The Cords – The Cords

There’s something thrilling about a band who get it right straight away. No fumbling around with half-baked demos. No hiding behind big production. Just songs that leap out fully formed. That’s exactly what Eva and Grace Tedeschi have been doing since their first shows in Greenock. Sisters, best friends, and now the brightest new indiepop band in Scotland.

Raised in a house where the record collection was as important as the furniture, they grew up on bands like The Cure, BMX Bandits and Nirvana. The gigs their parents took them to left a mark and they knew deep down that they wanted to do it themselves, so they did. With Grace on drums and Eva on guitar and vocals, the songs came fast. The first cassette sold out in hours. Then came the flexi, same story. They quickly jumped from local band to opening for The Vaselines, Belle and Sebastian, Camera Obscura. It must be a thrill to know that even your heroes see your raw talent.

Eva once told me, “I would say we are jangly pop reminiscent of C86 or, as we were described recently, C24.” That cheeky tag feels right. You can trace the history if you want, Shop Assistants, Talulah Gosh, Orange Juice. But it’s the sense of freedom that stands out most. Loud guitars, loud drums, no filter.

I asked the band how they would describe the album to a new listener.

“Our album is a mix of happy, sad. Slow, fast. Punk, pop with a hint of shoegaze. It’s sound comes from the 80s and 90s Indie Pop spanning east and west coast Scotland, England and American with bright jangly guitars but with dark lyrics.”

That sounds right up my street. Let’s drop the needle and see where we go!

The album starts exactly where you would want it to. ‘Fabulist’ has that loose, chiming guitar tone they’ve already made their own. A crash of drums, then we’re racing. At first it feels breezy, a sweet rush of pop. Then you catch the bite. Eva is singing about liars, manipulators, people who spin the truth until it suits them. It’s sharp, political without slogans, and wrapped in a chorus that sticks for days. It’s the perfect scene setter for what’s to come.

‘Just Don’t Know (How To Be You)’ keeps the speed up, guitar and drums bouncing like they’re egging each other on. There’s something raw in the way Eva sings here, like she’s circling around a question she doesn’t really want answered. This is a song they’ve had for a while and it’s so good to hear that chorus bloom in the way they have it now!

It bleeds straight into ‘October’, which feels like a rush of caffeine straight to the head. Guitars and drums are racing each other, utterly frantic and full out youthful exuberance. Then the vocals come in and the assured, measured delivery gives us a complete contrast in approach. It’s over before you realise it but it sticks in your head.

Then comes ‘Vera’ a joyous sing along. I challenge you not to ba ba ba along. The chorus feels built for shared voices, the kind of thing that would light up a room at a gig. Eva’s guitar keeps the rhythm loose and jangly, giving space for the vocals to bounce. Grace drives it with tumbling drum fills, playful but sharp. There’s a scrappy energy that makes it stick. It’s easy to imagine this one spreading through a crowd, each person shouting the refrain louder than the last.

‘Doubt It’s Gonna Change’ simplifies things down to two vital chords delivered with passion. It’s punky in feel but always melodic. That stripped back approach gives the song a sharp sonic edge. Grace’s drumming hammers it home, clipped and urgent, while Eva layers her voice with just enough melody to lift us into the chorus. It feels alive, insistent and by the time it ends you’re left wanting it to start all over again.

Then ‘You’ shifts things again. The intro launches onto the speakers with raw scuzzy fuzz leading the charge. This harder sound forms our chorus too and my god it’s a potent combination. Eva digs right into the grit, her guitar spitting distortion that feels almost abrasive against the sweetness of her vocal lines. That contrast is the hook. Grace keeps it steady underneath, letting the fuzz do the heavy lifting while her drumming slices through the haze. The verses strip things back just enough to make the return of that wall of sound hit even harder. This is raw, fuzzy pop at its sharpest.

The midway point lands with ‘Bo’s New Haircut’, which longtime fans will know from their very first single. It still bursts with joy. The story of their family dog told with the kind of sparkle only The Cords could pull off. Hearing it here in the middle of the album feels like a celebration of how far they’ve come in such a short time. From Rock School shows to this moment. Let’s do the head shake!!!

‘I’m Not Sad’ is another bite size piece of pop perfection. It’s a glorious romp through and delivers even more glorious melodies.  From the very first bar it feels like the sisters are grinning at each other across the room. The guitar jangle is bright and immediate, Grace’s drumming rattles with gleeful urgency, and Eva’s vocals ride on top with a delivery that sounds both breezy and biting. It’s over before you want it to be, but that just makes you hit repeat.

‘Yes It’s True’ then struts in with swagger. Big chords, confident vocals, a touch of shoegaze energy. This is a big switch in energy and tone buy somehow it feels completely natural, inevitable. The guitars come in thicker, chords ringing out with a fuzzy insistence. It feels like a band stretching out, showing they can push the boundaries of their sound without losing the heart of it. For that reason, it’s my album highlight.

