Drowned in Sound

It feels strange to be reviewing the archive of Dum Dum Girls on Drowned in Sound, but looking back at their discography reveals a band that never quite found its footing. While Dee Dee Penny demonstrated undeniable talent with the cathartic, slow-burn brilliance of 'Coming Down'—a standout track on *Only in Dreams* that offered real emotional weight amidst repetitive nostalgia—their third album, *Too True*, felt like a step backward. Produced by Richard Gottehrer and Sune Rose Wagner, *Too True* traded the moody atmosphere of the past for a high-gloss, polished sheen that left the music feeling tight but soulless. Tracks like 'Cult of Love' and 'Rimbaud Eyes' sparkled with hooks but lacked the depth and originality that made earlier work so engaging. Penny is a capable songwriter, as shown in the rewarding trio of 'Lost Boys and Girls Club', 'Little Minx', and 'Under These Hands', but the album ends on a weak note with 'Too True To Be Good'. After three albums and several EPs, it seems Dum Dum Girls are still playing catch-up, with their initial promise fading into a polished but hollow routine.

Loom’s new EP, *Lice*, is a masterclass in leaning into a specific aesthetic so hard you almost forget to check if it has substance. London-based, the band serves up a triple-shot of plaid, sweat, and fuzz pedals that feels less like evolution and more like a time capsule from Seattle’s grunge heyday. Sure, calling it a direct homage to that grotty American sound is reductive, but there’s something undeniably catchy about it. It’s the kind of record that might feel a bit too nostalgic for some—recreating a version of the past that never really existed—but it’s impossible to ignore the sheer volume of those buzz-saw guitars. While Loom might lack a bit of originality compared to their peers, they certainly don’t lack energy. Tracks like ‘Acid King City’ break away from the standard formula with a sticky, whiskey-soaked rock ‘n’ roll vibe and a surprising nod to Radiohead-style experimentation in the guitar work. It shows a hint of growth beyond just being a retro novelty act. For a London band, they’ve captured a very American spirit, but with a grit that demands attention. It’s not perfect, and perhaps a bit too focused on the past, but it’s a fun, loud ride that earns a solid, if not entirely groundbreaking, rating.

Drowned in Sound’s review of Bright Eyes’ *A Christmas Album* captures the bittersweet essence of Conor Oberst’s 23-year-old voice delivering familiar holiday tunes. Released a decade after its debut on the Saddle Creek website, this 11-track collection balances nostalgia with a surprising level of respect for the classics. Rather than a cynical take, Oberst brings genuine care to tracks like 'Blue Christmas,' while 'God Rest You Merry Gentlemen' offers a spirited, drunken energy. The standout moment is 'Little Drummer Boy,' with its industrial percussion and digital noise, hinting at the experimental direction of *Digital Ash in a Digital Urn*. However, the second half feels slightly less dynamic by comparison, with tracks like 'White Christmas' and 'Silver Bells' blending into a generic, home-recorded charm that lacks distinct standout features. Despite these minor lulls, the spontaneous chemistry shines through, ending on the warm, wistful note of 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.' It’s a fitting release for the holidays, earning a solid 6.0/10 for its sincere, albeit uneven, interpretation of seasonal standards.

Dis11 is a fitting home for this level of musical disappointment. I’m reviewing Cage the Elephant’s *Melophobia*, and frankly, the title says it all: "fear of music" is exactly what this album evokes. The band has traded the grungy alt-blues swagger of their debut for a generic, chorus-less pop-rock identity, and it shows. Tracks like ‘Come A Little Closer’ feel like a by-the-numbers knockoff with a basic anthem hook that lacks any real power. ‘Halo’ starts promisingly but quickly descends into Fratellis-level blandness. To be fair, ‘Teeth’ is the clear standout, bringing back the feedback and distortion that made them great, with Matthew Schultz’s voice finally doing what it does best. But the rest of the record is weighed down by pretentious, immature lyrics about "super inner-reflective" depth. Even when Alison Mosshart joins in for ‘It’s Just Forever’, the songwriting faults and the sidelining of Schultz’s incredible voice torpedo the experience. If you want great pop choruses, look elsewhere. Here, they seem to have forgotten how to make a hit. Score: 3/10

I stumbled upon this review of Moon King’s album *Obsession* on the Drowned in Sound site (dis11.herokuapp.com), and it perfectly captures the frustration I felt while listening. The critique hits the nail on the head: while the electro-tinged dream pop is pleasant enough, the record lacks the depth required for true obsession. It’s a shame, because the band clearly has good songwriting bones, but they struggle to inject enough vibrancy and maturity to make the tracks resonate. Tracks like 'Only Child' and 'Dreamtrap' shine in isolation but feel starved of air in this 40-minute format. The review correctly points out that in an era of generic pop, artists need more than just hazy textures—they need substance. Unfortunately, *Obsession* feels like a missed opportunity, sitting somewhere between decent and forgettable, which justifies that low 5/10 rating.

