes of release and newfound freedom. ​

Transitioning seamlessly, ‘Breathe In’ suggests a meditative experience. Instead, it’s a full ahead up-tempo rocker. The stop start guitars against those punchy drums are extremely effective whilst the breathy vocals seem to be pulling in the opposite direction. Clever stuff this.

Featuring the ethereal vocals of Freya Pang, ‘Misery (You’ll Never Break Me)’ delves into themes of resilience and self-empowerment. The interplay between San’s instrumentation and Freya’s haunting voice crafts a narrative of overcoming adversity. The song’s dynamic shifts mirror the tumultuous journey from despair to empowerment. This track will resonate deeply with anyone who has faced personal challenges.​

A reimagined version of an earlier release from the Finding Ikigai EP, ‘Further’ encapsulates San’s journey of self-discovery. The track’s layered instrumentation and evocative lyrics speak to the quest for purpose and the challenges encountered along the way. The song serves as a bridge between past and present, highlighting the evolution of Go With Strangers’ sound.

Drawing inspiration from the bustling streets of Tokyo, ‘Silence in Shibuya’ juxtaposes the chaos of urban life with moments of serene reflection. The ambient soundscapes transport listeners to a city that never sleeps, yet offers pockets of tranquillity. The track’s ebb and flow mirror the dichotomy of Shibuya’s vibrant energy and hidden sanctuaries.​

Another collaboration with Pang, ‘Skylar’ explores themes of longing and connection. The duet’s harmonious blend paints a vivid picture of two souls navigating the complexities of love and distance. The emotive delivery and melodic interplay evoke a sense of yearning, making it a standout track on the album.​The guitars are massive on this one with the most delicate lead line threaded through.

‘So, You’re A Dreamer?’ challenges listeners to confront their aspirations and the barriers that hinder them. With its dynamic shifts and thought-provoking lyrics, San prompts a dialogue on the nature of dreams and reality. The song’s crescendo serves as a call to action, urging listeners to pursue their passions fearlessly.​

Up next ‘Ride’ is an upbeat anthem that encapsulates the thrill of embracing the unknown. The driving rhythms and soaring melodies mirror the exhilaration of embarking on new adventures without hesitation. It’s a sonic embodiment of spontaneity and the joys of living in the moment.​ The guitar riff that kicks this track off kills me every time making this my album highlight!

Serving as the album’s penultimate track, ‘Reverie’ delves into the realm of daydreams and the solace they provide. San’s emotive delivery resonates with anyone who’s ever sought refuge in their imagination. The song’s ethereal quality invites listeners to lose themselves in their own reveries.​

Closing the album, ‘For You, On These Fields, Forever’ feels like a heartfelt letter to listeners. The expansive soundscapes evoke images of open fields and endless possibilities, leaving one with a sense of hope and continuity. Your patience is rewarded when after four minutes of lulling ambient field recordings we are treated to a beautiful piano take on ‘Reverie’. It’s a fitting conclusion to an album that traverses the landscapes of emotion and introspection.​

Ave, Reverie invites listeners into a meticulously crafted sonic landscape, where each track serves as a chapter in an overarching narrative of dreams, introspection, and emotional catharsis.It’s an odyssey through the intricacies of the human experience.  San masterfully intertwines personal narratives with universal themes, crafting a sonic tapestry that’s both intimate and expansive. As you journey through each track, you’ll reflect, dream, and ultimately, embrace the reveries that shape our existence.

Ave, Reverie is out now on CD, available via the Go With Strangers Bandcamp page.

You can follow Go With Strangers on social media here …

Single Premiere – Fir Cone Children – Your Voice

Berlin’s own Alexander Donat, the mastermind behind Fir Cone Children, has been delighting us annually with his unique blend of shoegaze, punk, and indie rock. Each album serves as a vibrant snapshot of his daughters’ imaginative escapades, capturing the essence of youthful exuberance. From the playful narratives in Waterslide at 7am to the introspective tones of Jig of Glee, Donat’s musical journey has been both dynamic and heartfelt. I feel honoured and excited to once again be premiering a first glimpse of their next musical steps.

Now, as we gear up for the release of his latest album, Gearshifting, the lead single ‘Your Voice’ offers us a deeply personal and heart warming peek into this new chapter. Donat gives us this insight.

“The song is about my daughter’s first performance on a stage, singing a song from Olivia Rodrigo. While I often sing Fir Cone Children songs from my daughters’ perspectives, here the lyrics are told from my angle, and it’s happening almost in real time: the nervous feeling in the beginning, the moment everything fits, the joy, tears, and an overall feeling of love. It ends with “Come into my arms, don’t ever let me go”. Fascinating to see that the love for music and performing songs on stage is passed on just like that.”