‘Weird Feeling’ comes next, continuing that experimentation. You could almost call this a folk song but it shares DNA with the likes of Camera Obscura or Belle and Sebastian. Grace plays a blinder here stepping up to deliver a drumbeat that immediately sets this song apart. It’s looser, almost loping, giving Eva the space to let her guitar ring out in delicate patterns rather than jagged jangle. The melody has a wistful pull and there’s a conversational quality to Eva’s vocal, like she’s confiding in you rather than performing. It’s one of the most unexpected turns on the album and shows just how much range these two sisters already have at their fingertips. Ooh can I have another highlight please?

Then ‘Done With You’ brings us back. Short, sharp, and merciless. No wasted words, no wasted notes. These sisters don’t hang around when they’ve made their point. The whole track feels like a shrug thrown into song form, quick and cutting. The guitar scratches out a jagged riff, the drums clatter with pure momentum, and before you’ve fully caught the groove it’s over. That brevity is the charm. It’s the kind of song that shows how confident The Cords are becoming and they know exactly how long an idea needs to stick, and they don’t pad it out a second longer.

By the time ‘Rather Not Stay’ from that first single appears, things have opened up again. Dreamy, woozy, the chorus blossoms into something technicolour. It’s one of those songs that makes you sway, eyes closed, head tipped back. I’ve seen it live and it’s just as dazzling on record.

Closing track ‘When You Said Goodbye’ feels like the perfect ending. A tearjerker, but not in a melodramatic way. The melody is tender. It lingers, the kind of closer that makes you sit in silence for a minute before hitting play again. Eva’s voice carries a fragility and Grace dials her drumming right back in response. It’s heartbreak painted in the simplest strokes, which makes it all the more devastating.

What makes The Cords so special is the way it captures two sisters in conversation with each other. Guitar and drums, voice and rhythm, all bound by instinct. You can hear years of shared rooms and shared records in every bar. One moment it’s raw fuzz, the next it’s tender and hushed, and somehow it all fits. They move between joy, spite, heartbreak and humour with a confidence that feels both youthful and timeless. It’s rare to hear a debut that already sounds this lived-in. The references to indiepop history are there for those who want them, but the bigger truth is simpler. These are songs that make you feel. They get under your skin, lift you up, and leave you staring at the ceiling thinking about the words long after the record ends.

This is the sound of a band announcing themselves with complete confidence. Honest, loud, and alive. You’ll want The Cords in your life, because once it’s in your ears it doesn’t let go.

The Cords is out September 26th via Skep Wax (UK) and Slumberland Records (US). Follow the band over on The Cords Bandcamp page.

You can follow The Cords on social media here…

TTSSFU – Blown EP

Tasmin Stephens has a knack for making the messy bits of life sound like something you can cling to. As TTSSFU, she broke through with the DIY brilliance of Me, Jed and Andy an EP stitched together in her bedroom, woven with Warhol-inspired imagery and raw diary entries dressed up in distortion. That release showed a songwriter already confident in her own imperfections, turning bruised relationships and failed flings into jagged, unforgettable songs.

Now 21, Stephens is back with Blown. It’s a louder, scruffier, and more upfront EP. This time she’s got her live band in tow and the added grit of Chris Ryan behind the mix. She’s just signed to the same label as Fontaines D.C. and Cameron Winter, but there’s no danger of her being swallowed up by any London machine. She still feels Wigan through and through, still scatty, still willing to stain her white dress with mud for a video shoot.

This is a record about being let down, getting obliterated on weekends, and pulling yourself together with your mates the next day. Or not pulling yourself together at all. That’s part of its charm.

The tone is set from the very first seconds of ‘Cat Piss Junkie’. Channelling The Clash for the bass riff it’s two minutes of scuffed guitars and snarled vocals that sound like they were left to rot in an alley overnight. The title nods to Ariel Pink’s knack for gnarly wordplay, but the song belongs completely to her. It’s a piss-take, a release, a dare. By the time it collapses, you’re grinning and already hooked.

‘Forever’ stretches out in comparison, riding a restless guitar line that refuses to settle. Stephens sings like she’s pacing the room, rehearsing an argument she’ll never actually win. The reverb blurs her words just enough that you’re left leaning in, straining to catch the sting. It’s a track that makes you feel sixteen again, caught between rage and euphoria, throwing yourself at feelings too big for your body. Let’s not forget that chorus. It absolutely soars.

The mood sours further on ‘Sick’. The guitars screech like they’ve got a fever of their own, the bass pressing down like nausea in your stomach. Stephens’ voice drifts somewhere between mockery and collapse, asking for sympathy and spitting it out in the same breath. The dark and sombre mood brings to mind early Breeders or Pixies, certainly in the bassline.

