Tulpa – Monster Of The Week

Back in September we were first introduced to Tulpa. That first single, a sudden surge of interest from BBC 6 Music and a finished album landing on the desk of Skep Wax has propelled us here. The release of their debut album Monster Of The Week.

So, who are Tulpa? The line up is Josie Kirk on vocals and bass, Daniel Hyndman and Myles Kirk on guitar with Mike Ainsley on drums. They’re based out of Leeds but their sound taps into an American alt rock sound and the sound of young Scotland. They have played with Throwing Muses, Pale Blue Eyes and Bug Club. They have been winning over crowds on the DIY festival circuit with a wave of jangle pop, spiky indie rock and oddball storytelling that glows like a box of comics.

I went into Monster Of The Week already buzzing after the single ‘Let’s Make A Tulpa!’. That song had really raised my expectations on what this album was going to be. I mean, I expected the album to be fun and hooky. I don’t think it will surprise you that I was pleasantly surprised by how hooky it turned out to be.

The album opens with ‘Theme’, a short instrumental that feels like big hello. Guitars coil round each other in a looping pattern that hints at surf, sci fi and something slightly scorched. When the riff kicks in you can tell this band love Teenage Fanclub. It’s almost like Raymond has joined the band.

‘Transfixed Gaze’ steps in with a brighter jangle. Josie’s voice cuts through with something both sweet and resigned bringing to mind Clare Grogan. The song moves in tight circles, the guitars ringing like held breath. There is a tired sadness hidden inside the bounce, the kind that comes from living in a town that feels too small. The hook is instant, but the feeling underneath gives it weight.

Then ‘PSYOPs’ drifts into something looser and more hypnotic. The tempo cools. The guitars wobble and shimmer like an old TV signal. There is a repeated almost looped line in the throughout the song that hits like a weary confession, and it becomes the spine of the whole track. It’s when that lovely bass heavy guitar solo comes in that the song really breathes.

‘Pyro’ knocks everything sideways. Fast, sharp, jittery. A rush of guitars and a vocal that sounds thrilled and terrified at the same time. When the line “It is a nice day honey for burning everything” lands, it comes with a grin. It is sly, dangerous, a little gleeful. This is where the guitars start to snarl openly and I’m here for it.

‘Let’s Make A Tulpa!’ arrives like a familiar friend. The rhythm section locks in, the guitars crunch, and the chorus blows the roof off. There is real joy here. The song is a burst of colour, but it also hides something stranger underneath. The idea of conjuring a lover makes you smile at first, then sit up a bit straighter. It is both catchy and uncanny, which turns out to be Tulpa’s favourite trick.

The title track settles into a slacker sway. A different vocal tone steps forward here, more laconic, more shrugged than shouted. The Malkmus / Pavement influence is worn on the bands sleeve here. The groove behind it is warm and lazy, but the lyric carries the sting of someone who has lived through too many bad weeks in a row.

‘Stick Figure Boy’ stretches out into a slow-motion sprawl. You get a cartoon character drawn in thick black lines. The band lean into the looseness, letting the guitars wander without ever losing shape. This track is as much about the space left than the melody itself.

‘You are Living In A Reverie’ switches the tone. Bright guitars. A vocal that feels half exasperated, half in awe. The lyric pulls together talk of permanence, legacy, and strange leaps into fantasy, then drops the simple invitation “Let us take a ride on a UFO baby somewhere in a dream.” That lands with a grin.

‘Amateur Hour’ softens everything. Stripped back, clear and open. Kirk sounds exposed here. The line “I left your heart to starve” lands like a small, quiet punch. This is as close to a ballad as your likely to get from this band.

Then Tulpa slam you back into the noise with ‘Raw Nerve’, all sharp edges and frantic momentum. The guitars scrape and jab, the drums hammer forward, and the tension runs high enough that you can practically feel it in your teeth. It is the wildest track on the album, and it earns that energy.

‘Whose Side Are You On?’ closes things out with a gentle sprawl. A laconic vocal, a loose sway, a chorus that sits somewhere between a shrug and a plea. There is a moment mid song where the line “I hoard dreams like antiques” floats past, and that felt like the whole album in one breath. This is music made by people who live half in the real world and half in some glowing inner place where stories mutate and feelings grow teeth.

Tulpa have made an album that feels playful on the surface but full of shadows beneath. Every track offers a hook to grab and a corner to explore. It is strange, catchy, human, and oddly warm, even when the monsters move closer. It’s definitely what I’d call a band in progress we’re hearing here. The Pavement and Fanclub nods are a bit too on the nose, but there are flashes of what they will ultimately sound like.

Monster Of The Week is out now via Skep Wax. Follow the band on the Tulpa Bandcamp page.

You can follow Tulpa on social media here…

Thought Bubble – A Made Up World EP

I always look forward to new music from pals of the blog, Thought Bubble. There is something about the way they work that feels homespun and magical. Three people tucked away in the Shropshire hills, building strange sound worlds and letting the rest of us wander through them at our own pace. Chris Cordwell on synths, Nick Raybould on percussion, and Peter Gelf on vocals. A trio who never repeat themselves, even when you think you know their next move.

I’ve followed them for a while now. From the early instrumental records to the big shift that came with Gelf joining the fold. That moment opened up a whole new way of telling stories. You hear it on Universe Zero. You feel it on Mostly True. Yet A Made Up World does not lean on those albums for comfort. It glances back for half a second then pulls the shutters up on something more immediate and more human. Four songs. Four chances to step into a room that feels at once familiar and completely new.

Let’s get into it.

