Chatham Rise – Trillium

Minneapolis has always had a quiet reputation for bands that look beyond the skyline. Chatham Rise are part of that thread. Since forming back in 2010 they’ve kept their eyes on the far horizon, balancing shoegaze haze with psychedelic swirl and the drifting calm of space rock. They’ve played alongside their heroes too. My Bloody Valentine, The Jesus & Mary Chain, Luna, The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Spectrum, LOOP, Rain Parade, Temples, The Horrors and more. Phew!  That’s a list that reads like a who’s who of the dreamier corners of the record shelf.

Now they are set to release their third full length following their 2013 self-titled debut and Meadowsweet from 2018. Trillium arrives through Infinite Spin Records and it feels like the sound of a band deep in their element. They’ve carried their shoegaze DNA into something looser, warmer, more expansive. The guests matter too. Paula Kelley of Drop Nineteens sings on the single ‘Angus Says’. Mark Refoy of Spacemen 3 and Spiritualized drops in on ‘Riddle Remix’. Josh Richardson of Flavor Crystals contributes guitar to ‘Here She Comes’. That’s a lineup that folds a whole history of psychedelia into these nine tracks

“Being able to play live along with our favourite bands is the ultimate experience and compliment,” the group say, and you can feel that sentiment buzzing through the record.

Let’s drop the needle and see where it takes us.

‘Here She Comes’ opens proceedings with a shimmer. The guitar spills through like liquid glass, rhythm section pulsing behind it in slow motion. The vocals arrive buried in reverb, the words less important than the way they hang in the air. Subtly in the background there’s a faint psychedelic wash that at times is reminiscent cent of the Beatles around Revolver. It’s a curtain-raiser for sure, a signal that this record is going to move at its own pace. You let it take you and soon enough you’re under its spell.

‘Trillium’, the title track, stretches almost six minutes and wears its patience proudly. Layers build slowly, synths and guitars stacking like soft waves. There’s a calm insistence to the strong and commanding bassline, leading the rest of the band in its dance. The melodies don’t rush but when they crest, you feel lifted a few inches off the ground. It’s the kind of track that makes sense of the album’s title. A trillium is a flower, rare and balanced, three petals spreading out from one centre. This track feels like that bloom.

‘Splinter’ sharpens things. The guitars cut harder, the drums drive with more bite. It carries a tension, like the song is pushing back at what has come before. It’s direct, hypnotic, and carries that blend of shoegaze beauty with a more urgent backbone. I am reminded of early Radiohead here in the songs major key minor key changes. This is my kinda gaze, it grabs you right in the feels whilst getting your foot tapping at the same time.

‘Souls’ comes next and changes the light again. It has a floating quality, almost devotional. The vocals hang like mist, with keys filling the background. It’s one of the record’s dreamiest turns and by this point you realize how well the band pace their moods. Every track shifts the dial a little without ever breaking the overall spell. That mood is dialled up as the track progresses and before long we are back moving at pace and soaring.

Then we get ‘Angus Says’. Paula Kelley’s voice glows at the centre, soft but commanding, brushing against the haze with a clarity that stands out. It’s no wonder this track has already spun on stations the world over. It’s a perfect single. Warm, steady, carrying just enough sweetness to lodge deep. Hearing Kelley on this is like a secret handshake between eras of shoegaze, Boston to Minneapolis in one breath.

‘Soon’ follows, and the title can’t help but remind you of My Bloody Valentine’s classic. But Chatham Rise don’t mimic. Their ‘Soon’ leans into trance-like repetition, a mantra of guitar lines and bass loops. It keeps you locked in, the repetition itself becoming the hook. It’s a psychedelic journey to the furthest corners of their musical universe.  A track to lose yourself in.

Then comes ‘Riddle Remix’, where Mark Refoy lends his guitar touch. You hear his hand instantly. The song actually doesn’t tilt toward that Spacemen 3 and Spiritualized lineage. Instead of spirals of feedback bending around a steady rhythm it’s a woozy and hypnotic acoustic driven ballad. The strum feels intimate like someone playing alone in a dimly lit room, yet Chatham Rise surround it with their trademark haze so it never loses that gazey quality.

‘Down The Line’ follows and keeps that tenderness alive, though with a different character. It’s a cover of 27 Various, and you can hear the love in the delivery. The band don’t smother it in effects or distort its shape. Instead, they treat it with care, letting the melody shine while still placing it inside their gauzy atmosphere. It feels like an affectionate nod to their Minneapolis roots, a reminder of where they come from and the friends who shaped them. Listening to it here, tucked late in the album, it lands almost like a hidden letter from home.

The closing track, ‘Trillium Reprise’, ties the whole journey together. Echoes of the title track resurface, stretched and reimagined, the sounds trailing like the final glow of fireworks across a night sky. It’s reflective, slightly melancholic, but never heavy. It’s reflective, patient, a slow dissolve. You feel the cycle completing. By the end you’re left in the quiet afterglow, ears still ringing, mind still somewhere in the distance.

Trillium feels like a band comfortable in their space, building layers of haze and melody because that’s the sound they’ve always carried inside them. The guests deepen the mood, the sequencing keeps you engaged, and the overall flow is one long arc rather than a set of disconnected songs. You come away feeling like you’ve spent an hour in the company of good friends. It’s a reminder that shoegaze and psych still have plenty of corners to explore when bands lean into their instincts. Chatham Rise have given us a record that blooms slowly, track by track, until you’re surrounded. Like the flower it’s named after, Trillium feels rare and carefully balanced. Once it opens, you don’t want it to close.

Trillium is out now on vinyl via Infinite Spin Records. Follow the band on the Chatham Rise Bandcamp page.

You can follow Chatham Rise on social media here.

Magic Shoppe – Resurrection Machine EP

Magic Shoppe are no newcomers to the world pf shoegaze. Based in Boston but long embraced by psych and shoegaze fans everywhere, they’ve built their reputation on EPs and albums that never shy away from heavy noise or unfiltered grit. Their live shows are infamous for their volume. Some say an almost physical force that surrounds you and rattles your chest. Six EPs in, they still chase that raw edge. Resurrection Machine lands as another marker in their story, not polished to sterility but buzzing with the dirt and danger that keeps shoegaze vital.

The band is centred around the musical mind of Josiah Webb with talented friends filling out their live sound. Webb has this to say on the sound of this EP.

“Resurrection Machine is a mesmerizing dive into the heart of shoegaze, fusing the dense, crushing textures of My Bloody Valentine with the chord-savvy energy of Swervedriver. It balances a classic ’90s shoegaze feel with the sounds of more contemporary bands like Nothing and DIIV.”