From the very first note, ‘Your Voice’ envelops you in a lush soundscape of shimmering guitars and pulsating rhythms. The track opens with a gentle, reverb-soaked riff that gradually builds, mirroring the quiet anticipation of a stage before the curtain rises. Donat’s vocals come in, tinged with nervous excitement—this time, not as the voice of his daughters, but as a father watching from the wings, experiencing the thrill and anxiety of seeing his child take the spotlight.

Lyrically, the song paints a vivid picture of this moment. As Donat told us the song is inspired by his daughter’s first-ever stage performance, singing an Olivia Rodrigo song, Donat captures everything in real time: the initial butterflies, the way everything locks into place, and the pure, tear-inducing joy that follows. Lines like “Come into my arms, don’t ever let me go” carry a weight that any parent or performer can feel—the unbreakable connection between love, music, and the thrill of self-expression.

Sonically, ‘Your Voice’ sits at the perfect intersection of dreamy and driving. The chorus bursts open with infectious energy, fuzzy guitars crashing over urgent percussion, echoing the soaring confidence of a child finding their voice. The wobbly guitars are a particular favourite of mine.

‘Your Voice’ is not just another great Fir Cone Children track—it’s a moment, frozen in time. It’s the sound of legacy, of love for music passing seamlessly from father to daughter, of watching the next generation step into the light with the same passion that fuelled everything before. There is a real maturity to this song structure which can only come from a Dad.

As we anticipate the full release of Gearshifting, ‘Your Voice’ assures us that the journey ahead is one worth embarking on. So let ‘Your Voice’ be the soundtrack to your day. Let it remind you of the moment you realised music was in your bones. And most importantly—turn it up, and let it carry you away. Oh, what a life!

‘Your Voice’ is streaming now and will be available as part of the new album over on the Blackjack Illvminist Bandcamp page as of April 18 2025.

You can follow Fir Cone Children on social media here….

Peer Pleasure – Work Allergic EP

Peer Pleasure aren’t just a band—they’re a force of nature, an unrelenting whirlwind of garage rock chaos that thrives on distortion, sweat, and the kind of live energy that makes rafters shake and floors tremble. Since their formation in 2021 as a lockdown project, the Irish collective—featuring Brandon Murphy, Conor Kavanagh, Cein O’Dowd, Erik Murphy, Jack Joyce, Jeff Miller, Joel Pitcher, and Oisin Conroy—has been tearing through venues with a DIY ethos that’s taken them across Europe and beyond.

Their reputation as one of Ireland’s most explosive live acts isn’t just talk. 2023 and 2024 saw them play a staggering 84 shows, turning up the heat at major festivals like Electric Picnic (twice) and Ireland Music Week, while bringing anarchy to squats and underground venues in Belgium, the Netherlands, and Germany. Whether it’s Whelan’s Ones to Watch or a makeshift stage in a reclaimed Dublin building, Peer Pleasure bring the same level of raw intensity, keeping their performances as unpredictable as their sound.

March 2025 saw them cross the Atlantic to play four blistering shows at New York’s New Colossus Festival, tearing up iconic venues like Berlin Club, Pianos, and Baker Falls. The reception was electric—American audiences got a taste of what European crowds already knew: Peer Pleasure don’t play shows, they start riots.

Now, as they set their sights on a debut full-length album, Work Allergic, their latest EP, serves as a potent preview of what’s to come. Releasing via the ever-reliable Fuzzed Up & Astromoon Records, this record is a testament to the band’s evolution—a messy, fuzz-drenched, beautifully unhinged ride that refuses to be tamed.

‘Kicking off the EP, ‘Weed Addict’ immediately immerses listeners in Peer Pleasure’s signature garage rock grit. The track opens with a raw, fuzz-laden guitar riff that stop starts around the woozy vocals. The lyrics, delivered with attitude and humour, delve into to enjoyment of the herb, painting a vivid picture of youthful defiance. The chorus is particularly infectious, with its “I’m a Weed Addict” mantra embedding itself into your psyche.

Transitioning seamlessly, ‘Take It’ introduces a slightly more melodic approach without sacrificing the band’s raw edge. The interplay between gritty guitar lines and a pulsating bassline creates a dynamic soundscape that’s proper catchy. The track’s structure builds tension masterfully, culminating in a climactic outro that leaves listeners wondering, was that the Beatles chord???  ‘Take It’ shows Peer Pleasure’s ability to balance melody with their characteristic garage rock intensity.