‘First Cigarette’ opens the EP with a slow burn (see what I did there). A patient build, a steady pulse, and a vocal that sounds like someone recalling a memory they are not sure they should share. The synths stretch out across the track like soft fabric, never crowding the space yet never falling away either. Raybould’s percussion keeps everything gently unsettled. Not tense, just alive. Thought Bubble are in no rush here. They give you room to settle in, to follow the turns at your own speed. The track invites you closer without ever forcing itself on you.

‘Cheat Codes’ shifts the mood immediately. The rhythm takes on a looser bounce, almost playful in the way it nudges the vocal forward. Gelf sounds more conversational here, like he is talking to someone across the table rather than performing for a crowd. Cordwell fills the space with synth details that flicker in and out of view. Mimicking computer game soundtracks but nothing showy. Just small touches that keep your ear engaged. Thought Bubble have always had a knack for letting the rhythm do the heavy lifting and you feel that again here. The whole thing flows with a steady swing that anchors the song beautifully.

‘Radio Mast’ feels like the moment the EP opens up. The melody lands instantly. The Bowie-esque vocal carries a calm confidence that pulls you right into its centre. The synth lines sweep around the edges of the song, giving it warmth without weighing it down. Nick’s percussion threads through everything with purpose, but it never steals focus. There is a clarity to this track that really stands out. It feels like the band are letting us see the framework behind their ideas, keeping everything grounded and letting the emotional core shine through.

‘Floating Up The Steeple’ closes the EP with a honed sense of elevation. The tempo sits back and the arrangement feels open enough to breathe yet detailed enough to reward a second, third, fourth listen. Synths rise in gentle waves while the tribal percussion hums underneath like a steady heartbeat. There is a hypnotic and meditative quality to this one that brings the whole release together. The final moments feel almost weightless, a soft release after everything that came before. Ending with a track like this shows real confidence.

A Made Up World is a small EP with a big presence. Grounded, human, and full of that unmistakable Thought Bubble character. You can hear three musicians working in complete trust with one another. Nothing feels rushed. Nothing feels forced. They give each idea the space it needs then move on before anything starts to fade.

A Made Up World is out now. You can check it out over on the Thought Bubble Bandcamp page.

You can follow Thought Bubble on social media here…

Adele Dazeem – Metanoia EP

If you follow me, you’ll know I always get a wee thrill when Sonic Cathedral announce something new. This is my second Sonic Cathedral review in a single week, I don’t know how Nat does it but he just has a knack for finding bands who excite and challenge me in equal measure. That was enough to make me curious about East London trio Adele Dazeem before I even had a listen.

Charlie Hearl, Philippe O’Connor and Frank Andrews have been together since forming in 2020, and you can hear that steady evolution in every corner of their sound. The name itself comes from that infamous John Travolta moment, but they’ve turned a misread joke into something meaningful, a prompt to explore identity, ego and the parts of ourselves we dodge or distort.

Let’s see what this EP sounds like.

‘Misère’ snaps the EP into life with tension that never quite settles. The guitars flicker around the rhythm section, sharp and restless, and the vocals float above it all like a spectral sound. Then it kicks in and we’re off. This is some pacy, dark gaze and I’m immediately hooked. Apparently, the song is named for a self-sabotaging play in cards, one where you attempt to lose every hand. That said this track is a winner and gets us off to a cracking start.

Up next ‘Deep Sea Hand’ takes that same pressure and pulls you under. The song stretches out across nearly seven minutes, but never once loses its grip on you. The band use the time to build a slow rising wave of emotion, starting with something muted and buried, then letting it swell until it hits a moment of release that feels earned. When the tempo lifts after the midway point it’s like coming back to the surface after realising how long you’ve been holding everything in. It’s a gorgeous piece of writing, full of small details that reward you when you go back for a second listen.

‘Mezanin’ feels like a reckoning point. There’s a kind of clarity in the way the band lock into a steady, unblinking groove. The motorik guitar tones smear and hum, the drums stay patient, and the vocals move between detachment and something rawer. It mirrors the EP’s theme of facing the parts of yourself you’d rather tuck away, and it lands with real weight.

The title track ‘Metanoia’ ties the whole journey together. Hearl has this to say.

“That is a fragile song, made up of many phases of anger, patience, love and acceptance towards ourselves and others. The EP closes in a kind of exasperated clarity. A final call to recognise how easily our past haunts the present, and how urgently we must meet it, if we want to truly change our mind.”

There’s a glow to the song that is felt in every second of its run time. The band lean into atmosphere without losing their footing, giving it space to breathe and expand. It closes the EP with the quiet confidence of a group who know exactly what they want to say, and aren’t afraid to sit in the darker corners to get there.

Adele Dazeem have made something really special here. The Metanoia EP feels like a real statement of intent. Like they’re saying this is who we are. Each track pushes a different part of you forward and by the time the title track lands, you totally get it. You totally get it and want to join them. It’s the sound of a band stepping into their own story with purpose and conviction, and if this is their first chapter, I can only imagine where they go from here.

Metanoia EP is out now via Sonic Cathedral. You can check it out over on the Adele Dazeem Bandcamp page.

You can follow Adele Dazeem on social media here…

Sister Ray Davies – Holy Island

I first brushed up against Sister Ray Davies when their debut single ‘War Machine (The Purpose Of A System Is What It Does)’ crossed my path. I didn’t manage to snag a copy on vinyl which still stings every time I think about it. I did play it on my DKFM show though and that was enough to plant the seed that this duo were onto something special. So, when the album, Holy Island, arrived, I went in curious. A debut from a pair of Americans making a concept record about a tiny religious outpost off the northeast coast of England is not something you see every week.