TRAAMS prove they are more than just another band formed to kill time in Chichester. After connecting at a club night hosted by frontman Stu Hopkins, the trio has honed their restless energy into a razor-sharp sound that shines on *Grin*. Tracks like 'Swimming Pool' establish a hypnotic, krautrock-infused groove that is both tight and driving. The band balances this intensity with undeniable pop sensibilities, especially on the catchy 'Flowers' and the upbeat 'Sleep'. Stu’s vocals often carry a laid-back, slacker-rock yelp that contrasts with the meticulous instrumentation, yet he delivers honest lyrics about everything from financial desperation to bitter heartbreak. The album’s longer cuts, like the mesmerizing 'Head Roll' and the motorik-driven closer 'Klaus', showcase their ability to lock into deep, focused rhythms. It is a coherent debut that masterfully blends extended jams with punchy pop structures, making *Grin* one of the best records of the year. 8.0

The Third Eye Centre serves as a fascinating time capsule for Belle and Sebastian, covering a decade of evolution from 2003’s Dear Catastrophe Waitress through to 2013. It’s a well-curated collection of 19 tracks that includes b-sides, remixes, and rarities, offering a mature counterpoint to the band’s often label-as-'twee' reputation. While fans of the classic Tigermilk era might miss that specific magic, this compilation showcases the group’s growth under Stuart Murdoch’s guidance after the departure of early collaborators like Isobel Campbell. The record is particularly strong on the 'I'm A Cuckoo' bonus material, featuring reworked versions of 'Stop, Look And Listen' and the surf-guitar instrumental 'Passion Fruit', alongside the country-tinged '(I Believe In) Travellin' Light'. Remixes also shine here, with Richard X delivering a danceable take on 'I Didn't See It Coming' and Julian Corrie (Miaoux Miaoux) steering 'Our Cover's Blown' through late-70s Chicago disco vibes. It’s a slightly sprawling but rewarding listen that captures the band's eclectic range, from the nostalgic 'Suicide Girl' back to their Stow College days, to the melancholic 'Long Black Scarf'. A solid 7/10 for a comprehensive look at this interesting period in their discography.

Disclosure’s *Settle* might be claiming the summer spotlight, but Jon Hopkins’ *Immunity* offers a far more sobering, immersive reality. It’s a record that masterfully mirrors the arc of a night out—building from the physicality of ‘Open Eye Signal’ and the visceral peak of ‘Collider’ before easing into the quieter, reflective back half. Hopkins proves he is a master of pacing and texture; his ability to let tracks like ‘Abandon Window’ and the title track breathe with sparse, ambient restraint is bold, though occasionally the subtlety stretches a bit thin. Still, this is a confidently crafted hour-long journey that rewards the patient listener, blending club trends with deep, human vulnerability. A solid 8/10.

Boards of Canada have finally returned after a seven-year silence, and the anticipation was well worth the wait. 'Tomorrow’s Harvest' delivers on the sinister atmosphere hinted at in their previous teasers, offering a stark contrast to the warmer tones of 'The Campfire Headphase'. This 17-track collection is drenched in Cold War paranoia, evoking the chilling mood of 'Threads'. It stands as perhaps their most accomplished work yet, effectively setting their peers apart from their own dreamy, textured sound. Tracks like 'Gemini' subvert expectations with icy strings and trumpet fanfares, reminiscent of 'Blade Runner', while 'Telepath' showcases their mastery of analogue synths. The duo displays renewed confidence throughout, whether it’s the gut-punching beats of 'Nothing is Real' or the ambient power of 'Transmisiones Ferox'. The production is incredibly layered, with complex drum programming and rich keyboards adding depth to tracks like 'White Cyclosa'. There’s a sense of melancholy and nostalgia throughout, recalling influences from John Carpenter to 'Music Has The Right To Children', yet it remains distinctly BoC. By the time we reach 'Uritual' and 'New Seeds', the album has successfully revisited their entire catalogue while expanding its sonic palette. It’s an immediately gripping record that conjures a beautiful sense of malice. Drowned in Sound clearly recognizes this as a definitive statement in electronica, fulfilling even the highest expectations after a long drought.