With ‘Nowhere Nice’, the EP takes a darker, more introspective turn. The song’s brooding atmosphere is established through moody synth pads before that band come crashing in. The vocals, drenched in reverb, convey a sense of disillusionment and yearning. The chorus swells with a haunting melody, encapsulating the feeling of being trapped in a place—both physically and mentally—that offers no solace. The lead guitar tone on here has given me pedal envy! I need to know how they did that.

‘Rest In Bits’ reignites the EP’s high-octane energy with a super saturated 60’s pop reinvention. There are some nice moments where we step out of that mood with some guitar lead parts that would sit well in a hair metal band. That may sound bonkers but it totally works. Mixed with the organ parts it sounds amazing.

Closing the EP, ‘The Real Thing’ encapsulates the essence of Peer Pleasure’s musical identity. The track seamlessly blends elements of garage rock, punk, and even hints of psychedelic influences. The band are on point working as a unit creating a layered and textured sonic palate, with swirling guitar solos and a driving rhythm section providing a solid foundation for the impassioned vocals. ‘The Real Thing’ serves as a fitting conclusion to Work Allergic, leaving listeners with a lingering sense of both satisfaction and anticipation for what’s to come.

Work Allergic is an EP that grabs you by the collar, shakes you until your teeth rattle, and then leaves you in a sweaty, euphoric daze. Peer Pleasure aren’t here to make things easy—they’re here to make things LOUD. This is the kind of record that makes you want to quit your job, move into a van, and start a band immediately. It’s messy, it’s cathartic, it’s alive. If this is a preview of their upcoming LP, we might not survive it. But what a way to go.

The Work Allergic EP is out via Fuzzed Up & Astromoon Records on April 4th 2025. Make sure and also give the band a follow on the Peer Pleasure Bandcamp page.

You can follow Peer Pleasure on social media here…

Sun Shines Cold – Feeling Unknown

Hailing from the misty Scottish Borders south of Edinburgh, Sun Shines Cold is the brainchild of multi-instrumentalists Brian Jordan and Colan Miles. This dynamic duo has been crafting their unique sonic tapestry for over two decades, seamlessly weaving elements of post-rock, shoegaze, post-punk, psychedelia, and ’80s goth into a sound that’s both haunting and exhilarating. Their influences read like a who’s who of the alternative music scene, including luminaries such as Slowdive, The Cure, Ride, Mogwai, Spacemen 3, Spiritualized, and Interpol.

Their debut album, Echoes of a Former Life, released in April 2023, showcased their ability to blend dark, cinematic atmospheres with emotive storytelling. Tracks like ‘Before’ and ‘Tried So Hard’ set the stage for their signature sound—reverb-drenched guitars, driving basslines, and ethereal vocals that transport you off to otherworldly realms.

Now, they return with a new single, ‘Feeling Unknown’, a track that promises to be another jewel in their sonic crown.

From the opening notes, ‘Feeling Unknown’ envelops the listener in a cocoon of shimmering guitars and atmospheric synths. The track begins with a delicate, almost hesitant guitar riff, reminiscent of the introspective moments found in Slowdive’s work. As the song progresses, layers of sound build upon each other, creating a rich tapestry that’s both immersive and expansive. Jordan’s vocals enter softly, almost whispering, conveying a sense of vulnerability that aligns perfectly with the song’s title. His voice, drenched in reverb, floats above the instrumentation, evoking the ethereal quality of early Robert Smith. Miles’ bass work is particularly noteworthy here. His melodic lines provide a grounding counterpoint to the swirling guitars. The rhythm section, understated yet precise, propels the song forward without overshadowing its dreamlike quality.

‘Feeling Unknown’ is a masterclass in blending vulnerability with sonic grandeur. Sun Shines Cold continue to refine their craft, drawing from their rich tapestry of influences to create music that’s both nostalgic and forward-thinking.

‘Feeling Unknown’ is out now backed with a remix by Maps. You can check it out over on the Sun Shines Cold Bandcamp page.

You can follow Sun Shines Cold on social media here …….

Great Grandpa – Patience, Moonbeam

Seattle’s own Great Grandpa consisting of Al Menne (Lead vocals)​, Pat Goodwin (Guitar and backing vocals)​, Carrie Goodwin (Bass and backing vocals)​, Cam LaFlam (Drums and backing vocals)​ and Dylan Hanwright (Guitar and backing vocals​) have always been a band unafraid to evolve. Emerging in 2014, they first caught my attention with the Can Opener EP in 2015, a raw introduction that laid the groundwork for their grunge-pop identity. I’m still head over heels for the version of ‘Mostly Here’ on there. The 2017 debut album, Plastic Cough, solidified this sound, blending gritty guitars with catchy hooks that echoed their Seattle roots. That one two punch of ‘Teen Challenge’ and ‘Favourite Show’ remains one of the strongest openings to any album.