Sister Ray Davies are Adam Morrow and Jamie Sego. Two musicians working in the famed recording capital of Muscle Shoals, surrounded by the Tennessee River and the long shadows of soul history, yet dreaming of wind battered monasteries and ancient stones. They tracked the record in the old Muscle Shoals Sound studio, now Portside Sound, with that studio’s warmth humming beneath everything.

Morrow has talked about how the story of Lindisfarne helped them unravel their own thoughts about the world today.

“The story of Lindisfarne gave us a framework for what were otherwise very abstract ideas and emotions, it became a way to make sense of our own moment in history.“

“We really want our lives and societies to always get better, and to be left alone to make that happen. But we are stuck in these cycles of progress and regression, and I think most people are really driven to make sense of it and assign meaning.”

Let’s drop the needle and see where our thoughts carry us.

‘Lindisfarne’ opens the album and instantly we’re transported. The sounds of a roaring campfire and the waves lapping on the beach welcome us into their world. It’s a gentle and calm welcome; no hurry is taken to introduce all elements of their sound. Instead, we get a hypnotic mantra like vocal against a minimal guitar and synth pattern. Superbly confident and gets us in the right frame of mind for the journey ahead.

We head from one holy isle to another next with ‘Iona’. Now we hear the full extent of the bands sound. Driving drums and an insistent acoustic guitar strum power this track. Almost motorik in its approach the mournful lead guitar almost fights against the forward motion and is always subsumed by the sheer energy of the backing.

‘Aidan’ brings in backing vocals from Natalie Morrow which adds a lovely lift to the track. Her voice works like a soft colour wash against the fuzzier edge of the guitars. It continues the musical theme of ‘Iona’ but brings in a tremolo effect to take us off in new direction. I love the break down passages where the track suddenly opens up and a gently plucked guitar takes over, ever so momentarily.

Up next ‘Big Ships’ carries a more direct energy. The hook sticks with you right away. Guitars chime, fuzz bass rumbles underneath, and everything clicks. It has that knack the best shoegaze pop moments have. A sense that the song is moving forward even when it feels suspended in place. One of the clear highlights of an already outstanding record.

The title track ‘Holy Island’ appears like a tiny interlude, a short tone poem that acts as a small doorway into the next phase of the record. These little touches always charm me. They show a band thinking about pacing and about how a record feels as a whole.

‘Rowans’ comes in with a looser stride. This song has a swagger that’s undeniable. It’s uplifting and joyous throwing off the weight of the day and running barefoot across the sand. If I had to pick a favourite song from the album, and it would be a really tight decision, this would be it. It makes me smile every time I hear it.

‘Nave’ is short and inward looking. A reflective moment that clears the air. Synths shake the air while gentle guitar lines linger for the moment then vanish. It works like a reset before the final stretch.

That reset comes with a bang as ‘Cloisters’ kicks in. A euphoric instrumental that blooms from a pulsating synth piece into a cosmic space jam that will have you punching the air. This song is built for the big stages and if these guys play any festivals I guarantee it will get feet moving.

‘Morning Bell’ closes the album with the fullest emotional reach. The build is is slow and steady. The band take their time, letting guitars swell then settle, leaning into a patient rise that rewards you every time. Its moody but never maudlin. Dark without being depressing. It’s like night falling on the beach with the sound of the abbey bell bidding us farewell.  A beautiful closer.

Holy Island is a rare debut. Thoughtful, melodic and full of intent without ever becoming heavy handed. The lads have built something that feels as if it has always existed. You sense the fun they had making it and the meaning they found inside it. I really struggled to find musical parallels to help you understand who they are and the noise they make. I can only think of the Beachy Head project for a couple of the songs. Other than that, this is very much its own thing and if you let it, it might very well become yours too.

Holy Island is out now via Sonic Cathedral and Well Kept Secret. You can check it out over on the Sister Ray Davies Bandcamp page.

You can follow Sister Ray Davies on social media here…

Son of The Right Hand – Pscenic Root

I do like it when I hear a band descriptor I’ve never come across before. Glasgow’s Son of The Right Hand are a case in point. To my shame I had never heard of them before, but within minutes of pressing play on Pscenic Root, I knew I was onto something special. Their sound, which they describe as “folkedelic nugaze,” is as intriguing as it sounds. It’s a haze of psychedelia, post-rock and strange, spectral folk.

The five-piece consisting of Éireann Sheridan, Benjamin Stewart, Hector Laidlaw, Owen “Cosmo” Fyfe, and Sandy MacCallum bring different shades to that mix, all orbiting around Éireann’s haunting voice and Benjamin’s restless guitar.

Sheridan gives us this insight.

“The EP’s name is a bit of an inside joke about how long it’s taken us to get here, but also a nod to how our roots have shaped the path. It’s been a long road, but it feels incredible to finally share something that’s raw, immersive, and true to us.”

Let’s dive in and see if the descriptor matches the sounds.

The record opens with ‘Bad Tooth’, a slow-burning piece that feels like it’s pulling you under water. The guitars twist you in uncomfortable ways, chords hang unresolved, and the vocals creep in like thoughts you can’t quite shake. There’s tension in every second. It’s not polished; it’s raw and human. The song builds to a dense, claustrophobic ending that feels less like a release and more like a reckoning. It’s a powerful way to set the tone.

‘Anhedonia’ follows with a jolt of energy. Where the opener brooded, this one moves with purpose. Fuzzy guitars, crisp drums, and a melody that clings to your mind long after. It’s one of the most immediate tracks here, and you can sense why it was released as their debut single. There’s something slightly unhinged about the rhythm section. Cosmo’s drumming never quite sits still, and that’s the charm. The song feels alive, almost like it’s teetering on the edge of chaos, yet Éireann’s voice keeps it grounded, tender but unflinching.