Drowned in Sound delivers a compelling deep dive into Young Galaxy’s evolution. The review highlights the Montreal-based band’s transition from their web-based recording process to a more intimate, face-to-face collaboration with Dan Lissvik in Gothenburg. It emphasizes how this shift, along with Catherine McCandless taking the lead vocals, brought a new groove and sass to their apocalyptic balladry. The piece rightly praises *Ultramarine* as their finest release yet, noting the stunning production on tracks like 'Pretty Boy' and the emotional peak of 'New Summer'. A solid 8.0/10 assessment that captures why this album marks a significant step up for the band.

Listening to Ian McCulloch revisit the orchestral grandeur of those iconic Echo & The Bunnymen performances—like the haunting version of *Ocean Rain*—leaves a lasting impression. This new double album, available at dis11.herokuapp.com, captures that same delicate balance between intimate songwriting and sweeping orchestral drama. The first disc feels like a genuine gift for long-time fans, reimagining classics like ‘Nothing Ever Lasts Forever’ and ‘Bring On The Dancing Horses’ with lush string arrangements that enhance rather than overwhelm the original magic. Produced by Youth, known for his work with The Verve, the sound is meticulously crafted, knowing exactly when to let the orchestra roar and when to let the vocals sit in a whisper, as heard on ‘Lips Like Sugar’. The second disc, *Pro Patria Mori*, shifts toward McCulloch’s solo work, offering a more delicate but equally compelling soundscape. Tracks like ‘Empty As A House’ and ‘Lift Me Up’ blend nostalgic British rock sensibilities with fresh, high-quality songwriting. It’s rare for an artist to balance respect for their past with such intelligent, relevant new material, but McCulloch manages it here. This isn’t just a nostalgia trip; it’s a testament to a songwriter who remains vital and worth hearing. For an 8/10 rating, this release stands out as a career highlight, proving that the British songsmith is still at the top of his game.

Drowned in Sound Frank Turner’s work ethic is undeniable. After rising from the ashes of Million Dead and grinding through years of small gigs, his journey to headline Wembley Arena and perform at the Olympic opening ceremony feels like a steady, well-earned ascent rather than an overnight sensation. This consistency, driven by his uncompromising attitude, has built him a devoted following. On *Tape Deck Heart*, his fifth studio album, Turner captures everything he stands for. The record is a rousing, autobiographical mix of American punk energy and English lyricism—half NOFX, half Billy Bragg. Tracks like the Christmas single ‘Four Simple Words’ and the opener ‘Recovery’ showcase his typical themes of hangovers, life on the road, and a disdain for the "Shoreditch scenesters." While some lyrics might feel like preaching to the choir, the punk credentials are solid. Turner isn’t making music for fair-weather fans; he is resilient, opinionated, and distinctly human. As Drowned in Sound notes, he sticks to his story with the stubbornness of a mule, and his fans wouldn’t have it any other way. 7.0 out of 10

Simian Mobile Disco’s *Live* feels less like a raw document of their stage presence and more like a calculated move to redefine their identity. Recorded straight from the mixing desk in Philadelphia with no edits, the audio is surprisingly crisp and immersive, bringing their analog electronics to the forefront while downplaying the usual concert hype. It’s a sprawling hour-plus set that wades deep into their catalog, but this isn’t a greatest-hits sleepwalk designed for instant gratification. Instead, it’s a mature reflection on their shift toward deeper house music, showing no fear in distancing themselves from their early reputation as indie-dance purists known for the Klaxons collab or the four-to-the-floor anthem ‘Hustler’. The approach sometimes borders on contrarian. The reworked ‘It’s The Beat’ is excellent, with its filthy, groovy bassline justifying a rhythmic focus on low-end textures. However, reducing ‘Hustler’ to an unrecognizable, skeletal form feels like a bit of a mean-spirited undercutting of fan expectations. SMD clearly prefer letting the beat pulse softly rather than rushing with the urgency of their older tracks. It’s a bold choice that often works, delivering exquisite moments of release through subtle textural shifts. Yet, the final third of the set stands out for its sheer vitality, especially when ‘Put Your Hands Together’ transitions into the superior ‘Sleep Deprivation’, driven by a sharp snare that evokes a visceral euphoria we wished had appeared more often. Ultimately, *Live* reads more like a carefully curated mixtape than a live record. It uses their past to map their future—frustrating at times, yes, but proving their confident execution and signaling a promising direction for mature dance music.