However, it was with 2019’s Four of Arrows that the band showcased a remarkable transformation, venturing into more expansive indie rock territories, rich with introspective lyricism and intricate arrangements. This evolution showing their willingness to push boundaries and defy expectations. ‘Digger’ had structural DNA with Plastic Cough era songs but was still fresh and exciting sounding. The heartbreaking ‘Split Up the Kids’ always kills me. I’m not sure if it’s Menne’s powerful vocal delivery or Goodwins from the heart lyrics but it gets me every time.

Now, after a five-year hiatus marked by personal journeys and geographical separations, Great Grandpa return with Patience, Moonbeam. This album emerges from a period of uncertainty and growth, reflecting the band’s resilience and deepened camaraderie. Each member’s individual path—be it Menne’s solo endeavours in Los Angeles, Pat and Carrie Goodwin’s family life in Denmark, Hanwrights new marriage and production work or LaFlams bookstore venture—has woven new threads into the band’s collective tapestry, enriching their sonic palette.

The phrase “patience, moonbeam,” comes from an inside joke in Carrie’s family. With patience came more freedom. Patience, Moonbeam emerged slowly through a generous, generative demoing process, with Dylan at the helm of the production and mixing. They picked up the threads of the tracks they began years ago and completely reworked each song all working together to create the finished album. On this process Menne had this to say.

“There’s a lot of interesting texture to be found, when something has been worked, reworked, left to sit, and then worked again years later.”

So, what does this album sound like. Let’s drop the needle and hear for ourselves.

The album opens with the tone poem ‘Sleep’, unfolding like the slow dawn of a fragile dream. But beneath the fragility lies an undercurrent of tension, hinted at by the eerie, reverb-drenched harmonics. This is something totally new for the band and I’m here for it.

This segues into ‘Never Rest’. Beginning with an orchestral flourish and gently plucked acoustic guitar against the softest whisper of Menne’s vocals, it feels almost weightless. Then it all stops and begins again anew. The track is driven by a restless energy, its rhythm section playing cat-and-mouse with shifting time signatures. LaFlam is one the best drummers on the scene for my money and his quality shows here. There’s something of the Beatles in the McCartneyesque endings to each verse. It’s all Great Grandpa in the closing minute though. That’s how you kick off an album.

Released as the album’s lead single, ‘Junior’ is a hazy, nostalgia-soaked character study. The song’s guitar tones shimmer in a way that feels almost mirage-like, floating over a rhythmic foundation that ebbs and flows unpredictably. The chorus is a highlight, swelling into a bittersweet release where Menne’s voice stretches skyward. Lyrics talk of pulling off “light crimes with my buddies all night” and “He went swinging with a young man’s wiles. I saw him twirling and punching wild” framing our protagonist in a poor light. This song has a sun-soaked country-tinged air to it which is something the band revisit later in the album. More on that later.

‘Emma’ strips everything back to just Menne’s voice and an achingly sparse acoustic guitar for its opening moments, before LaFlam’s sympathetic drums lifts the song a notch. The song is a letter to a lost friend or lover, its lyrics drenched in both grief and gratitude. The slow build mirrors the emotional weight. It’s a masterclass in restraint, proving that sometimes the quietest songs can leave the deepest impact.

A whimsical departure from the album’s weightier themes, ‘Ladybug’ introduces a playful, almost disco shuffle to proceedings. This sounds like a band having a lot of fun. The group singing in the breaks sounds like every band member and more round a mic just having a blast. Lyrically it’s also really playful. I particularly love the line “Semitones are the distance between lines, All I think about is you sometimes, all the time”. Isn’t that just lovely? Again, there are Country flourishes here and there.

One of the album’s most adventurous compositions, ‘Kiss the Dice’ is a twisting, 80’s inflected exploration of fate and chance. Synth guitars keep time as well as providing the melody. When the drums arrive, they sit back and do just enough to carry the song over the line. This allows those glorious vocals to shine. This song is way too short, I was craving to hear where it would go. I guess its better to leave em wanting more.

More is what we get with ‘Doom’. Moving with an unpredictable, winding structure, transitioning from sparse, spoken-word verses to swelling, orchestral sections that feel almost theatrical. The drum work here is especially noteworthy, employing unconventional rhythms and unexpected pauses that keep the listener on edge. The song’s tension is palpable, and when it finally releases into its final, crashing crescendo, it feels like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. Radiohead would kill for this song.

‘Task’ is what I would term classic Great Grandpa. Great storytelling, great melody choices and great dynamics. As always there’s newer sounds in the mix, this time a gently plucked banjo maintaining that country thread. It’s not until the final minute that the song finally resolves into its final triumphant form, choral and acoustic. Just beautiful.