‘Refuweegie (The House Isn’t Full)’ sits right at the centre of the EP and it’s where everything comes together. It’s a slow, expansive track built around repetition and space, taking inspiration from the 2021 Kenmure Street protests which served to remind the world that we Scots view anyone who chooses Scotland as their home, Scottish. We’re all Jock Tamson’s bairns here.  You can feel that sense of solidarity and unease running through it. The lyrics walk the line between empathy and anger, questioning what it means to belong. Musically, it’s layered in ways that pull you deeper each listen. Ghostly harmonies, looping guitars, and a low hum that feels almost physical. It’s the beating heart of Pscenic Root.

‘Kilter’ is a storm of a track. Eight minutes of rhythmic collapse and rebirth. This one was apparently born during a rainstorm at Fuzzface Studios, and they even sampled that weather into the track. You can hear it too. The rhythm falls apart and reforms, like thunder rolling in the distance. It’s sprawling but never loses focus. The guitar lines seem to argue with each other, the vocals slip between clarity and murk, and when it finally locks into a groove, it’s euphoric. This is Son of The Right Hand at their most fearless.

‘Closed Doors’ closes the EP with something gentler, but no less intense. It’s intimate, almost confessional, the kind of song that sounds like it’s being whispered directly into your ear. The band strip things right back here, giving the voices room to breathe. Partly spoken word there’s a quiet power in the restraint. After all the noise and swirl of what came before, it feels like the lights have dimmed and everyone’s catching their breath. Until that final section where the band invoke the storm once more to send us off with the wind at our heels.

Pscenic Root feels like a debut EP made with conviction. The band have found a language that’s all their own, messy, beautiful, and defiantly honest. It’s music that refuses to look away, whether it’s examining the state of the world or the turmoil within. I’m struggling to find bands that I could point you to for musical reference. Maybe the experimental structures of My Latest Novel coupled with the noise of Edinburgh School For the Deaf.  All I know is for a first encounter, it’s left a mark. I can’t wait to see where this path leads next.

Pscenic Root is out now. You can check it out over on the Son of The Right Hand Bandcamp page.

You can follow Son of The Right Hand on social media here…

Midlake – A Bridge To Far

Nearly twenty years. Twenty. Years. That’s how long Midlake have been in my life. I first discovered them through their second album, The Trials of Van Occupanther. At the time I remember revelling in its uniqueness in the musical landscape of the time. Autumnal yet so warm, proggy but folky and indie at the same time. The songs remain timeless to this day and always take me back to that time in my life. I have enjoyed their subsequent albums; I particularly revelled in 2022’s For The Sake Of The Bethel Woods with its Woodstock charm and folksy canvas. That said nothing has touched that amazing album from way back in 2006. Until now.

For over two decades, Midlake have quietly built a world of their own. Rooted in the college-town charm of Denton, Texas, their music has always been a place of refuge for me. Now, with the release of their sixth studio album A Bridge To Far, they sound revitalised, warm, reflective, and brimming with quiet confidence. As you can imagine, my expectations were sky-high. And I’m happy to say this one feels special. It’s autumnal, yes, but also surprisingly adventurous, folk roots shot through with prog, jazz, and a gentle sense of hope that threads through everything.

Recorded in their home town of Denton, Texas with producer Sam Evian, the record sounds organic and alive. The band who are Eric Pulido / Vocals, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, bells, Jesse Chandler / Background vocals, piano, Hammond organ, mellotron, Rhodes, casio organ, bells, flute, alto flute, bansuri flute, clarinet, bass clarinet, alto sax, recorders, McKenzie Smith / drums, percussion, Mike Luzecky / electric bass, upright bass, Eric Nichelson / Electric guitar, acoustic guitar, bells and Joey McClellan / Electric guitar, acoustic guitar, background vocals say that,

“This is an album about hope.

Not in some abstract sense, but as a human necessity. Hope is a need. To look beyond, above what is. We can all relate on many varying levels.”

We could all do with a bit more hope in our lives, let’s drop the needle and let it in.

‘Days Gone By’ opens the album in the most Midlake way possible hushed flutes, acoustic guitars and those voices in harmony. The melody feels as if it’s been living in them for years, waiting for this album to come to fruition The jazzy intervals resolving back to their pastoral folk sound are new and really hit the spot. This is a great way to set the tone for the album.

Then comes the title track ‘A Bridge To Far’, all soft harmonies and shimmering guitar. It’s deceptively simple, but the way it expands in its final minute is pure Midlake magic. The lyrics “Climb upon a bridge to far, go anywhere your heart desires” land somewhere between self-motivation and wistful reflection. It’s a song about risk and renewal, and at times it has the kind of energy you would only hear in a Fountains of Wayne ballad. Two songs in and they’ve already won me over.

‘The Ghouls’ might be my personal favourite. Driven by snappy drums, clipped keyboards and pulsing bass, it’s the album’s first proper jolt of energy. Pulido has spoken about it representing the temptation to demonise the challenges we face. The song takes that theme and turns it into something urgent and cathartic. There is a real harking back to the sound palate of The Trials of Van Occupanther in that piano and keyboard riff. But only there which is so clever. The rhythm section lock in beautifully while the guitars swirl in their usual hazy precision. It’s as catchy as anything they’ve written.

‘Guardians’ brings a lovely shift in tone. Featuring Madison Cunningham on vocals, it’s warm and gently haunting. The two voices weave together like light and shadow, and the call-and-response gives the song its heartbeat. It leans heavily into the jazzier aspects of their songwriting. I’m very much like Vince Noir on the subject of jazz. “I fear jazz! I fear the lack of rules” lol. All joking aside whilst it isn’t my favourite genre I love how it’s used here.