Well this sounds like I’m going to be a very happy gazer then! Let’s drop the needle!

The opening track, ‘Going Nowhere Slowly’, simply erupts. This is a real statement of intent. The guitars feel like they are in a constant battle with their own feedback and are only just winning.  You feel the song vibrating in your teeth, pushing you forward while at the same time suspending you in a dreamlike stasis. Those MBV vibes are strong, man if only Shields and co were still making songs as good as this.

‘Space Cadet’ carries that daze but lifts it with a sharper groove. The rhythm locks into a motorik pulse, guitars spiralling in and out. The steady throb really provides a cracking contrast for the central guitar riff which is the purest of gaze. I love when bands blend genres and Magic Shoppe do that here with massive success.

Then comes ‘Oh No!’. The title says it all, it’s punchy, direct, almost bratty. The guitars sound like they’re falling apart, sputtering distortion like sparks from frayed wiring. What’s at the core of this song though is both a killer hook and a addictive melody. There’s a chant-like simplicity in the refrain that gets lodged in your head, the kind of hook you find yourself humming hours later without realising.

By the time you hit ‘Everything Sounds Better When You’re Dead’, the record takes a darker turn. Nearly five minutes of heavy atmosphere, guitars swelling and breaking like waves on stone. There’s something both beautiful and sinister here. The title alone is arresting, and the music leans into that fatalistic mood, layering distortion up and bludgeoning you with it. Like before the melody cuts through, clear as a bell, making this chaos heartfelt. That got me, making this my standout track.

The closer, ‘Little Sheep’, brings it all down without losing intensity. It’s softer in tone, glacial and fragile compared to what came before, but the undercurrent of gaze is still there. A curtain call that reminds you this band knows how to leave space when it matters. You can almost see the amps cooling down, smoke curling off the top, the room finally settling after the storm.

What makes Resurrection Machine so gripping is its balance. It never smooths out its rough edges. The distortion is thick, the mix is raw, yet the songs are always there underneath. Catchy, memorable, buzzing with hooks that shine through even when buried under layers of fuzz. Magic Shoppe prove once again that shoegaze doesn’t have to be distant or pristine. It can be dirty, sweaty, and loud enough to shake you awake. Resurrection Machine has taken the spirit of shoegaze and walked it back onto the stage like it never left.

Resurrection Machine is out September 12 via Little Cloud Records (US/Canada) and FuzzedUp/AstroMoon Records (UK/EU). Follow the band on the Magic Shoppe Bandcamp page.

You can follow Magic Shoppe on social media here…

Nyxy Nyx – Cult Classics Vol. 1

Nyxy Nyx have been circling the underground for over a decade now. Started by Brian Reichert and Drew Saracco back in 2014, the project thrived in the shadows of Philly basements and DIY art spaces. Releases were handed out as tapes, burned CDs, or random files that changed every time you pressed play. Sometimes songs were re-recorded, sometimes whole tracklists vanished. Nyxy Nyx lived in that liminal space between permanence and disappearance, where music felt like an artifact you might never find again.

But Cult Classics Vol. 1 is different. It’s the first full-band studio record, pressed into something unshakable thanks to Julia’s War Recordings. Reichert is joined by Tim Jordan (Sun Organ), Benjamin Schurr (Luna Honey), Alex Ha (ex-Knifeplay), with appearances from Madeline Johnston (Midwife) and Josh Meakim (A Sunny Day in Glasgow). The album nails down the sludgy, hypnotic weight of their live shows while still bending reality into strange, warped reflections.

So what is the album all about, here’s what the band have to say.

“Luv, pain, the profound, the mundane: Nyxy Nyx is for the dreamers and true believers. Down the rabbit hole, caught in a snare, the project’s cyclical riffs and self-references blur the lines of time and reality, backing listeners into a déjà vu box-trap of uncanny melodies and foggy-eyed double takes.”

That’s quite the intro, lets hit play and see where it takes us.

The album opens with the sludgy tones of ‘Empty Gesture’. It lurches forward like a half-broken machine grinding into gear, vocals all but consumed in the fuzz until they feel more like a ghostly chant than words. The track sways between control and collapse, daring you to lean in closer even as it pushes you away. There’s a wonky beauty in how unstable it feels. Ok I’m in!

The mood changes entirely on ‘They Called U Wild’, which leans into the slowcore sound. The duel vocals this time are very much floating along on the sound of the gentle guitar lines. There’s a lilt in the rhythm that makes the whole track feel unhurried, like two voices wandering in parallel without ever needing to meet in the middle. It feels woozy, like a late-night conversation whispered between friends.

When ‘Hold Me (I’m Shaking)’ drifts in, the record brings its two vibes together. The slowcore mood continues with that sludgy sound being used for emphasis, like musical punctuation. The guitars grind in, heavy but never suffocating, giving the song a weight that makes every lyric land harder. The vocal feels exposed, trembling on the edge of collapse, and when it cracks against the fuzz it’s raw enough to stop you cold. The contrast between fragility and noise makes the track sting. You can feel the body in the performance like the sense that the song might fall apart mid-play. That unpredictability keeps you on point. When the band hit those louder moments, it doesn’t feel like a shift in volume, it feels like someone crying out after holding too much in. It’s messy, human, and unforgettable.

Up next is my album highlight ‘I Don’t Know Much About Love’. You may have heard this on my DKFM show last month. I love the subtle grandeur of it all. The chord sequence over the title being sung in just exquisite where simplicity feels monumental. The repetition works like a slow spell, circling back again and again until it seeps under your skin.  Played loud, the track swells in the room until it feels cathedral-like, but not polished or pristine. More like stumbling into a half-ruined church at night and hearing the echoes of a hymn still bouncing off the stone. It’s solemn, fragile, and utterly gripping. This is the one I keep coming back to.

‘Ashtray’ turns up sharper and nastier thumbing its nose at our expectations. The guitars cut through with jagged theatrical edges. It’s the closest the album gets to a punk sneer, messy and defiant, but still weighed down by the sludge underneath. The bass gnaws at the bottom end, dragging the track through the dirt, while the drums stumble forward like they’re daring everything else to keep up.

There’s an unkempt charm to it, like the band deliberately left the rough edges showing. The track laughs at the idea of polish, and that’s what makes it spark. If the earlier songs were heavy with introspection, ‘Ashtray’ is the messy, smoke-filled answer back; blunt, brash, and impossible to ignore.