That country theme continues into ‘Top Gun’ next. Some gorgeous pedal steel playing nuzzles up close to Menne’s tempered vocal delivery. This is a mature song which speaks to where the band all are in the lives now. As ballads go it doesn’t get much better than this.

The title track ‘Patience, Moonbeam’ appears next momentarily, some layered vocal backing tracks echo out for the shortest time and they’re gone again.

The experimentation continues in earnest next with ‘Ephemera’. Vocals, highly produced and sparkly are delivered over a nineties pop inspired backing. It’s all there even down to the wicky wicky record scratches. I think this was placed near the end to say……..yup we are still evolving, still trying new things. Gotta love that!

The album closes out with stunningly beautiful ‘Kid’. It unfolds like a mini rock opera and has been constructed with love, that much is clear. Pat and Carrie wrote the song in the aftermath of the loss of their first pregnancy. “Things will happen when the timing is right,” Carrie reflects of that time, a sentiment that became the song’s glowing ember, and perhaps a mantra for the album itself: “All good things in time define their meaning.”

Patience, Moonbeam is a deeply woven tapestry of personal growth, sonic exploration, and emotional depth. Great Grandpa have always had an affinity for evolution, and this record proves they are a band unwilling to settle into one mould.

This album is the sound of a band who have weathered change and come out the other side stronger, more fearless, and more committed to their artistry than ever before. Every track is a testament to the members’ individual journeys and their ability to come together to create something greater than the sum of its parts. It’s a record that doesn’t demand immediate gratification but instead rewards patience—each listen revealing new layers, textures, and emotions. Great Grandpa have once again redefined themselves, proving that evolution isn’t just part of their DNA; it’s their driving force.

Patience, Moonbeam is out on March 28th 2025 via Run For Cover Records. Head over to the Great Grandpa Bandcamp page and give them a follow.

You can follow Great Grandpa on social media here…

Photo Credits

Bailey Payne

rbennettphotography

Cloakroom – Last Leg of the Human Table

Cloakroom, the Indiana-based trio known for their unique fusion of shoegaze, stoner rock, and post-hardcore sounds, are back with their new album, Last Leg of the Human Table. Emerging from the industrial landscapes of the Midwest, Cloakroom have consistently crafted soundscapes that resonate with both the grit of their surroundings and the expansiveness of their musical ambitions.​

Since their inception, Cloakroom have been on a sonic journey that defies easy categorization. Their debut album, Further Out, introduced listeners to a band unafraid to blend heavy riffs with ethereal melodies, setting the stage for their signature sound. Time Well saw the band delving deeper into expansive compositions, weaving intricate layers that enveloped the listener. With Dissolution Wave (my personal favourite to date), Cloakroom ventured into conceptual territory, presenting a space western narrative that showcased their storytelling prowess alongside their musical evolution.​

The band have described the songs on Last Leg of the Human Table as an exploration of “what it means to be human and the high cost of the human experience.” Additionally, a statement released with the album mentions a “teetering social structure” and how “America has lost its soul,” with much of the album feeling like an attempt at connection, trying to regain something that’s been lost.

Let’s drop the needle and see where Cloakroom take us this time.

The album opens with ‘The Pilot,’ a track that immediately propels the listener into this redefined sonic realm. Exploding with energetic guitars and drums, it leads listeners into a stratosphere of wonder and distortion. This is next level Cloakroom, the dynamic false stops, drum fills and screeches of feedback add punctuation to the story they’re telling.

‘Ester Wind’ mixes things up by blending grunge and power-pop elements into a mesh of sonic hooks, pushing its aesthetic to the forefront. The track’s driving tempo and infectious energy make it a standout moment on the album. Cloakroom are really mixing things up and I love how they’re subverting expectations only two songs in.

Serving as a brief interlude, ‘On Joy and Unbelieving’ offers a moment of introspection. Its minimalist arrangement provides a contemplative pause in proceedings.

The album’s first single, ‘Unbelonging,’ features sunny jangle-pop melodies and poignant lyrics, discussing a desire and ache to travel. The track’s upbeat tempo and catchy hooks make it an accessible entry point for new listeners. Typically, the story isn’t that straightforward. Whilst the guitars take a lighter tone the bass steps up with a heavily fuzzed out sound.

‘The Lights Are On’ Brings the heavy riffs back but continue to mix things up with more introspective verses leaving the big notes for the chorus. There’s a guitar motif on here that leaps out the speaker at you. Sounding like a cross between a sitar and synth it totally steals the show.