Things really open up on ‘Make Haste’ as the band takes us into more expansive territory. Lush layered harmonies and shimmering textures are the order of the day. It carries echoes of Antiphon but with more openness. The band sound like they’re relishing every note.

‘Eyes Full of Animal’ adds a new dimension entirely. Built around a taut bassline and intricate percussion, it edges toward something that might have emanated from the heyday of Laurel Canyon. The band are on form here, tight and pulling no punches, especially in that soaring chorus.  It shows how far they’ve come since Van Occupanther, unafraid to bend their own rules.

‘The Calling’ feels deeply personal. Pulido has said it’s about his own struggle to follow the path he’s meant to walk, and you can hear that tension in every chord. The brass that bursts through halfway adds a joyful brightness, like Arcade Fire do. This isn’t classic Midlake. This is a new approach for them and once again they nail it

The pace slows again with ‘Lion’s Den’, darkly meditative but full of space. It’s the sound of a band completely in control of their mood. Smith’s drumming is especially lovely here, delicate but insistent, always nudging the song forward. The use of harmonies here is quite unique. Only used as colour or as a flourish. Once again something new on this album that works so well.

Then comes ‘Within/Without’, and it’s a showstopper. Sweeping strings, yearning chorus, the works. Man, this is Midlake at their cinematic best. The arrangement builds and recedes like a tide, and Pulido’s delivery is full of ache and acceptance. If the album has a spiritual centre, this is it.

Finally, ‘The Valley of Roseless Thorns’ closes things on a short, almost hymn-like note. Yeah, it’s a short one, but it’s full of finality and peace. The lyrics speak of trials and self-renewal, and it fades like the last light of day. It’s a perfect ending to an album about hope, not blind optimism mind, but the quiet determination to keep moving forward.

After all these years, Midlake still sound like no one else. A Bridge To Far is their most cohesive and confident work to date. Let it serve as a reminder of why we fell for them in the first place, but also proof that they’re still looking toward new horizons. The warmth, the musicianship, the grace, folks, it’s all here, wrapped in that unmistakable Denton glow. Midlake have proven that some bridges aren’t too far at all; they just lead us exactly where we need to go.

A Bridge To Far is out now via Bella Union. You can check it out over on the Midlake Bandcamp page.

You can follow Midlake on social media here…

f.o. machete – I’m Fine, Are You?

Glasgow’s f.o. machete are back. Natasha Noramly and Paul Mellon return to the fray after blowing minds left, right and centre with their triumphant return with album Mother of a Thousand. If the names new to you the band released their debut album back in the heady days of 2004. They had a run of cracking releases until putting the project on hiatus in 2011. Now they are back and delivering vital, visceral music that’s full of all the fuzzy goodness that made those early releases so important.

The band describe their new single as “a shimmering, radio- friendly mix of poppy Yo La Tengo charm, My Bloody Valentine textures, and Paul Mellon signature guitars.”

This sounds right up my street, let’s dive in.

‘I’m Fine, Are You?’ opens on a chugging guitar trailing off into Noramly’s signature vocals. Production is really big sounding across the speakers. Mellon doesn’t take long to bring out the big guns and the warmth and haze of his glide guitar envelops the mix. That is only one of many textures he brings to bear here. Just check out that guitar solo that J Mascis would kill for. This is the perfect blend of off kilter soundscapes and poppy melodies. I can see this winning them quite a few new fans.

I’m a big fan of their Mother of a Thousand album and this single feels like those songs but, more. As a taster of what’s to come next this paints a very rosy picture indeed and rest assured, you’ll be reading all about the follow up album on Static Sounds Club just as soon as I get my mitts on it!

‘I’m Fine, Are You?’ is out on all your favourite streamers via Last Night From Glasgow on November 14th. Follow the band on the f.o. machete Bandcamp page.

You can follow f.o. machete on social media here…

Goon – Dream 3

I’m always on the lookout for bands that make me really sit up and take notice. Bands that demand your full attention and in return reward you with a totally unique listening experience. So it was with LA based Goon. I first stumbled into Goon’s world through the album Hour of Green Evening. It was one of those albums that stopped me in my tracks, full of subtle intricacies that revealed themselves over time. What struck me most back then was how naturally Kenny Becker’s songwriting balanced complexity and comfort. Those twisting chord changes never once felt unnatural. They just belonged. Just listen to the pocket epic that is ‘Emily Says’ to get a feel for what I mean. I can’t tell you how many hours, days even I’ve lost myself in that album’s grooves.

Goon are back again with a new album for 2025 and it feels like we are still living in the same world of Hour of Green Evening, but not quite.  Dream 3 feels like the next logical step and a bold sideways move all at once. It takes the gentle beauty of Hour of Green Evening and smudges it, letting the chaos in. The result is something rawer, stranger, and often more beautiful for it. Becker has said that Goon albums tend to reactions to previous albums and that’s noticeable here. Whilst Hour of Green Evening was grand in vista and almost pastoral in places with Dream 3 the tone shifts. The songs become a place for him to process the pain and grief caused by a relationship break up that happened whilst he was recording the album. The resulting songs are some of his most brutally honest to date.

I’ve had Dream 3 on repeat play for weeks now so I can really do the album justice so let’s drop the needle and dive in.

‘Begin Here’ sets the tone immediately. A gauzy wash of reversed guitars opens like the sun rising slowly on the album. Becker’s voice floats in, delicate and alien, with that comforting sense of calm. It builds patiently, layers blooming around his vocal before the whole thing dissolves again, almost embarrassed by its own grandeur. It’s a quietly stunning start — a song that’s all about disintegration, about finding your feet in the mess.