Then comes ‘The Stray’, which is the perfect balance of mood for me. It has that wonky woozy charm but below it all is a killer melody peering through the haze. The guitars bend and sway as if slightly out of step, giving the whole thing a loose, stumbling quality, yet the tune at its core is unmistakable. That’s what makes it hit. When the band lean into the swell, the track blooms into something huge without ever losing that crooked sway.

‘In Haze’ slips into view like the world softening at the edges. It’s dizzying, narcotic, but also strangely soothing. Lush slowcore vibes wash over you. That dual vocal trick works like a charm again, two voices blurring into one, as if they’re drifting in and out of the same dream. The pace is glacial; every chord allowed to hang and dissolve before the next one rolls in. You almost lose track of time, suspended in the song’s fog, not caring where it’s headed. What’s striking is how peaceful it feels even with all that weight pressing down. There’s no urgency, no sharp turns, just a woozy pull that makes you want to stay inside it.

The closer ‘Endless Hex’ makes good on the title. It sprawls, unravelling into a slow, crushing finale that doesn’t so much end as dissolve into itself. The band sound like they’re dragging every last ounce of weight from their instruments. It’s heavy, yes, but also strangely tender in how it refuses to let go. You’re left with ringing ears and a lingering sense of dislocation, as if the record hasn’t quite finished with you.

Cult Classics Vol. 1 isn’t about clarity or resolution. It’s about being caught in cycles, haunted by echoes, stuck in loops you can’t quite escape. Every song here feels lived-in and uncertain, like it might collapse at any second, yet together they form a body of work that finally fixes Nyxy Nyx in place without losing their mystery. For a band that has always shifted like smoke, that permanence feels almost shocking. And maybe that’s the point. The cult is no longer a secret. The classics are real this time. You can hold them, you can buy them, you can listen again and again. Just be prepared though: the hex is endless.

Cult Classics Vol. 1 is out September 12 via Julia’s War Recordings. Give the band a follow on the Nyxy Nyx Bandcamp page.

 
You can follow Nyxy Nyx on social media here…

Slow Crush – Thirst

I have a lot of fondness for Slow Crush. They absolutely nailed that heavy gaze sound I had been craving on their debut album Aurora. They were one of the first bands I seen after the pandemic, and what a show it was too. They’ve been riding that line between heaviness and fragility since then. The Belgian outfit have built and maintained a reputation on touring relentlessly, sending their shoegaze storm through sold out venues across continents. Their 2021 record Hush became the sort of album people clung to when everything around them was collapsing. That’s no small feat. And while the pandemic pressed pause on live music, it pushed the band to retreat, reflect, and ultimately create. Now, four years later, Slow Crush are back, bigger, bolder, heavier, yet full of moments that cut to the bone.

When they entered The Ranch in Southampton, the mission wasn’t just to repeat old patterns. They wanted rawness. They wanted risk. They wanted to capture imperfection as beauty. Drums recorded in a kitchen. Glitches left in place. Even a saxophone sneaking in on one song. The band are unafraid of tearing down their own walls. Isa Holliday (bass, Vocals), Jelle Ronsmans (guitars), and Frederik Meeuwis (drums) dug deep, often to the point where Holliday broke down in tears mid-song. The vulnerability stayed in the recordings. You hear it. You feel it. Holliday says the band had a clear goal when recording this album.

“We want people to let themselves go and feel embraced by the music, so that they can experience it in 4D. I think that’s something we miss in this day and age. We want to let people take a moment for themselves and let the music take them wherever they would like to go.”

That moment begins with ‘Thirst’. A bold opener. The guitars surge like floodlights cutting through fog. Holliday’s voice floats, barely tethered, but every word lands heavy. It sets the tone. This is an album about desire and absence, about balance and essence, about needing something you can’t quite name. The song climbs and falls, but always with a sense of forward motion, of hunger. By the end, you feel that title etched into your skin.

Then comes ‘Covet’. A shorter, sharper hit, beginning with a quiet prelude that soon explodes. The band lean into grit here. The sax arrives near the end, curling around the vocals like someone falling out a late-night jazz club. It’s short and to the point and doesn’t dominate the trac. If anything, it makes you focus on the guitars more. One of those left-field decisions that make you grin because it just works.

From there, ‘Cherry’ spreads out wide. Dreamy guitar textures wrap around you like velvet curtains. It’s lush but heavy, the kind of track that makes you close your eyes and imagine yourself falling backwards into sound. There’s sweetness here, but also something sour underneath. Like its namesake fruit, ripe but bleeding red.

‘Leap’ takes that tension and punctures it. Opening like a lullaby its minimal and leaves plenty of room for the emotion in the vocals to really hit you. When those guitars enter though there’s a bigger impact. Really take a minute to focus in on Meeuwis’ drums. The dextrous energy on show is outstanding. Lifts the whole track to another level!

Then the record shifts into shadow with ‘Hollow’. Barely three minutes, but devastating. It’s skeletal, stripped back, and painfully exposed. You can hear the emotion Holliday struggled to get through. It lands like a diary entry left open on the floor. You need to experience this in headphones up loud. The choice of guitar tone is inspired throughout too. The textures compliment the vocals beautifully throughout to that screamed outro and the dead stop.

After the hollow comes the hold. That reassuring lift appears with ‘Haven’. A title that fits perfectly. Warm guitars, a steadier pace, and vocals that feel like a hand on your shoulder. Theres a real spacious feeling to this track, to the distance between the guttural bass and chiming guitar lead that just engulfs you.

And while we are in there ‘While You Dream Vividly’ takes you by the hand into that twilight space where beauty and dread mingle. The track meanders like a fever dream. You’re not sure what’s real and what’s imagined. I can only compare this to the result of a Robert Smith and Keven Shields collab. Goosebumps stuff.

The heavier streak returns with ‘Bloodmoon’. It’s a stormer. This makes me think of Kate Bush in her moodier moments but with a shoegaze backdrop. Again, the drums lead the way with a stunning performance from Meeuwis. I love how dynamic the track is especially from that half point dip and slow build to the end.

Then the band offer something more unexpected with ‘Ógilt’. Translated to ‘Invalid’ the song is a textural exploration of ambient tones. A soothing palate cleanser before the finale.

Closing the album out, ‘Hlýtt’ brings grace and weight. Nearly six minutes of expansive shoegaze grandeur. The song grows, swells, then breaks apart. It feels final. Like standing at the edge of the sea at night, knowing the tide will wash everything away but staying there anyway. The title may translate as ‘Warm’ but this is glacial stuff. The perfect curtain drop.