I wasn’t ready for ‘Bad Larry’. It could easily be a shoegaze take on a 50’s pop song. Is this what you would expect from Cloakroom? No. Is it utterly exhilarating and life affirming. Oh, fuck aye! That chorus melody is so disarming and will make hearts melt. It does this old heart good to hear one of my favourite bands adding more sonic strings to their bow and absolutely nailing it.

Continuing that reinvention of who Cloakroom are ‘Story of the Egg’ offers a unique narrative and musical approach. It’s enigmatic and draws you in with that driving bass that could also be a pulsing synth. Lyrics are delivered in a tight and measured fashion adding to that clipped percussive pattern the other instruments adopt. The snippet of a disco track sneaking in at the end made me smile.

Another brief interlude, ‘On Joy and Undeserving’ serves as a reflective moment, allowing us a moment to catch our breath.

‘Cloverlooper’ infuses post-hardcore energy into the mix, adding a layer of urgency to the album. Its driving rhythm and intense delivery provide a contrast to the more ambient tracks. This track delves into the more recognisable tones and sonic dynamics we’d expect from a Cloakroom track. The dissonant chords and melodic vocal delivery are spot on and in turn deliver us sated into the final track.

Closing the album, ‘Turbine Song’ encapsulates the journey with its blend of potential energy being restrained beneath gentle melody. The bass once more guiding us along with its warmth and abrasiveness.  The track’s peaceful conclusion leaves a lasting impression, echoing the album’s themes of searching and resilience.

Last Leg of the Human Table stands as a testament to Cloakroom’s evolution and their willingness to explore new sonic territories. By grounding their music in the tangible struggles of contemporary life, they offer a mirror to reflect on your own experiences. The album’s dynamic range, from explosive openers to introspective interludes, invites a deep and immersive listening experience.​

In a world where the ground beneath us often feels unstable, Cloakroom provides a soundtrack that acknowledges the chaos while offering a sense of connection. As we navigate our own paths, Last Leg of the Human Table encourages us to find beauty in the tumult and to seek understanding amidst uncertainty.​

Last Leg of the Human Table is out now on Closed Casket Records and is available on a myriad of vinyl options. Head over and give the band a follow on the Cloakroom Bandcamp Page too to get a digital download.

You can follow Cloakroom on social media here……

SKLOSS – The Pattern Speaks

Austin-meets-Glasgow duo SKLOSS and married couple—Karen Skloss (drums/vocals) and Sandy Carson (guitar/vocals)—have sculpted a hypnotic, fuzz-drenched world in The Pattern Speaks, a debut record that fuses heavy psychedelia, post-metal intensity, and an undercurrent of dreamy, cinematic storytelling. Their lockdown-born project has evolved from living room experiments into a visceral, sonic force, culminating in this, their first foray into the long format released via Fuzz Club Records.

The band offer us this insight into the themes at play on the album.

“Traveller to traveller – The Pattern Speaks is a message in a bottle, a cosmic plea for assistance from the stars, space aliens, or non-human intelligence. It also hints at a way out of our self-made cycles of drudgery and inhumanity.”

That said, let’s drop the needle and dive in.

We open on the title track, a manifesto. From the very first note the ominous vibes are oozing out the speakers. Skloss’s vocals emerge like a ghostly transmission, echoing and layered, shifting between eerie chants and half-spoken declarations. Then it begins. A thunderous, rolling drum pattern pummels forward, reminiscent of Neu!’s motorik propulsion but drenched in doom-laden fuzz. Carson’s guitar churns out cyclical, crushing chords, building an oppressive yet hypnotic momentum. This is a potent opener and sets the scene for what’s to come.

Shifting gears, ‘Mind Hive’ is built around an undulating, syncopated groove that feels like it’s perpetually teetering on the edge of collapse. The interplay between Carson’s fuzz-soaked guitar lines and Skloss’s tight and in your face, drumming creates an unsettling tension, like watching a film on a loop with each frame slightly out of sync. There’s an undercurrent of paranoia here—perhaps alluding to social media echo chambers or the way thoughts can become cyclical, inescapable mazes.

If ‘Mind Hive’ hinted at anxiety, ‘Imagine 100 Dads’ throws itself into full-blown existential panic. A jagged, minimalist punk approach gives this track a sense of urgency, with Carson’s guitar lines skittering between post-hardcore dissonance and classic garage-rock snarl. Opening in a minimal tempo and pared back sound the song slowly evolves into an intergalactic voyage through a black hole.

The most overtly doom-laden track on the album, ‘Dead Bone’ oozes with tension. A creeping bassline underpins cavernous drums, while Carson’s guitar work oscillates between funereal, single-note passages and crushing walls of distortion. When this song erupts the wall of sound is overwhelming and at volume fair moves the air. It’s an exhilarating listen and fans of the genre are going to wallow in this one.