Picking the pace up next is ‘Closer To’. It’s radiant and propulsive, Becker’s voice carried by crisp drums and guitars that shimmer then buckle under their own weight. There’s a line “enter the fog, then the warning comes” that captures the whole mood of Dream 3. This is an album that walks the tightrope between clarity and collapse. The use of a scream as just another texture is another neat touch. The song drops to half time as it slowly devolves and disappears into the ether.

‘Patsy’s Twin’ feels like we are stepping back in the world of Hour Of Green Evening. But don’t be fooled. The guitars go scorched and angular, the rhythm section punching holes in the haze. It’s heavier than anything they’ve done before, almost veering into alt-metal territory for a moment, before folding back into that familiar Goon melancholy. You can sense Becker exorcising something here, the aftermath of heartbreak spilling into the performance. It’s noisy, cathartic, brilliant. You can feel a nod to Black Francis in the vocal delivery in the screaming parts.

It’s time for a reset next with ‘For Cutting The Grass’. Acoustic, open, and oddly pastoral. You can almost smell the soil in this one. It unravels in sections, moving from gentle fingerpicking into a low-slung groove, like a song in conversation with itself. There’s a calm acceptance beneath the melancholy, it’s a full stop in song form. That chorus section is so dark and sticky. I love how it evolves a little each time it comes around.

‘In the Early Autumn’ shimmers with late-afternoon light. It’s one of those deceptively simple Goon songs where every instrument seems to sync in time with the vocal. Becker’s voice remains fragile, androgynous, entirely his own just sits at the centre, describing scenes that feel half-remembered. The song never tries to resolve; it just lingers, content to fade like a dream you can’t quite recall.

Then comes ‘Apple Patch’, one of the shortest tracks here but one of the most vivid. It’s almost playful, full of strange little guitar figures and sleepy charm. Becker sounds dazed but warm, like he’s stepping out into sunlight for the first time in weeks. The rough edges make it even more endearing that 4-track, home-recorded energy comes through beautifully.

Resolving out of fractious glitches ‘Fruit Cup’ keeps that homespun magic going, a blur of bright chords and slightly woozy tempo changes. It feels effortless and instinctual. There’s something childlike in the melody, but underneath the sweetness, you can hear the ache of someone trying to convince themselves they’re okay.

‘Toluca’ is pure atmosphere. It feels almost Kosmische, what with those synth washes and low drone notes. The cyclical guitar part is hypnotic and you can easily imagine this ending up on a movie soundtrack in some travel montage scene, across some endless desert or across the vastness of space.

By the time ‘This Morning Six Rabbits Were Born’ arrives, the album feels like it’s entered its own wonderfully weird patchwork ecosystem. For me, it’s one of the most surreal songs Becker’s ever written with nature, birth, decay, and confusion all woven together. The arrangement swells and collapses repeatedly, guitars undulating like waves. It’s the kind of track that could only have come from Goon; both serene , tender and slightly scary.

‘Sunsweeping’ stretches out across five glorious minutes. It’s a slow-motion bloom of sound that recalls the emotional gravity of Hour of Green Evening but channels it through heavier textures. There’s a touch of OK Computer in the way it folds electronic haze into organic warmth, but Becker never feels like he’s borrowing. It’s all him. His voice breaks and reforms as the song peaks, guitars glowing like embers. It’s the emotional heart of the record.

‘Bottle’ soothes our ear. The production gets sparse again, and Becker sounds more human than anywhere else on the album. The melody tracks the vocal and what a gorgeous melody it is. There’s fragility in every syllable, but also peace. It’s a song about small moments, breath, stillness, light hitting glass. You can sense him beginning to make sense of everything that came before.

With heartbreaking intent ‘Fine’ edges us toward acceptance. The melody is simple, almost lullaby-like, but there’s weight beneath it. “I’m fine” is one of those lies we tell ourselves until it becomes true, and whilst Becker doesn’t openly sing that in the song that’s the feel he gives us.

And then ‘Jaw’ and its slow revelation. The band stretch out, letting the song breathe and ache. The guitars sound immense, warm and beautiful, Becker’s voice carried on a tide of acoustic vibes and memory. It feels like the moment where all the fragments of grief, nature, confusion and beauty aqll come together and finally make sense, if only for a second.  Such a magnificent end to our musical journey together.

I began this piece talking about bands that demand your full attention. Goon do that, and then some. Dream 3 is a world you fall into, full of heartbreak, wonder, and those flickers of joy that only come after the fall. Becker reimagines what beauty sounds like when it’s cracked and still shining. If Hour of Green Evening was dusk, Dream 3 is the moment the light finally returns. Goon have made something that feels like a full-circle moment. Dream 3 elevates itself into a world unto itself, hand-painted and glowing.

Dream 3 is out now via Born Losers Records. It’s now in it’s second pressing and you can check it out over on the Goon Bandcamp page.

You can follow Goon on social media here…

Flock of Dimes – The Life You Save

I came into Jenn Wasner’s world through ‘Long After Midnight’, a song that stopped me in my tracks earlier this year. Back then, I wrote about how she stripped everything back until only the truth was left, voice, guitar, silence. It felt like eavesdropping on someone quietly taking stock. That single hinted at something deeper, and The Life You Save delivers exactly that. It’s an album that doesn’t flinch. It looks addiction, co-dependency and self-forgiveness squarely in the eye, yet somehow still finds peace in the space between.