What makes Thirst remarkable is its balance. It’s heavier than anything Slow Crush have made before, but it’s also their most vulnerable. The fragility of connection, the ache of distance, the glory of reunion, the sting of loss, it’s all here, inside these songs. You hear the band’s years on the road, the cultures they touched, the people they met, the emotions they finally let themselves access. And you feel it all rushing out at once. Thirst is such a clever album title choice. It’s the condition of being human. Longing for closeness, longing for release, longing for something beyond what you can hold. Slow Crush capture it with sound that swallows you whole.

Thirst is out now via Pure Noise Records. Follow the band on the Slow Crush Bandcamp page.


You can follow Slow Crush on social media here…

Everything Else – Another One Making Clouds

One thing I love about the shoegaze scene is that if a new band appears that are absolutely nailing it then you’ll find out about them in no time. Everyone is so supportive and keen to share their latest discoveries. And so it was that I found Everything Else via a number of shoegaze pals. The fact that so many of my trusted sources were shouting about this album led me to placing a blind order for the vinyl, without ever hearing it. As expected, they weren’t wrong.

Everything Else are two childhood friends from Liverpool who’ve been playing together since they were six. By nineteen, they’d holed up and made this debut album for Big Potato Records with nothing but guitars, pedals, and an instinctive connection that’s impossible to fake. The label kept their promise to release it exactly as captured, no tinkering, no studio gloss. That decision matters, because what you get here isn’t polished perfection. It’s the sound of youth at full tilt, reaching for something epic from a bedroom floor. You hear traces of The Cure’s icy grandeur, Echo & The Bunnymen’s shadowed anthems, Flying Saucer Attack’s haze. But mostly, you hear two people trying to put the confusion and wonder of their nineteen years into noise.

Let’s drop the needle and see where this album takes us.

Kicking things off ‘Deep Mind’ sets the scene. The guitars are reverb drenched, tumbling over each other in waves, with a rhythm section that sits quietly at the back letting the guitars wash over them. It’s a gentle opener but already you can gauge the level these two lads are working at. There’s a nuance at play that belies their tender years. Wow, what is to come.

That bleeds straight into ‘Two Monkeys’, the track that first introduced them. Distortion thick enough to rattle windows, but inside it sits a melody that twists and clings like an echo of some lost nursery rhyme. The rough edges are the whole point. It’s the sort of fuzz that feels alive, messy, human. You can imagine them cranking the fuzz pedal too far in a rehearsal room and deciding, yes, that’s it, leave it.

‘Every Word Said’ brings a shift. The guitar lines get brighter, more intricate, and the song opens up into something closer to eighties goth pop, though still clouded by reverb. Vocals, now more up front in the mix, stretch into the sky, carrying a bittersweet weight. You can hear two friends locked in with each other, weaving something far bigger than their setting.

The title track is the centrepiece. ‘Another One Making Clouds’ feels like a storm rolling across the horizon. Layers stack until you almost lose your bearings, even though there’s no vocal it still maintains its humanity, fragile but steady, reminding you there’s a heart beating at the centre of the noise. The way it moves between heavy swells and quieter, breath-held moments recalls Flying Saucer Attack at their most engulfing. It feels like watching weather form and break apart.

From there, the record keeps shifting shades. ‘Hollow Surrounds’ has a darker pull, almost like something from C86 era Glasgow. Its slow and steady and even keeled start to finish. There’s something comforting about that.

 ‘Uncertain’ carries that restless teenage spirit, equal parts hope and frustration. There’s an ease about its pacing that feels like a walk through a city at night, streetlights flickering on puddles. Gone is a that even tempered approach and in comes a real dynamism. The bloom into that chorus is incredibly uplifting and life affirming.

‘Watch’ slows things down. The bass thumps like a heartbeat while guitars sway around it in looping arcs. You could lose yourself in this one, the way it hangs in mid-air, refusing to resolve. It’s a track that aches without saying much, which makes it hit even harder.

Then comes ‘So Long’, the shortest moment on the record. A two-and-a-half-minute sigh, like the band needed to step out of the fog and say something plain before diving back in. The guitars truly shimmer and glow on this one, warmth just oozes out the speakers.

And then the closer, ‘In Bed’. It’s intimate and woozy, the kind of song that feels like it was written at 3 a.m. with the lights off. The reverb folds in on itself, leaving just enough space for the listener to feel like they’re inside the room with them. If you’d told me this was a lost Slowdive single I wouldn’t have questioned you. It’s THAT good.

Across its nine tracks, Another One Making Clouds never loses that balance between scale and closeness. It sounds massive, but it always keeps you in the loop, like a secret being shared. That’s rare. Most records at this age shoot for volume and forget intimacy. Everything Else somehow caught both. Listening through, I kept flashing back to the bands I found as a teenager, the ones that made the world feel wider and stranger. This album carries that same charge. It doesn’t just speak to being nineteen. It bottles it. The confusion, the want, the weight of trying to understand yourself while everything around you shifts. They’ve managed to turn those feelings into sound. Another One Making Clouds is the kind of debut that will make you believe in albums again. It takes the noise, the haze, the shadows, and turns them into something you can hold onto. A record made by two friends who trusted their instincts, and in doing so created a world worth getting lost in.

Another One Making Clouds is out now on vinyl and CD via Big Potato Records.

You can follow Everything Else on social media here…

Spaceface – Lunar Manor

Spaceface have been around since 2012, carrying that lysergic sparkle through sunny song writing but shaping it into something sleeker, funkier, and unapologetically fun. Their debut Sun Kids leaned heavy into dreamy psychedelia. Following that Anemoia chased wistful nostalgia and left listeners in a daze of earworms and soft-focus bliss. They’ve toured relentlessly, throwing kaleidoscopic light shows, pulling weird props onto the stage, and always leaning into the joy. Over the years, they’ve traded verses and riffs with a who’s who of left-field pop friends, and now they are presenting us with yet another gem. Lunar Manor feels like the band finding their sweet spot, part disco ball, part bedroom window, part cosmic confessional.

The band is led by singer-songwriters Jake Ingalls, fresh from his years with The Flaming Lips, and Eric Martin, a long-time creative partner in the project. On stage they’re joined by Marina Aguerre of Teal Pop on bass and Garet Powell of Double Wish on drums, the four of them locking into grooves that teeter between woozy dream pop and sweaty disco. Across twelve years they’ve become known as much for their wild light shows and offbeat stage props as their knack for melodies that hang in your head for days.

The band have this to say about the album.

“Lunar Manor is a collection of songs written over many years, there are love songs, party songs, existential tunes all shuffled together. These are sincere attempts to make you and us feel good amidst the ever-shifting chaos of the world.”