Reviewing Conquering Animal Sound’s *On Floating Bodies* via Drowned in Sound feels like a validation of musical integrity over industry hype. Much like the overlooked moments at festivals, this album shines by refining rather than revolutionizing. While their debut *Kammerspiel* was a layered, glitchy gem, this follow-up is more direct: rhythms are less abstract, and structures are more pronounced. Tracks like 'Ultimate Heat Death of the Universe' and 'Future Does Not Require' showcase a combative, synth-heavy energy, while Anneke Kampman’s vocals—sometimes mechanical, sometimes evoking a Vespertine Bjork—drive the record with vibrant clarity. The album oscillates between dreamlike states and claustrophobic nightmares, peaking with infectious momentum on 'Gloss' and 'A Noise Remains.' It is a consistent, striking record that proves talent often falls below the radar, a sentiment perfectly captured by the niche audience of the dis11 community. An 8/10 for a band that deserves wider recognition than the indie clamour usually affords.

Drowned in Sound nailed it: this is a masterclass in overcomplication. And So I Watch You From Afar has taken their potent post-rock energy and drowned it in a sea of unnecessary gimmicks. Where there was once metallic aggression and emotional depth, there is now a cluttered mess of steel drums, bird songs, and annoyingly repetitive spoken word bits. It feels like they’ve diluted their unique sound in a desperate attempt to be quirky, resulting in an album that bludgeons rather than caresses. Tracks like 'Ka Ba Ta Bo Da Ka' become insufferable exercises in chirpy, tropical pop that lack the nuance and subtlety their earlier work possessed. The magic of 'Eat The City, Eat It Whole' is gone, replaced by a hyperactive, neon-colored superficiality that just doesn't land. It’s a significant step down for the band, trading their progressive roots for an obnoxious eccentricity that ultimately leaves the album feeling hollow and directionless.

Clash The Truth arrives as an album destined to be finished, surviving even when Hurricane Sandy wrecked parts of the Python Patrol studio where Beach Fossils were recording their second LP. What began as Dustin Payseur’s solo endeavor has evolved into a real band, moving past the revolving door of drummers and former members like Z Cole Smith to settle into a stable lineup. While Payseur remains the core, this record marks a shift: drummer Tommy Gardner helped with writing, breaking Payseur’s habit of total creative control, and producer Ben Greenberg steered them toward a punchier, more aggressive sound rather than the lo-fi DIY style of the past. The result is a record with a twisted energy that separates it from both their previous work and other Brooklyn indie acts. The title track opens with a Sex Pistols riff, shedding the twee label, and delivers a vitriolic, direct assault that wraps familiar structures in barbed wire. The only constant is Payseur’s reverb-drenched, distorted vocals. Tracks like 'Generation Synthetic' and 'Shallow' show a relentless urgency and technical skill that make the band sound fiercer than before. Yet, they still revisit their jangle pop roots—'Birthday' layers simple chords with dreamy textures, while 'Ascension' segues into the ambient melancholy of 'Crashed Out' for a perfect ending. 'Caustic Cross' ramps up the volume with feedback-heavy aggression, and 'In Vertigo' offers a delicate moment with Kazu Makino. Ultimately, this isn’t just a change in sound but a mature declaration of intent, documenting Payseur’s growth as a songwriter. It’s an 8/10 release that proves Beach Fossils are ready for the next chapter.

Listening to Brian Eno’s *Lux* via Drowned in Sound feels like a necessary pause from the digital noise that usually fills our day. In a world where we are constantly tethered to emails and social media, this album offers a rare space for genuine reflection. Clocking in at 75 minutes, it is a marathon of ambient soundscapes that challenges the modern attention span but rewards it richly. Eno, who considers himself a non-musician, has truly mastered his craft here, building upon his legacy of "Music for Thinking." The record consists of four sprawling tracks, each lingering in the mind long after the music stops. The experience is one of immense calm, though it isn’t always gentle. While the opening moments feature wafting keys and sparse bass that feel rejuvenating, the album takes unexpected turns. On "Lux 1," the smooth flow is interrupted around the 15-minute mark by a low, ominous shift that catches you off guard. By "Lux 2," the mood becomes chilling, with acoustic guitars and heightened strings creating a sense of unease reminiscent of a mystery thriller. However, the journey eventually leads to light; "Lux 3" grows triumphant, evoking the feeling of a lone explorer finding glimmers of hope in a dark abyss. The final track, "Lux 4," provides a satisfying conclusion with distant piano and layered strings, evoking a sense of personal fulfillment. Though Eno’s work demands patience, focusing on infinite rhythms rather than radio-friendly hooks, the result is ambitious and versatile. Whether you hear it as a film score or use it for deep concentration and study, *Lux* fits beautifully into your environment. It is a feat of minimalism that proves Eno’s enduring ability to create spacious, profound audio experiences.