Wasner has been part of so many worlds; Wye Oak, Bon Iver, Sylvan Esso, Dirty Projectors, but this is unmistakably hers. Produced alongside Nick Sanborn and recorded between Chapel Hill and Los Angeles, it feels like she’s drawn a circle around herself and said, this is where I begin again. The sound is more grounded in Americana and folk this time, soft around the edges, with the electronic shimmer of Head of Roses replaced by something earthier. You can hear the wood of the guitar, the breath before each line, the quiet resolve behind the words.

As mentioned, this album deals with heavy subjects and on that point Wasner has this to say.

“My previous records, generally, have been a summary of things I had already been through— experiences I had observed and reflected upon, reporting back from some amount of distance. But this record is different. It is an attempt to report from inside of a process that is ongoing and unfinished, from which I will likely never fully emerge as long as I am alive: my struggle within the cycles of addiction and co-dependency.”

This sounds like we are in for an emotional journey. Time to buckle up!

‘Afraid’ opens the record in a hush. It feels like the calm after a storm, but there’s a heaviness too. The melody is just stunning building in waves across its runtime.  Instrumentation is subtle leaving the vocal to carry the song. Wasner sings not from detachment but from the centre of it. That admission sets the tone. The album isn’t about closure; it’s about staying present while everything keeps shifting underneath.

We segue neatly into ‘Keep Me In The Dark’ which moves with a subtle pulse. There’s an intimacy in the way she phrases each line, as if the words are still forming. You can feel her wrestling with the need for clarity against the need for comfort. It’s a song about knowing something isn’t right but wanting to hold it just a bit longer anyway. The arrangement is gentle and screams of classic singer songwriters from the sixties and seventies.

When ‘Long After Midnight’ arrives, it still stuns. I remember describing it before as beautifully restrained, trusting the song to do the heavy lifting. Within the album, it carries even more weight, a quiet moment of acceptance in a record full of searching. Upright bass, steel guitar, a few well-placed drum strokes, nothing distracts from her voice. It’s an anchor. The track feels like a hinge, the point where she starts to look inward rather than outward.

‘Defeat’ arrives on an acapella wave, echoing that same stillness but with a touch more defiance. The song deals with the idea that to admit defeat isn’t to give up, but to finally stop pretending you can control what can’t be fixed. The rhythm rises and falls like breathing, the arrangement swelling just enough to let light in but never fully bloom. It’s a reminder that peace often comes disguised as surrender.

That restrained production continues on ‘Close To Home’, a song as tender as its name suggests. The bass and synth warbles provide the canvas for Wasner to paint her vocal magic on. Her voice drifts through memory, revisiting people and places that shaped her, but with the distance of time softening the edges. You can sense gratitude buried in the grief but above all a recognition that even the painful moments belong to the story.

On ‘The Enemy’, she turns the lens fully on herself. It’s haunting in its honesty, tracing the thin line between helping and controlling, between love and ego. I love the contrast between the gentle country licks slamming into a guitar teetering on the edge of total fuzzed out feedback. Just as in the rest of the album, there’s no self-pity here, just the recognition of a pattern and the quiet relief of finally naming it.

While Wasner has tipped her hat to the classic singer songwriters up until now ‘Not Yet Free’ could have come from a Laurel Canyon house party. Her gently picked guitar and emotional vocal bring to mind those powerful women who defined that sound. I get lost in this song’s undulating and serpentine melody and I defy you not to be moved.

Then comes ‘Pride’, which normally comes before a fall. Not here though. The whole track just feels so overwhelmingly warm and welcoming. The song is dynamically tuned to perfection; the song rises and falls to meet the power and emotional intensity of the vocal. Theres a lovely guitar lick that appears in the gaps every now and then which makes me smile every time.

‘Theo’ is one of the gentlest tracks here, a quiet letter to someone who might never hear it. There’s something devastating in how softly she sings it, as if raising her voice would break the spell. The slide guitar sighs behind her as she sings “call on God, don’t call on me… I can’t carry you.” That recognition a core part of the themes of the album.

‘Instead Of Calling’ brings the tempo up slightly, though the gentle self-discovery remains. Wasner’s gift has always been her ability to find melody in the cracks, this track might be her finest example yet. The gently plucked guitar and mournful violin really complement each other nicely. She seems to be singing about the end of a codependent relationship and accepting that it is the right thing to do.

We flow into ‘River In My Arms’ next on guitar, piano and soft percussion, flowing with a calm acceptance. It’s as if she’s tracing the path of her own growth, recognising that every mistake carried her here. You can almost feel the warmth of the morning light through the studio window, her voice steady and clear.

The closing track ‘I Think I’m God’ brings it all together. The line “I think I’m god; I know I’m not” is the pivot on which the whole record turns. It’s the sound of someone facing the uncomfortable truth of ego and still choosing compassion. There’s no grand finale, no orchestral swell:  just the quiet understanding that being human is enough.

Taken as a whole, The Life You Save feels less like a collection of songs and more like a conversation stretched across fifty minutes. Every note, every pause, every tiny crack in Wasner’s voice feeds into the next, so that by the end you feel you’ve travelled with her rather than simply listened. There’s an incredible warmth that radiates from her performances, a deep compassion that never wavers even when she’s staring straight at the hardest truths. It’s rare to hear an artist so open yet so composed, so vulnerable yet so sure of what she wants to say. Just from listening I know Jen Wasner is a good soul, in every sense.  In time, this will be seen as one of those records people return to for comfort and clarity, a quiet classic born from honesty and grace. In a world full of noise, The Life You Save might just be your own.

The Life You Save is out now via Sub Pop Records. You can also listen and order on the Flock of Dimes Bandcamp page.