Let’s not hang about, it’s time to drop the needle and take a trip!

The album opens with ‘Be Here Forever’, a woozy cruiser that glides like Burt Bacharach refracted through a sci-fi lens. It’s the kind of track that makes you slow your walk to match its sunny tempo, maybe even loop an extra block because you don’t want it to end. The lyrics sinks in like warm sunlight. There’s no rush, no big drama, just a reminder to hold still and let the moment hum. It’s a luscious welcome to the album, a great bit musical hug.

Then the pace picks up. ‘Acceleration’ does exactly what the title promises. The synths flash, the bassline struts, and suddenly we’re on roller skates, spinning under disco lights. You can hear the band smiling inside the groove, riding that line between psychedelic swirl and full-on funk workout. It’s the first hint that Lunar Manor isn’t all starry-eyed floating, it wants your body moving too.

That mood spills into ‘Beach Within Reach’, a playful little sunbeam of a track. Theres a baroque charm, like stumbling barefoot across hot sand at some exclusive euro resort just to dive headfirst into the waves. It’s carefree but never lightweight. Spaceface always tuck depth beneath the shimmer, and here it’s the way nostalgia creeps in, reminding you that summers fade even when the memory doesn’t.

Then comes the first curveball. ‘IDKW2G’ is jagged and strange. There’s a restlessness beneath it, an anxiety that feels like late-night indecision. Do you stay out? Do you head home? The production gets more fragmented here, fractured beats colliding with dreamy synth washes. It’s a head trip, and it works.

‘I Never Learn’ follows like a relaxing exhale, pulling back into something more tender. Short and sweet it’s melancholy wrapped in psychedelic shimmer, the vocals, here simply another blissed out texture, floating just out of reach. Spaceface have always known how to sneak sadness into the funhouse, and this track aches in the best way. You feel the sting, but you’re happy to let it linger.

The playfulness returns on ‘Everything Is Money’. Here the satire cuts sharper, bouncing over funky riffs while poking fun at material obsession. The groove is infectious, but the message bites. It’s the kind of track that makes you dance even as you’re nodding in recognition.

Their cover of ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ arrives like a glitter bomb in the middle of the record. The Verve’s original is all grandiose melancholy. Spaceface flip it into something stranger, more neon and pulsating. The strings are replaced with synth waves, the rhythm looser, the atmosphere heavier on groove than solemnity. It shouldn’t work, but it does. You hear the familiar melody wrapped in disco-pop haze, and it feels like walking into a party where everyone knows the words. I’m going to be controversial here and say I prefer this version.

‘Look Into the Sky’ drifts softer, opening like a dream sequence. The vocals echo into the ether, drums marching against a background of synth stardust. They really have created another musical world. It’s a pop moment of cosmic reflection before the record pivots again.

‘All We Have’ pulls the threads together. It’s bittersweet but warm, reminding you of those fleeting nights where the laughter fades and suddenly you’re aware of how fragile everything feels. The lyrics sting but the groove keeps you swaying in time, a contradiction Spaceface nail time and again.

By the time ‘Watching You Watch the Moon’ hits, the album has become almost cinematic. The title alone feels like a scene from a 70s cult film, and the song leans into that voyeuristic romance. Slow grooves, echoing guitars, and a mood that feels like lying on a rooftop watching someone else’s moment of wonder. It’s gorgeous and wonderfully haunting.

The closer, ‘Wonder About You’, ties it all back to intimacy. After all the galactic glitter, the swirling funk, the dancefloor detours, Spaceface end on something soft and personal. It’s dreamy, yes, but grounded too. The record doesn’t vanish into space, it leaves you with a lingering thought, a quiet reflection, the sense that beneath all the spectacle they’re still just singing about connection.

Lunar Manor is a house you’ll want to keep coming back to. Every room glows differently. Some are full of mirrors and strobe lights. Some are cozy with candlelight and whispers. Together, it feels like Spaceface finally built the home they’ve been sketching since their earliest days. A place where you can dance, sigh, laugh, and get lost all at once.

Lunar Manor is out now via Mothland. Follow the band on the Spaceface Bandcamp page.

You can follow Spaceface on social media here…

Video Premiere – Selkie – Hours

Selkie has always been a work in progress. Always in flux, adapting and changing her sound to suit her mood, her surroundings. She has played pianos in Glasgow, recorded in Berlin bedrooms, and now performs regularly in Japan. She has just released her latest single, ‘Hours’ but this is no overnight process. Far from it

The track’s origins reach back to 2019. It began as a song about a long-distance relationship, holding equal parts hope and ache. When the pandemic shifted the way we all stayed connected, it took on a broader weight. Over time it was played live, reworked in collaboration with different musicians, and shaped in studios across continents. This final version distils every one of those experiences into something luminous.

‘Hours’ opens with layered vocals that draw you close. A glimmer of synths moves in slowly; each note placed with care. She sings, “I’ve seen this hour in a different light, I stretch across time.” The words feel suspended, as if the song is already bending the sense of time it describes. There is restraint in the first section with percussion kept at a distance, atmospheres left to drift and settle.

The second verse shifts the focus. “I’m just a tiny piece, but I’m a part of this, and over oceans I am waving.” It’s an image that sits quietly in your mind, speaking to the shared need for connection. The production begins to bloom here, gentle rhythms and new synth textures folding in without disturbing the stillness.

By the final section the song has expanded into a wide-open space. The emotional build is gradual but steady, each added layer deepening the warmth.

From my experience Selkie’s live performances have always been immersive and comforting. ‘Hours’ captures that intimacy but frames it with the precision of a studio work. It asks for quiet attention and rewards it with a lingering calm.

With ‘Hours’ Selkie shows the confidence to let a song take its time. Every moment feels considered. Every sound serves the atmosphere. It’s a work shaped by years of movement and change, yet it lands with the clarity of something that has found its true form. An EP is planned for later in the year. Based on this, it’s going to be essential listening.

‘Hours’ is released on August 23 2025 arriving as a limited cassette, featuring alternate acoustic, live and dub remix versions along with her own artwork. Make sure and follow her over on the Selkie Bandcamp Page.

You can follow Selkie on social media here …

The Stargazer Lilies – Love Pedals

You know that feeling when the world slows down for a second. The air thickens. Colours blur and shimmer in a way that makes you question if you’re awake or already dreaming. That’s exactly where The Stargazer Lilies music lives. The new release is less an album you listen to and more a place you drift into. Once you’re there, you don’t want to leave.