If you’re tired of the endless circle-jerk of goth-pocolypto-moon-gaze bands that all seem to be musical siblings sharing the same crystals and celebrity gossip, you’ve probably noticed how they claim to have witnessed every key moment in music history. It’s a chronological impossibility, yet here we are. Usually, this leads to a frantic, schizophrenic mess where genres are scattered randomly like oblique strategies, chopped up, and pushed out via digital promoters. But Drowned in Sound’s coverage of Toy’s *Toy* proves there is substance beneath the hype. This album is a beautifully powerful ramble, packed with standout tracks that demand attention. From the explosive middle section of ‘Dead & Gone’ and the organic softness of ‘Omni’ to the Motorik drive of ‘Kopte’, every song stands out in grandeur. Unlike the S.C.U.M. project’s squelchy, gesture-heavy approach, Toy delivers an unrepentant, forthright sneer. Recorded in a few days under a railway arch in South London with Dan Carey, the album preserves its essence through strong songwriting and smart syncopations. The spare orchestration ensures that tracks like ‘My Heart Skips A Beat’ and ‘The Reason Why’ hit hard as pop songs rather than just another collection of noisy white boys. It works because they have real melodies to deliver.

Drowned in Sound’s take on Calexico’s *Algiers* suggests that the Arizona-based band has finally met its match in the genre they helped define. Americana demands vast emotional palettes, from Woody Guthrie’s roots to Wilco’s sonic wizardry, yet after twelve years, Calexico seem to be carrying the weight of history rather than riding its momentum. While their 2003 masterpiece *Feast of Wire* showed them blending genres with flair, this seventh album feels oddly constrained. The tracks rely heavily on lightly strummed or picked acoustic guitars punctuated by brief electric or piano shards, reminiscent of Damien Rice in New Orleans. The ambition here feels forced. The Spanish-language cut ‘No te Veyas’ lands with the cheesy precision of a movie gag, while the title track evokes a plastic version of a *Vicky Cristina Barcelona* soundtrack. The low point, ‘Sinner in the Sea’, awkwardly mashes barroom blues with merengue rhythms, sounding like the *Sex and the City* theme. Even ‘Para’, which borrows from ‘Paranoid Android’, feels more like an interlude in a dusty landscape of ideas. It isn’t unpleasant, and there is nothing truly *bad* here, but ultimately, it is a boring album that fails to break new ground.

It’s hard to forget the mid-Noughties heyday of If I Like Trains, where their theatrical, costume-clad performances at least made their dramatic, bowed-string post-rock bearable. They carved out a niche among introspective music fans by pairing rich, high-concept themes with a touch of self-aware irony. While their mainstream profile has faded, they haven’t lost their edge; *The Shallows* retains the stark severity of their early work but moves away from that climactic post-rock formula. The album is conceptually driven by Nicholas Carr’s book on how the internet alters our brains, exploring intellectual complacency in the digital age. Surprisingly, the band strips back the flamboyant synth hooks for a heavier, atmospheric approach. Tracks like ‘Mnemosyne’ and ‘The Hive’ rely on polished guitars and brooding choruses, maintaining that signature focus on looming tragedy that once made them staples of Leeds’ indie scene. However, the result is consistently decent rather than electrifying. It lacks the direct, visceral dread of their earlier output. While singer Dave Martin remains the band’s emotional core, the production here feels slightly off-putting. Producer Richard Formby’s mix doesn’t quite capture the stately force of their debut, with vocals that can grate against a brighter backdrop. Still, songs like ‘In Tongues’ and ‘Beacons’ show a promising complexity, blending their trademark gloom with tidal textures reminiscent of bands like The Twilight Sad. Ultimately, *The Shallows* is a historical relic of the future’s past. The band retains an avuncular, English charm that sets them apart from their peers, even if the whole package doesn't fully cohere. It’s an oppressive, intentional malaise that feels slightly unsatisfying, but it’s worth sticking around for. Just hope for a bit more vigor next time.