You can follow Flock of Dimes on social media here….

Photo Credit

Elizabeth Weinberg

Dayflower – Comfort

I’ve been following Dayflower on and off since their first handful of releases drifted across the indie ether. I’ve played a couple of those early singles full of pastel guitars and softly shimmering melancholy on my DKFM Shoegaze Radio show. I’ve always enjoyed their take on the dreampop sound.  With Comfort, their second full-length for Sunday Records, they’ve built something far wider and more absorbing than anything before. From what I’ve been hearing it’s a record that envelopes you in its world letting you disappear with the music, for a while at least.

Alex Clemence and David Dhonau remain at the centre of it all, still chasing that mix of melody and haze that’s always defined them, but here they take a bolder leap into texture and tone. They’ve built an entire world of sound, pop sensibility wrapped in ambient vibes, rhythm and shimmer. The production feels DIY in the most beautiful way, not lo-fi but human, full of fingerprints and warmth. It’s the sound of two artists completely lost in the process, surrounded by friends and collaborators, building layers until emotion replaces structure.

The band have this to say about their sound.

“We’ve always had this grand, idealised sound in mind that blends classic UK indie with American neo-psych production (What if Dave Fridmann produced the La’s ?!) It needed to feel huge but very floaty, with a ’60s pop groove and a wall-of-sound chorus.”

Let’s dive in and hear the sunshine for ourselves.

The record opens with ‘Young Sun’, a bright and fizzy invitation that glows like morning light through blinds. There’s a rush of synthetic colour and that familiar ache beneath it, guitars buzzing like electricity behind a skyline of synths. It’s the band’s reintroduction familiar sure but sharper, with a pulse that feels both digital and tender. The beats and guitar give it a sense of motion that makes it impossible to sit still. It’s radiant and restless in equal measure.

‘Crush’ slips in next and immediately the album breathes deeper. Mark Van Hoen’s influence gives it that silken, weightless quality that floats somewhere between Air and early Broadcast. The rhythm glides gently under Clemence’s voice while Martha Bean’s harmonies ghost in and out like memory. There’s an intimacy here, a quiet ache that comes from trying to hold onto something that’s already gone.

On ‘Secret Garden’, Dayflower pare things right back. It feels personal, like being let into a private reverie. You can sense them exploring new emotional corners here, stretching dream pop until it feels like chamber music whispered through gauze. There’s a memory of Gerry Love era Teenage Fanclub in the melody that pleases my ears no end.

It’s pure jangle pop next with ‘Heart Shaped Tambourines’. This one carries special weight for the duo as it’s one of their earliest songs, rebuilt completely for Comfort. You can feel the years layered into it, the tenderness of re-examining your own beginnings. The guitars chime with a clarity that only comes with time while the chorus blooms into a swirl of voices and reverb. It’s both nostalgic and new, the sound of a song growing up alongside its makers.

‘Satellite Underground’ lands with more propulsion, its pulse flickering like neon city lights from a train window. There’s a late-night melancholy to it, the sense of being awake while the rest of the world drifts off. The synth bass hums beneath fragments of melody that feel half-remembered, and the percussion keeps you anchored in motion. It’s a perfect example of the record’s wider cinematic reach.

Then comes ‘Twirlpro’, another reimagined piece from their back catalogue, but now it feels wholly reborn. The drums hit harder, the edges gleam brighter, and there’s a newfound confidence in how the band handle rhythm and restraint. It swirls with intent and comes together as a perfect slice of summery pop. You can sense the joy they found in rebuilding these old fragments, turning familiar shapes into something vital again. Would this be what The Association would sound like if they were making music today?

‘Muji’ arrives as a moment of serene contemplation, all weightlessness and quiet detail. It could easily play under one of those lonely, fluorescent nights in Lost in Translation. The explosion of sound midway that blooms across the speakers is joy to behold. The only parallel I can reach for is Stars. This could easily sit with some of their best stuff.

Like a calming burst of morning colour ‘Sunny 19’ breaks through. It’s lighter, brisker, more direct — almost a palette cleanser after the denser textures before it. There’s an understated joy in its simplicity, a reminder that Dayflower’s pop instincts are never far from the surface. Whilst the composition is minimal the impact certainly isn’t.

Then ‘Lazy’ drifts in, and the mood folds inward again. This is the record’s gentle sigh, a hazy afternoon slowed to half-speed. The drumming and guitar work shape the rhythm into something unhurried, almost drowsy. It captures that peculiar melancholy that arrives when the light begins to fade, when you start thinking about the day you’ve just lived through.

Finally, ‘Mockingbird’ brings everything together in a wash of texture and tone. The vibes throb softly beneath ghostly harmonies, building into something both delicate and immense. You can hear echoes of Low’s late-period beauty and the smoky pulse of Massive Attack, but it’s unmistakably Dayflower. The song unravels slowly, a quiet release after so much tension, and by the end it feels like you’ve reached some peaceful corner of their imagined world.

What’s remarkable about Comfort is how fluidly it moves between these moods. It’s neither pure shoegaze nor straight dream-pop; it exists somewhere between, constantly shifting like light through mist. The guitars no longer dominate the skyline, but their spirit lingers everywhere. Instead, the synths, strings, and voices create something far more expansive. Clemence and Dhonau’s long-held vision finally feels fully realised. Dayflower have always lived somewhere between introspection and pop sparkle, but Comfort feels like their most complete statement yet. It’s the kind of record that seems to know when you need it most; a quiet refuge built from light, sound, and care.

Comfort is out now via Sunday Records on vinyl and CD. Check it out over on the Dayflower Bandcamp Page.

You can follow Dayflower on social media here …..