Kim Field and John Cep have been bending sound into strange and beautiful shapes for years. First with Soundpool, where they managed the unimaginable, disco and shoegaze colliding in a glitter-soaked blur. Now, they are The Stargazer Lilies, where their vision has turned denser, darker, and more intoxicating. They’ve always had a knack for making reverb feel alive, like it breathes in the spaces between the notes.

My first real encounter with The Stargazer Lilies was Occabot. That record floored me. Like a hidden portal opening up, where distortion wasn’t just a texture but a whole new terrain. I can still remember hitting play and sitting stunned, thinking how the hell have I missed this until now. That moment of discovery has never left me, and every release since has been a reminder of how deep their sound can run when you give yourself to it fully. Love Pedals pushes even further. It carries the same slow-burning magic but drenched in more weight, more atmosphere, more heart.

Let’s see what new worlds this album will take us to. Time to drop the needle.

The album begins with ‘Ambient Light’. It is both an opening and an invitation. Guitars stretch like molten glass, bending and sliding into strange shapes, while Field’s voice hovers, fragile but unyielding. This is a new sound for the band. Almost sludgy, driven by that busy bassline. Still unmistakably The Stargazer Lilies though. Theres no mistaking Ceps unique guitar style.

From there, ‘Love Radio Show’ breaks through with a pulse that feels warmer, looser. It’s hazy but alive, the kind of song that flickers between romance and menace depending on where your head is at. The guitar tones are sharper, cutting little slashes into the haze. The chorus doesn’t so much announce itself as it blooms suddenly, like headlights hitting fog. By the time the song settles into its hypnotic groove, you’re deep inside their world. Only two songs on and I’m in heaven here.

‘Perfect World’ pushes things further inward like some dissolving memory. The tempo is slow and steady but the sounds wash over you in waves, giving the sense of time stretching. There’s a sweetness buried beneath the fuzz, it seduces while leaving you unsettled. This is the sound of the band taking that sound they created on Occabot and elevating it to new angelic highs and for that reason it has to be my album stand out track.

Then comes ‘By Your Side’, which feels like the closest thing to a ballad here, though of course nothing The Stargazer Lilies do is straightforward. The guitars cradle the vocal, not smother it, wrapping Field’s delivery in fuzz and haze. But through all that weight, the sentiment cuts clear. You feel the intimacy, the promise of connection, even if it’s delivered through layers of distortion. It’s claustrophobic and tender at once. How Cep simultaneously gets his guitars to sound like a choir and a space ship taking off is beyond me.

The midway point is marked by ‘Shining Yellow’, and the title says it all. It really does glow. The guitars chime brighter, the textures open up, and suddenly there’s space to breathe. After the heaviness of the first half, this track feels like stepping outside into sunlight after travelling through the night. The shoegaze wash is still there, but it’s tinted with a psychedelic summer shimmer that gives it lift. It’s a real trick to create these new moods and textures but you know your still in The Stargazer Lilies world.

‘Heaven Knows’ turns the mood again. The low-end digs deeper, the guitars stretch into feedback-drenched delayed wails, and the track moves with a slower crawl. There’s resignation in it, but also beauty. The vocal melodies hover above the maelstrom like a flicker of hope refusing to be stamped out. The guitars hit in waves washing over you whilst the vocals anchor us in its wake. This is such a visceral listening experience.

Then the strangeness peaks with ‘Trans Med’. It feels more like a sound ritual than a song, with tones bending and breaking apart, percussion dissolving into the ether. It’s hypnotic, unsettling, and yet utterly compelling. You get the sense that they wanted to break the dream open here, let you see the seams of the world they’ve built. It’s the boldest cut on the album, the one where they stop hinting at psychedelia and just throw you into the deep end. This is lysergic at its most extreme. This song made me hear colours!

‘Hold Tight’ pulls things back into something more grounded, though only slightly. The rhythm feels like it’s dragging its feet, but there’s warmth in the way the melodies wrap around each other. After the chaos of ‘Trans Med’, it’s almost like a hand on your shoulder, a reminder that you’re still being carried through. The mood makes this feel like a lost track from The White Album that was excluded for being too out there. The chorus carries a sense of defiance, a whispered mantra to cling to connection even as everything else unravels. That guitar solo though. It utterly melts your brain. I have no idea how that is achieved.

The album closes with ‘Love Radio Show (Radio Edit)’. On the surface, it’s just a shorter version of the earlier track, but it works beautifully as a bookend. The repetition feels deliberate, like a dream you slip back into just before waking. The edit strips away some of the haze, leaving a sharper silhouette of the song. It’s a reminder of what you’ve passed through, but cleaner, brighter, as if the band wanted to leave you blinking in the morning light.

By the end of Love Pedals, you’re left in that strange half-place between exhaustion and renewal. The Stargazer Lilies have always blurred lines, between past and future, between shoegaze tradition and new territory, between intimacy and vastness. With this record, they lean fully into that, letting it define the experience. It’s music that consumes you, stretches you, leaves you disoriented in the best way. How do I feel about The Stargazer Lilies after listening to Love Pedals? I continue to be in awe of their creativeness, their ability to transport me into their records and completely consume me. How do I feel about them. I love em! If you’ve been looking for a record that makes the familiar feel uncanny, that takes the weight of shoegaze and bends it into strange new shapes, Love Pedals is it. Just don’t expect to stay the same once you step inside.

Love Pedals is out now via Shoredive Records and Little Cloud Records on some very lush coloured vinyl variants. Follow the band on The Stargazer Lilies Bandcamp page.


You can follow The Stargazer Lilies on social media here…


Space Waves – On & On

Space Waves have been sending ripples through shoegaze and psych rock for over fifteen years now. Formed by Kelley and Sarah Bourland in Oregon, they relocated to Long Beach in 2013. On & On is their eighth album, following Delusion Days in 2019. The band’s sound blends psych swirl, shoegaze drift, dream pop shimmer and the patience of slowcore. Drummer Brandon Werts rejoins after his sterling work on previous albums Night ’Til Day and Delusion Days. Phil Cobb takes up guitar duties for the first time on record, though he has been part of the live set for years. Tavis Werts guests on trumpet for the closing track, giving the finale an soulful glow.

The record moves between shadowed psych tones and moments of light. Recording was split between the bands home studio and the renowned Jazzcats Studio in Long Beach California. This has resulted in lending an open and immediate quality to some of the tracks. Conversely the vocals often feel submerged, as if coming from another room. Guitars bend, chime and shimmer while bass and drums give the songs quiet weight.

Let’s dive in and see where the album takes us.