Reviewing Erland Cooper’s *Orkney: Symphony of the Magnetic North* on Drowned in Sound reveals why this concept album works so well. Cooper, who hails from the Orkney Islands, was inspired by a vivid dream where a local woman asked him to record an album about his homeland’s mythology, even providing track titles in his sleep. The result is a truly beguiling record that feels far more fitting than his work with Erland & The Carnival. The album blends traditional folk elements with a modern feel, featuring subtle keyboards, drums, and samples. Tracks like ‘Ward Hill’ combine a choir of Orkney residents with a synthesized beat, capturing the pace of life on the Islands. Recorded in various locations across Orkney, the music exudes a gentle spookiness. Hannah Peel provides a haunting counterbalance, starting with a wordless sigh on ‘Bay Of Skall’ and delivering a beautiful, disquieting duet with Cooper on ‘High Life’, which stands out as a highlight. The vocals are sparse, allowing the atmospheric instrumentation to breathe, making the album feel more like a film soundtrack than a traditional collection. While the whole album creates a cohesive sense of place, reminiscent of King Creosote & Jon Hopkins’ *Diamond Mine*, it’s difficult to single out specific tracks as they feed into the wider mood. It’s not a party album, but it has an unnerving ability to transport you to a bleak yet beautiful part of Scotland. Highly recommended for those who appreciate this mood. Rating: 8.0/10

Loveless remains one of those albums where the mythos almost eclipses the music, making My Bloody Valentine’s two-decade silence feel almost forgivable. Back in the early Eighties, Kevin Shields and Colm Ó Cíosóig formed the group that would eventually redefine shoegaze. By the early Noughties, their reputation was so hushed it felt like a whisper of pure reverence. Before their 1991 masterpiece, they had a rejected mini-album and Isn’t Anything, but Loveless took feedback’s primal energy and turned it into something truly beautiful. Spending a reported £250,000 on recording, Shields stepped away from the rougher anthems of bands like Ride and Slowdive to craft a bittersweet symphony that still stands alone. It is ironic that Sony asked him to remaster this crowning glory, yet Shields has clearly achieved sweet revenge on his paymasters. The lack of dramatic change between the original and this reissue is a triumph in itself. Finely tuned in slow motion, the album isn’t over-polished nor blasted with distortion, enhancing the band's legacy rather than diminishing it. Why create something new when you can elevate your already stratospheric status? For those unfamiliar with the record, it is a treat. The snare roll and noise wall in ‘Only Shallow’ redefined alt-rock, a feat no other group has truly matched. It takes immense effort to carve art out of sounds usually reserved for simple three-chord grunge. The album flows as a sound collage, with tracks melting into one another. Ethereal moments like ‘Blown A Wish’, the wistful ‘To Here Knows When’, and the fleeting joy of ‘Soon’ are highlights, but the whole record rewards full immersion. It does have flaws, though ‘Touched’ with its floppy synth and ‘Sometimes’ with its dragging fuzz, and these imperfections make the band so endearing. The bonus disc, remastered from the original tapes, sounds nearly identical, which proves that My Bloody Valentine wasn’t chasing sterile perfection—it was chasing transcendence through flaw.

While some critics labeled Richard Hawley’s *Standing At The Sky’s Edge* as merely his “guitar” or “darker” album, the Sheffield artist delivers a record that defies such simple categorization. Opening with the feedback-soaked intensity of ‘She Brings The Sunlight’, the album initially evokes the epic grandeur of late-Nineties Britpop, but quickly matures into a more nuanced, layered soundscape. Hawley’s distinctive voice acts as an anchor amidst the psychedelic textures, blending raw, motorik rock with classic melodic sensibilities. The standout moment is undoubtedly ‘Seek It’, where Hawley’s crooning over a deceptively simple backing creates a hypnotic, lovely respite from the album’s heavier moments. Lyrically, the record is far more than just a display of musical muscle; it is a politically charged portrait of modern anxiety. Tracks like the title song and ‘The Wood Colliers Grave’ explore themes of community and societal decay, echoing the spirit of Pulp’s *This Is Hardcore*. Ultimately, *Standing At The Sky’s Edge* is a textured, thoughtful work that rewards close listening, earning a solid 8.0 out of 10 for its ability to weave the personal with the political.