Opening with an instant of reflection—if only momentarily. ‘Snorkels Ask’ reveals a warm, enveloping drone, its serpentine guitar tones creating an almost meditative atmosphere. It’s the closest the album comes to post-rock, allowing space for textures to bloom and evolve over its runtime. Skloss’s vocal chants breaking through from time to time like an echo of a memory.

The most structurally unpredictable track on the album, ‘Upper Attic’ careens between tempos and moods like a fever dream. Angular, almost math-rock riffs stutter and twist, while the vocals take on an almost spoken-word cadence, conjuring images of forgotten spaces. The track builds to a delirious, fuzz-soaked climax which leaves us breathless and buoyant.

A cosmic freakout of the highest order. If ‘Upper Attic’ was claustrophobic, ‘Plugged Into Jupiter’ is the sound of being shot into the stratosphere. The guitars begin calmly picking out their delayed siren call, lulling us into a false sense of security. Skloss’s drumming picking out the vital beats. Then we take off and the drums take on an almost tribal urgency. The guitars roaring like jet engines. There’s an underlying theme of escape here—perhaps from earthly concerns, perhaps from our own being. The middle section sees the instrumentation revert back to the calm of the intro before re-emerging, transformed, for a final, triumphant explosion.

Fittingly, the album closes with its most haunting track. ‘Ghosts Are Entertaining’ is built around a compelling guitar line that sounds like it’s echoing from another dimension. The drums and guitar are in perfect sympatico, just listen to how the drum rolls mirror the riffs. The ghosts in question? Well, they aren’t just spirits—they’re memories, past selves, lingering thoughts that refuse to fade. The final moments of the track, where all instrumentation drops out except for a single, sustained feedback note, leave you suspended in uncertainty.

The Pattern Speaks is an album that doesn’t just ask to be heard—it demands to be felt. It’s a journey through repetition, chaos, and fleeting moments of beauty, a sonic representation of trying to find meaning in the patterns of existence. SKLOSS have crafted a debut that is as unsettling as it is mesmerizing, a record that lingers long after the last note fades. So, take the plunge. Let the pattern speak. You might not be ready for what it has to say—but you won’t be able to stop listening.

The Pattern Speaks is out now via Fuzz Club Records and you can also check it out on the SKLOSS Bandcamp page.

You can follow SKLOSS on social media here…..

bdrmm – Microtonic

Since their 2020 debut Bedroom, bdrmm have been a band in constant motion, refusing to be boxed in by traditional shoegaze tropes. While that first album wrapped listeners in a cocoon of reverb-drenched introspection, 2023’s I Don’t Know signalled a shift—embracing elements of krautrock, post-punk, and electronic experimentation. In my review of that album, I noted how it was obvious the band were relishing exploring what was sonically possible and what they were capable of as musicians.

Now they are back with Microtonic and this time the Hull-based quartet have leaped headfirst into a world of pulsating beats, haunting textures and electronica. The band themselves are only too aware of the progress they have been making saying this about the album.

“I think this is the best thing we’ve ever done; it’s a proper step up. The last album was essentially like a bridge between the two albums. With that one we knew what we were trying to do but with this one we’ve fully cracked it.”

It’s time to drop the needle and dive in.

Opening with a menacing synth pulse that sounds like it was lifted from a John Carpenter score, ‘goit’ immediately sets the album’s uneasy tone. The introduction is sparse, built on industrial clicks and an ominous undercurrent of static. When the beat drops, it’s clear bdrmm aren’t just experimenting with electronic textures—they’re revelling in them. The rhythm section is rigid and mechanical, with a busy hi-hat pattern that wouldn’t feel out of place in a techno set. Then, Working Men’s Club frontman Sydney Minsky-Sargeant enters the mix with a vocal delivery that oozes detached cool, his spoken-word cadence adding a dystopian edge. Lyrically, ‘goit’ is cryptic, fragmented phrases tumbling over each other like overheard snippets of a dream. It’s quite the opening—restless, dark, and disorienting.

Next up is the single ‘John on the Ceiling’. This track sees bdrmm blending their signature dreamlike melancholy with the motorik propulsion of krautrock. The bassline is the engine, locked into a relentless groove while shimmering guitars weave in and out of the mix like ghosts. The song’s title hints at dissociation—an out-of-body experience. As the song progresses, the production becomes increasingly dense. Delayed guitars cascade over one another, reverbed synths swirl, and the vocals drift further into the ether. By the time the final minute hits, the track has morphed into something nearly psychedelic—looped melodies spiralling upwards before dissolving into a cavernous reverb tail.