‘Fall’ is a brooding opener built on dense guitars. Reverb lingers on each chord, creating a thick atmosphere. Vocals are restrained, almost whispered. It draws you into the mood and keeps you there. I love how the flashes of guitar in the chorus take me back to classic 60’s psychedelia but the rumbling verses drag us whooping and hollering back to the future. It’s a strong opener and locks you in for the ride.

‘Keep Away’ slips in with a descending chord pattern that almost makes you lean back and exhale. The lyrics feel like a quiet request; a personal bubble extended to the listener. The guitars loop steadily and patiently, and I found myself noticing every micro shift in the percussion. That steadiness in the guitar allows everything else to really shine. Great track and some very cool production choices too.

From there, ‘Folding Chair’ keeps that introspective energy but adds a touch of lightness. Guitars both vibrate like healing energy and scream into the ether. The mood is still reflective, but there’s space to breathe, to watch little details move in the background. It’s easy to get lost here, and I did, caught between the organ, swirling feedback and the thoughtful lyrics about finding calm in your own corner of the world.

Then ‘Repair’ arrives and slows everything down. It’s a ballad in waltz time, soft and elegant, with guitar slides that feel like silk brushing against skin. The chorus lands in a way that makes your chest lift, but quietly, subtly. You can almost imagine the band leaning into one another in the studio, letting the song find its shape naturally.

The energy shifts with ‘Something Spinning Fast Through Outer Space’. It’s playful and bright, bass running little laps beneath shimmering guitar lines. The lyric about an orange light flashing around jumps out, a moment of weird wonder drawn from a real-life experience in Portland. As someone who has also seen a UFO I totally get the band’s eyes wide open wonder spilling into the song. Incidentally the colour the band chose for their vinyl comes partly from a line in this song! See if you can spot it!

‘Creepy Creeps’ is brief but lively, the guitars flicking and bouncing with a mischievous energy. It reminds you the band can still be cheeky, playful even, after years of perfecting their introspective side. It sits perfectly after the cosmic swirl of the previous track, giving your ears a little shock of movement. This is about as immediate a pop song on the album there is. In the chorus you can imagine a 50’s girl group track swathed in fuzz. Love this!

By the time ‘Eyes Floating By’ rolls around, you’re totally immersed in this new world. Sparse and spacious, it hovers in the air like a quiet observation post above everything. The vocals pull you into this half-alien perspective that questions the human view of the world. It’s one of those songs that makes you tilt your head and wonder what it would feel like to float through space and still feel your heart thump in time with Earth below. The guitar cycles hypnotically swathed in reverb and static. Are these the last signals of a lost civilisation from across the cosmos?

The title track, ‘On & On’, feels like a walk you wish would never end. Guitars catch the glow of sunset, the lyrics painting pink and orange skylights. It carries the sense of being both observer and participant, and the experience feels cinematic yet intimate. It’s playful and reflective, bridging the album’s lighter and darker moments effortlessly. For me, this is the most psychedelic moment on the record and I get lost in the guitar jam each and every time.

Finally, ‘Stages’ stretches out like the closing scene of a film you didn’t want to end. Tavis Werts’ trumpet cleverly curls through the guitars like smoke in the twilight, and the vocals drift softly on top. It’s patient, calm, and leaves you feeling suspended, the way only a long, carefully constructed record can. There’s warmth and sadness intertwined, and the slow fade leaves a trace that lingers on your skin like a memory.

On & On moves like a stream through day and night, past quiet reflections and bursts of colour, all held together by the band’s decades of experience. Every track has a purpose, every pause matters. There’s an intimacy that makes you feel like you are wandering through their world, catching glimpses of moments you weren’t meant to see. Space Waves have crafted a record that invites you in and won’t let go, leaving you thinking about light, space, and the gentle turn of the world around you.

On & On is out now via Mindwave on stunning coloured vinyl and CD. Follow the band on the Space Waves Bandcamp page.

You can follow Space Waves on social media here…

Glare – Sunset Funeral

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a big shoegazer at heart. It’s my go to music and over the years I’ve really refined my taste in gaze to the heavier side of things. The mountains of fuzz wall of sound kinda gaze. You’ll understand why I was beaming ear to ear when I dropped the needle on Glares debut album Sunset Funeral for the first time.

Let’s pump the brakes here and just introduce the band to you. Glare are from Texas’s Lower Rio Grande Valley where heat seems to melt sightlines. They arrived quietly in 2017 with “Into Me” and “Blank” then gifted us the Heavenly EP in 2021. In April this year they dropped Sunset Funeral after teasing us with “Mourning Haze” back in August last year. Toni Ordaz sings and plays guitar. Cesar Izzy Izaguirre also plays guitar. Homero Solis anchors things on bass and Jes Morales drives the drums.

The bands promo tells us this about the album.

“Sunset Funeral, the band’s debut LP, is a fog of dreamy grief, where feeling supersedes language. It’s music, as guitarist Toni Ordaz puts it, “for people who don’t know how to talk about how they feel.” An album that’s been years in the making, Sunset Funeral is a document of unspeakable grief, charting the process of mourning and how it travels through our subconscious and dreams.”

This is going to be an emotional journey for sure, let’s get this on the turntable.

We kick off with the lead single ‘Mourning Haze’. What hits you immediately is a mood, a feeling. The guitars glide from grunged out fuzz to dreamy chimes. From the first second, you are in Glare’s world. The drums keep a steady, almost hypnotic pulse while bass hums low and constant, a dark river beneath the swirl. Vocals sit back in the mix, blurred just enough to make them feel like part of the weather rather than a separate element. Every chord change carries weight, not in a showy way but in how it subtly shifts your emotional footing. One moment you feel the grime under your fingernails, the next you’re staring into soft light breaking through cloud, almost like the waves of grief you feel.

‘Kiss the Sun’ next keeps that dynamic going, although this time it’s the vocals in the driving seat. The droning guitars support the melody rather than drive it. The vocal delivery is more forward here, gliding above the haze with a clarity that catches you off guard after the opener. The phrasing is unhurried, each line allowed to hang in the air before the next arrives. Guitars act almost like a backdrop rather than a focal point, a long-sustained shimmer that feels infinite. There’s a warmth to this track that contrasts with the opener’s grit. It still exists in that same heavy-gaze universe, but the emphasis shifts to how melody can cut through the density without breaking its spell.

We’re into ‘Saudade’ next and the fuzz curtain is pulled back to reveal a dreamier side of the bands sound in the intro. The opening is almost weightless, the guitars bright and airy, as if they’ve stepped into a room filled with light after two tracks spent in shadow. That is short lived. Within seconds the distortion swells, swallowing the edges and dragging us back into the thick of it. It’s a push and pull that feels deliberate, a reminder that moments of clarity can be fleeting when grief is the undercurrent. The vocal never rises to match the storm, which is what makes it so affecting. It’s the calm inside the chaos. It’s the balance of beauty and abrasion that makes ‘Saudade’ one of the record’s most quietly devastating moments.