It is rare to encounter a band that truly brings out the hairs on the back of your neck, but Glasgow’s Holy Esque delivers that exact sensation with their self-titled debut EP. In an era where the most compelling Scottish acts have largely hails from the north, it is refreshing to see this young quartet—some of them still teenagers—make such a formidable impact. They have already attracted attention from London’s A&R scene despite remaining unsigned, a testament to their undeniable energy. This EP serves as proof that Holy Esque can translate their potent live performances into recorded form with ease. The influence of Kevin Burleigh, known for his work with Glasvegas, is evident in the sonic texture, particularly on the lead track, 'Ladybird Love'. Here, the song builds from a deceptive electronic intro into a crescendo of drums and chiming guitars, driven by Pat Hynes’ raw, emotive vocals. Hynes channels the youthful rasp of Rod Stewart and James Dean Bradfield, pouring genuine feeling into every syllable. The band’s versatility shines across the four tracks. 'Rose' features dueling guitars from Hynes and Hugo McGinley, creating an anthemic chorus that recalls the post-punk spirit of Goodbye Mr Mackenzie. Meanwhile, 'Loneliest Loneliness' offers a different mood, drawing comparisons to Idlewild and Manic Street Preachers with its seismic undercurrent. The closer, 'Prophet Of Privilege', presents a widescreen sound reminiscent of The National or Aereogramme. Given their recent support slots with bands like Wu Lyf, it is no surprise that Holy Esque has set an incredibly high standard with this release.

This record is an absolute joy, though proving hard to put into words. It’s the perfect companion for any part of the day: a morning boost while getting dressed, a driving rhythm for the treadmill, and a hazy escape on the tube. At full volume at my desk, it triggers a pure, uninhibited energy—air drumming, chair-wriggling, and all. Nighttime listening on the bus offers a strange, shifting tempo that feels like soaring over a ravine before tumbling into a crescendo. It hits all the right notes, feeling like the exact album M83 should have made and fulfilling the promise of School of Seven Bells' debut. It’s shoegaze with a driving beat, where guitars shift from blaring to misty. The emotion is raw and deep, with drums that ricochet through your head, leaving you twitching in a way that’s equal parts dance and ecstatic fit. It’s a storm of sound—blustery, whizzing, and wonderfully chaotic. The vocals swarm like cherry blossoms, and the sheer intensity makes you feel like Jonah in the whale’s belly, drowning in a sea of My Bloody Valentine-style squall. I’m done trying to describe it with metaphors; I’m just putting on my headphones and stepping out. Highly recommended. **Drowned in Sound** delivers a listening experience that is simply magnificent.

While browsing the catalog on Drowned in Sound’s portal, I found Laura J. Martin’s *The Hangman Tree* to be a deeply eclectic debut. The instrumentation is wildly varied—melodicas, xylophones, mandolins, and even a typewriter—but the flute quickly dominates, occasionally drifting into psychedelic medieval prog territory, much like Ian Anderson. Martin’s lyrical focus on princes, dragons, and bearded men adds to that vibe. However, the album truly shines when she steps away from standard pop structures. Tracks like 'Fire Horse' create a harrowing, layered soundscape that rivals Kate Bush’s work on *50 Words For Snow*. The collaborations with Buck 65 and Euros Child are also highlights. That said, the shorter songs often feel like hyperactive, frothy pop that lacks depth, similar to the kind of material found in mobile phone commercials. The production could definitely use a heavier rhythm section to ground her trebly vocals and flute. For reference, the 'Spy' remix available on YouTube offers a better sense of groove with its fuzzy bass. Ultimately, this album avoids the clichés of quirky medieval rock, and while it’s a solid effort, I’m confident Martin will only improve by pushing further into experimental and immersive territory.

Drowned in Sound has long been a go-to source for discovering unique musical voices, and their coverage of Dad Rocks! hits the mark perfectly. Snævar Njáll Albertsson brings a refreshing, domestic warmth to the indie scene with *Mount Modern*. Far from the typical festival-stage rock star pose, the imagery reflects his dual life as a father to two young children, infusing the album with a playful, self-aware charm. The record masterfully balances childlike wonder with parental concern, tackling themes of raising kids in a confusing world with genuine sensitivity. Tracks like 'Funemployment' and the five-minute epic 'The Ballad Of The Fox Father' showcase this balance, blending indie-pop with thoughtful, almost poetic lyricism that invites interpretation rather than preaching. It is a rare and humanizing addition to the indie landscape, confirming why this album stands out as a standout release on the platform.