We head into what I consider the euphoric peak of Microtonic next. If ‘John on the Ceiling’ felt like floating outside yourself, ‘Infinity Peaking’ is full surrender to the void. The track starts with a simple, pulsing synth arpeggio, soon joined by layers of warm, shimmering pads. The rhythm here is crucial. A four-on-the-floor kick drum thuds persistently, anchoring the track even as it expands into more abstract realms. The vocals, delivered in a hushed murmur, repeat mantras rather than verses, reinforcing the track’s trance-like quality. If My Bloody Valentine had ever collaborated with Underworld, it might have sounded something like this.

After the euphoric rise comes a track built on tension. ‘Snares’ oscillates between paranoia and catharsis. The drum programming here is intricate, with skittering percussion weaving through deep, droning synths. The guitars are distant, almost vaporous, barely cutting through the haze. I love the way the track builds. It starts in a hushed whisper before swelling into something frantic and overwhelming. The climax is a maelstrom of whooping synths and crushing beats, evoking a feeling of being trapped in a storm of your own making.

Collaboration is a big strength of bdrmm in general and they continue that spirit on ‘In the Electric Field’ featuring Olivesque from the amazing NightBus. It’s perhaps the most ethereal moment on the record. Olivesque’s vocals float like mist over a sparse, ambient soundscape. There’s a glacial beauty here—soft, undulating synths and beats like a punch in the face creating a hypnotic and dreamlike state. Is this a meditation on modern disconnection, the sensation of being present but not truly there? Just a thought.

As the album’s title track, ‘Microtonic’ serves as both its centrepiece and manifesto. The name itself suggests an exploration of microtonality and true to its title, the track revolves around a looping, ever descending synth line that feels slightly “off,” constantly shifting in minuscule, almost imperceptible ways. Textural details creep in. Guitar shimmers while the bass rages. This is music designed to hypnotize. The beat remains steady, unchanging, while layers of sound morph and evolve around it. There’s a weightlessness here, a sensation of floating through an unfamiliar dimension.

It’s off on a trip through the looking glass next with ‘Clarkycat’. The title references a fictional drug from the cult comedy Nathan Barley, a scathing and prophetic satire about media culture. This gives us a huge clue about the song’s intent—it’s a hallucination, a synthetic trip through a warped reality. The song opens with a glitched-out synth arpeggio, twitching and flickering unpredictably. The notes are detuned, stumbling over each other. The bass is distorted and lurching, oscillating like a drunken heartbeat. Halfway through, the song takes a dramatic turn. The beat vanishes, leaving behind a cavernous echo where only the arpeggiated synth remains, but now it’s even more unstable. Then—BAM. The beat slams back in. The bass distorts further as we head towards the comforting close.

After the chaos of ‘Clarkycat’, ‘Sat in the Heat’ provides a much-needed exhale. This is Microtonic at its most minimalistic, a meditative track that stretches out like a long summer afternoon where time feels slow and heavy. A soft, repetitive guitar motif forms the backbone of the track, drenched in warm reverb and looped. The synth is grand and lush underneath, subtly shifting in intensity, adding a meditative quality. The glitchy beat brings to mind some of Thom Yorke’s solo work as does the soaring guitar line that takes the track home.

Named after an actual dried-up lake in Australia, ‘Lake Disappointment’ is relentless, driving forward with an almost menacing energy. This feels like an out-of-control acid house party all squelchy bass and nervous shuddering beats that scream anxiety. The effected vocals are something new as well. Slightly pitched down they provide a certain anonymity. Theres no way you would recognise this as a bdrmm track if you went in blind. That is testament to how far this band have come.

The album’s closer is its most haunting, a stripped-down requiem that lingers like the last embers of a fire. The vocals are barely above a whisper, fragile and intimate. The bass gently pulses like a heartbeat while the synth plays ambient chords in sympathy.  The electronica aspect involves a looped vocal part over glitchy, jumpy textures. It’s a perfect end to this grand experiment.

What’s clear to me is this isn’t just bdrmm dipping their toes into electronic waters—this is full submersion, a reimagining of what they can be. If I Don’t Know asked existential questions, Microtonic feels like the answer: an album both deeply personal and sonically expansive.

With Microtonic, bdrmm have crafted their most daring, fully realized work yet. It’s an album that refuses to be easily categorized, blending shoegaze, techno, and ambient influences into something wholly unique. This isn’t just an evolution—it’s a full-scale transformation. And the best part? They’ve only just begun.

Microtonic is out now via Rock Action Records and is available from the bdrmm Bandcamp page as well as your favourite indie record shop.

You can follow bdrmm on social media here…

Photo credit

Titouan Massé