That Philly edge shows again on ‘2 Soon 2 Tell’. The feedback squawks, like punctuation, pepper the chorus whilst the calm of the verses draws you in closer. There’s a rawness in the way the guitars spit and squeal between vocal lines, a reminder of Glare’s hardcore-adjacent roots. Those bursts of noise don’t dominate so much as accent the emotional spikes, giving the choruses a jagged frame. The verses, by contrast, are stripped back just enough to let the bass and drums carry the weight. The drumming is precise but never rigid, leaving space for the vocals to float across the top without losing momentum. It’s a clever bit of dynamic control. The track moves between restraint and release without feeling disjointed, and the moments of feedback almost act like a knowing wink to fans of heavier shoegaze in the Nothing or Whirr vein. You get that grit, but you also get melody and poise.

‘Chlorinehouse’ feels like what would happen if you merged a Cure and Nothing track. The guitars really dig in and bite but the bass has this ethereal quality that ultimately is the backbone of the whole song. The interplay is hypnotic. The guitar tones are sharp enough to cut through the mix, each chord landing with purpose, yet they’re wrapped in enough reverb to keep the edges from feeling harsh. Meanwhile, the bass is painting the atmosphere. The notes bloom and hang in the air, creating a ghostly undercurrent that the rest of the band builds on. There’s a sense of slow, deliberate movement here, as if each section is carefully considered before it arrives. By the end, you’re left in that sweet spot where heaviness and delicacy meet, unsure whether you want to come up for air or stay submerged.

We fade into a short tone poem next with ‘Felt’. Lots of reverse guitar tones over a gentle wash of static. It’s barely more than a minute, but it shifts the mood completely. The reversed notes feel like fragments of a dream playing backwards, moments you’re trying to remember but can’t quite hold onto. There’s no percussion, no obvious structure, just an atmosphere that lingers for a breath before dissolving. It’s gone quickly, but its ghost stays with you into the next track.

Next up is the smooth sound of ‘Nü Burn’. The fuzz has been dialled back here to allow the drums to really go to town. They take full advantage of the space, laying down a driving beat that gives the track an almost rolling momentum. It’s the most rhythm-forward moment so far, and that shift in focus changes the way the whole band feels. The guitars still shimmer and snarl in places, but they’re more restrained, leaving room for the percussion to push and pull at the pace. There’s still weight in the mix, but it’s carried differently. Instead of a wall of sound pressing in, ‘Nü Burn’ lets you ride on top of it, carried along by the steady drive of the drums. By the end, it feels less like an interlude and more like a turning point.

We feel like we are soaring next as ‘Turquoise Dreams’ blooms on the speakers. Rhythm guitar drives the song forward but it’s the vocals that dictate the tone. There’s a lift in the opening bars as the guitars lock into a fluid, almost wave-like motion. They keep the momentum going, but it’s the vocals that shapes the emotional weather. The interplay between guitar and vocal feels almost conversational. The instruments set the pace, and the voice colours in the mood, giving the track its soft, upward pull. By the time the song opens up in its final moments, you’re fully inside its turquoise haze!

‘Guts’ is centred around a killer vocal melody that is mirrored by a guitar line that fills in the spaces. It’s one of the album’s most immediate hooks, the kind that feels etched into your head after a single listen. The way the guitar shadows the vocal phrasing gives the song a tight cohesion, like the melody and instrumentation are breathing in unison. There’s a satisfying rub in the arrangement too. The rhythm section keeps things steady, almost understated, so that every shift in the guitar’s tone or vocal inflection lands with extra impact. The distortion here isn’t too dense, certainly not overpowering, letting the melody shine through without losing the record’s heavy-gaze character. The drums pound out an almost hypnotic beat at times taking full advantage of the gaps to bring something really interesting to the table. ‘Guts’ manages to balance sweetness and grit in equal measure, making it one of the tracks that best encapsulates the tension running through Sunset Funeral.

If this album has a ballad, or as close to damn it as you can get, it’s ‘Sungrave’. It’s luxurious in tone and feel. Guitars taking their time, slow and languid. The vocal delivery is tender but distant, as though singing from another room, the sound spilling in softly through the doorway. There’s a patience to the whole arrangement, no rush to build, no urgency to break into distortion. When the fuzz does arrive, it’s more like a warm blanket than a sudden jolt, wrapping around the song without smothering it. When it does arrive, the drums come in and by God are they heavy. Just so satisfying. ‘Sungrave’ feels like the exhale after a long, heavy breath. It’s intimate yet expansive, a reminder that even in a record this dense, Glare know how to slow the heartbeat without losing the emotional weight.

The album comes to a close with ‘Different Hue’ which has an acoustic guitar swathed in trilling electric strums. That acoustic foundation feels almost fragile after the layers of distortion that came before, but it’s not exposed for long. The electric textures wrap around it, spiralling in soft, chiming patterns that give the song a gentle sense of motion. There’s a brightness here, but it’s the kind that comes at the end of a long day. The vocals sit closer to the front than on most of the record, carrying a clarity that makes the final lines linger. As the song moves towards its close, the interplay between acoustic and electric builds a feeling of closure without ever becoming heavy-handed. It’s a graceful way to end Sunset Funeral. Not aiming for a dramatic finale but leaving you in a soft afterglow.

Across these eleven tracks, Glare show an instinctive grasp of mood and pacing, balancing moments of sheer, blissed-out heaviness with passages of delicate clarity. The album moves like a tide, pulling you in and letting you drift. The band’s command of texture is remarkable. Guitars shift between sandblasting distortion and glassy chime, bass lines carry as much melodic weight as the vocals, and the drums shape the flow without ever crowding it. What’s striking is how cohesive it all feels. Even when Glare shift gears the record holds its emotional centre. It’s a sound steeped in the lineage of shoegaze giants like My Bloody Valentine, Nothing and Whirr, but there’s nothing imitative about it. Glare’s take on the genre is personal and human, rooted in feeling over form. This debut doesn’t read as a band testing the waters. It plays like a confident statement from a group who know exactly what they want to say. Sunset Funeral is heavy gaze at its most affecting.

Sunset Funeral is out now via Sunday Drive Records and Deathwish on various vinyl variants. Make sure to follow the band on the Glare Bandcamp page.

You can follow Glare on social media here…