‘Everything’ is exhale that follows. The pace is measured, vocals finding there way along a bobbing guitar riff. Even when the fuzzy chorus comes in none of the tenderness is lost. There’s a sweetness under the haze, like she’s letting you peek at something fragile without fully handing it over. The song feels fleeting, gone before you want it to be, which only adds to its pull. It’s a moment of calm inside the storm

By the time we hit ‘Call U Back’, we are completely with her. In the embers of a relationship that she’s not quite done with yet. It’s one of her sharpest hooks yet, and proof of why she’s being tipped as one to watch. This is undoubtedly a grungy indie track but the chorus would sit happily in an electro pop chart hit. This is a quiet stunner and I’d like to hear more if this from Stephens in the future for sure.

‘Weekend’ dips into that moment at the end of a night out. What happens once the lights come on and it’s time to leave. This could almost be a warped folk song. The chord changes are sublime and have you swaying side to side. There’s a looseness to the delivery, like the words are half remembered through the haze. You can feel the hangover creeping in even as the song keeps grinning. It’s messy, tender, and strangely comforting, like sharing chips on the curb before the taxi home.

Closer ‘Being Young’ pulls the curtain with a lot of questions and a sigh. There’s a melancholy in its bones, that quiet recognition that being twenty-one can feel both endless and already over. Stephens doesn’t offer solutions, only snapshots. Long bus rides home. Bad decisions replayed in your head. Friends who are no longer with us. Friends who stick around anyway. It’s messy, imperfect, and absolutely spot on.

Blown isn’t polished. It’s not supposed to be. It’s the sound of a young artist holding her nerve, making records that reflect the chaos of real life, and laughing at the mess while it’s still dripping down the walls. Stephens has said that “blown” is a Wigan expression for when things go wrong. The magic here is that she turns that feeling into something worth celebrating.

Blown EPis out now via Partisan Records. Follow the band on the TTSSFU Bandcamp page.

You can follow TTSSFU on social media here…

Tulpa – Let’s Make A Tulpa!

Tulpa are a Leeds four piece already making a lot of noise before even releasing a single. That might sound completely nuts, but word spread fast when Marc Riley and Gideon Coe invited them in for a BBC6 Music session this summer. That session showed what was brewing in the rehearsal room. Soon after, indie label Skep Wax heard their album and signed them immediately. Tulpa hadn’t put out a single song online, but people were already talking. That’s the kind of buzz that usually belongs to myth.

The name fits. A Tulpa is an idea made flesh, a being conjured through thought alone. Sometimes playful, sometimes menacing. It’s the perfect metaphor for a band who’ve appeared out of nowhere with a fully formed sound. Loud, sharp, catchy, impossible to ignore.

The band are Josie Kirk on bass and vocals, Daniel Hyndman (ex-Mush) and Myles Kirk on guitars and Mike Ainsley on drums. They’ve already supported Throwing Muses, Pale Blue Eyes and Bug Club, and they’ll be taking it on the road properly this autumn with headline dates. Tulpa are still brand new, but it feels like they’ve arrived fully alive.

The debut single ‘Let’s Make A Tulpa!’ wastes no time. A wiry guitar figure sets the pace, the band snapping in around it, and then Kirks vocal lands clear and confident. The melody is instant and the verses keep things tight, just enough space to build tension, before the chorus blows the doors off. That’s the moment you grin, because it’s massive. Crunchy guitars, Josie’s voice cutting through, everything locked into a hook big enough to rattle your walls. It’s got that Veruca Salt kinda swagger, loose but razor sharp, and it dares you not to move.

You’re left thinking: if this is the opening shot, what does the rest of the record sound like? That’s the clever part. They’ve built a single that’s more than a teaser. It’s a fully rounded song, a rush of pop noise that stands tall on its own, while also pointing toward an album that could be even more uncontainable. I’ll be breaking the album down in full very soon so watch this space.

‘Let’s Make A Tulpa!’ is out now via Skep Wax. Follow the band on the Tulpa Bandcamp page.

You can follow Tulpa on social media here…

Laveda – Love, Darla

I first heard Laveda during a DKFM Dreamgaze event in lockdown and was blown away by their flawless performance of ‘Blue Beach’ in particular. That was the moment I knew they weren’t just another band finding their feet. They had something magnetic that made it through that amazing streamed set on my computer screen.

Formed in Albany by Ali Genevich and Jacob Brooks, the band first found its shape during long winter months in 2018 when they began recording singles at home. Their debut album What Happens After landed in 2020, right in the middle of lockdown. Fair to say I was obsessed with it. Its anxious, bottled-up tension was the sound of a world standing still. By the time they reached their second full length, A Place You Grew Up In, they had drawn drummer Joe Taurone and bassist Dan Carr into the fold, pulling their music closer to the grit of their hometown while also hinting at something bigger. That record closed a chapter for the band and changes were afoot.

Moving to Queens in 2023 gave them a new backdrop: steel, neon, night noise. Out of that shift comes their third and most unrestrained vision yet, Love, Darla. This album switches out those lush dreamy vibes for something a bit edgier. Their PR says,

“Laveda creates visceral sounds that mirror the harsh noise and static of the sprawling cityscape. Genevich’s lyrics reflect chaotic nights stumbling through the city in a drunken fog, confronting the anxieties of a conflicted and incongruent world, and the struggle to find and hold onto things worth loving and living for.”

Let’s drop the needle and see where this change of direction takes us.

The opening track ‘Care’ wastes no time. It builds on feedback and hum before exploding into jagged No Wave guitars. It shares the same reckless lurch of Sonic Youth’s Sister. Genevich sings through the chaos, her voice steady against the scrape of distortion. It feels like the city pressing in, trains screeching underground, sparks bouncing off rail lines. A powerful opening, it sets the temperature for what follows.

‘Cellphone’ punches straight into the discomfort of modern life. Lyrics tumble almost like prose, breathless and jagged, about the pressure of being always on and always visible. Genevich has called it pure angst and you hear that in every corner. Guitars scrape while the rhythm section holds a stubborn, motorik drive. By the end you feel itchy, like you want to throw your phone out the window.

‘I Wish’ keeps the momentum going, but here the motorik energy tilts into something more hypnotic. It feels like a late-night walk with streetlights flicking past in quick succession. The vocals land like fragments of thought drifting into the static. Where ‘Cellphone’ was claustrophobic, ‘I Wish’ leans into trance, letting repetition smooth out the edges.

Then everything folds into ‘Dig Me Out’. A quieter song, softer in its core. The guitars swoon instead of cut. Genevich sings with a weariness that pulls you in close. It’s a heartbroken piece, gravity pulling it downwards, but the beauty sits in that undertow. I found myself quite affected by this one. From the nursery rhyme mantra vocals to that guitar swell at the end I was just sucked in.

‘Strawberry’ rises out of that quiet like a jolt of red and sugar. The drums lock in with a sharp snap, bass swinging across three notes like a metronome. Knowing it came from live jams makes sense. You can almost feel the rehearsal room sweat. Guitars bending into melodic bursts and the lyrics circle around inner demons and escape, and the song itself sounds like a sprint away from something chasing you. Raw, alive, constantly shifting, it’s a clear centrepiece for the album.

‘Heaven’ shares that origin story of being tested on stage, and it carries that same open energy. It rolls with more space though. There’s light breaking through here, the vocals stretching further, reaching for air. This is almost like Laveda of old, but now that dreaminess is tempered by dissonance. You can picture the crowd swaying as guitars climb upward. It’s one of the record’s brighter bursts.

By the time you hit ‘Highway Meditation’, the album shifts lanes. The track stretches out across the speakers, patient and driving. It feels like a long night drive on empty roads, headlights glowing against a black horizon. The guitars are looser, almost wandering, yet the rhythm keeps the wheels turning. It’s meditative and kinda sleepy, the kind of song you want when you’re trying to leave something behind. Then as we enter the final verse the band hit the gas and we’re off. Pure exhilaration.

‘Bonehead’ drags you right back into heaviness, but not until the band ease us in gently. Guitars and bass rattle, and the drums sound like they’re pounding through concrete. This feels like a march in places, then we’re floating in others. I love that contrast and great to hear Brooks voice enter the fray here too.

‘Tim Burton’s Tower’ comes as a strange dream. I just love the title and that title fits the mood. It’s eerie and playful, with tones that tilt toward the surreal. Genevich sings like she’s wandering through crooked hallways and flickering shadows. It’s one of those tracks that lingers after it ends, like the afterimage of a film.

The album wraps up with ‘Lullaby’ and it doesn’t calm things so much as let them fade. The guitars soften but still hum, like machinery powering down. The melody is tender, almost whispered. It feels like the record is finally letting you step away from the chaos and then we’re pulled back in as the band create a sonic vortex that engulfs us. Then its over.

Love, Darla is Laveda at their most unfiltered. Every track carries the sound of New York’s noise pressed into song, yet the intimacy of their earlier work hasn’t gone anywhere. The feedback, the rush, the cities grind all frame lyrics about searching for meaning when the world feels unstable. It’s an album that holds contradiction: both harsh and delicate, restless and still. By the end, you feel like you’ve been on the subway with them, sweating under fluorescent lights one moment, watching the skyline open the next. Love might be fractured, but Laveda makes the ride unforgettable.

Love, Darla is out now on vinyl and CD via Bar/None Records. Follow the band on the Laveda Bandcamp page.

You can follow Laveda on social media here…

Photo Credit

Mars Alba

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…