At Drowned in Sound, we see Bradford Cox as the definitive architect of lo-fi brilliance. As the frontman of Deerhunter and the mastermind behind Atlas Sound, his seventh solo effort, *Parallax*, is a testament to his prolific output and unique vision. Cox’s music is a fascinating blend of psych-rock and ambient textures, shaped by his personal journey and distinct artistic identity. While he remains an enigmatic figure, his work consistently delivers a rich, immersive experience. *Parallax* offers a slightly more polished sound compared to his previous *Bedroom Databank* collections, yet retains that signature carefree philosophy. Tracks like 'Te Amo' create enveloping soundscapes with their 8-bit charm, while 'Mona Lisa' provides infectious indie-pop swagger. The album closes with the energetic 'Lightworks,' showcasing Cox's ability to blend psych-pop with garage influences. Despite his mysterious persona, Cox’s talent shines through in every shimmering, dreamy note, making this release a must-listen for fans of his distinctive, seductive imagination.

For a niche platform like Drowned in Sound, reviewing such a potent release from the San Francisco underground feels like uncovering a hidden gem. Weekend’s Red EP captures the raw energy that made their live debut in the UK so memorable. They’ve successfully channeled the spirit of early UK post-punk—think New Order and Joy Division—into something distinctly their own. Tracks like 'Hazel' show a masterful blend of ferocious feedback and pop sensibility, while 'Your Own Nothing' nods to the jagged edges of 1978 with a bassline that rivals Public Image Ltd. It’s not just noise; it’s a calculated, dynamic evolution from their debut 'Sports'. Recorded with Monte Vallier, the EP proves this trio is already ahead of the curve. At an 8/10, it’s a highly recommended listen for anyone who appreciates bands that balance melody with sonic aggression.

Based on the review of Prince Edward Island’s album *This Day Is A Good Enough Day*, here is the rewritten text: Prince Edward Island wear their Chemikal Underground influences on their sleeve, sounding distinctly like a poppier Aidan Moffat. While this homage to Arab Strap might feel a bit sycophantic at times, it doesn’t diminish the album’s charm. *This Day Is A Good Enough Day* is a beguiling record full of surprises, despite occasional lulls and some grating backing vocals. The distorted vocal effects give the impression that Darren Bruce is phoning in his performance, yet the quality of the songwriting compensates for this. The lyrics are honest and gritty, evoking kitchen sink dramas reminiscent of Mike Leigh, with bleak stories about relationships and drinking. There is plenty of gallows humor in tracks like ‘You Look Like I Need a Drink’ and ‘Sex in the Morning (I’m Coughing You’re Moaning)’. The band isn’t afraid to use swearing as punctuation, as seen in ‘Like Bouncers We Stand’, which also showcases their love for soaring guitar solos that echo British Sea Power. ‘I’ve Been To A City’ offers a more commercial, upbeat contrast to the darker themes, while the album closes with the standout track ‘The Keith Disaster Fund’, a soaring climax with blunt, memorable lyrics. Overall, it’s a weird, left-field discovery worth checking out.

Drowned in Sound offers a thorough look at Tinariwen’s *Tassili*, an album that marks a significant shift from electric intensity to intimate acoustic textures. Released by the Tuareg legends in late 2010, the record was shaped by both regional turmoil and collaboration. After leaving their home in Tessalit, the band set up a makeshift tent studio near Djanet in southern Algeria, recording amidst the challenges of desert life, including sand in the equipment. Despite these conditions, the group delivered a masterclass in restraint and tenacity. The album features contributions from Nels Cline, Kyp Malone, and Tunde Adebimpe, but these guests are woven in subtly rather than dominating the sound. This careful editing highlights the band’s decades-long cohesion, resulting in an album that feels less like a departure and more like a deepening of their roots. Tracks like ‘Djeredjere’ and ‘Iswegh Attay’ showcase a warm, campfire-like intimacy, proving that Tinariwen remains at peace with themselves, even amidst the harshness of the Sahara.

A solid 7 out of 10 for Stephen Bruner’s solo project, *The Golden Age of Apocalypse*, which is now available on Drowned in Sound. Bruner, known for his work with Thundercat and collaborations with artists like Snoop Dogg and Sa-Ra Creative Partners, finally steps into the spotlight here, spurred on by his friend and producer Flying Lotus. The album is a sprawling, cosmic journey that honors the rich musical lineage of both artists—Bruner as the son of Temptations drummer Ronald Bruner Sr., and Flying Lotus as Alice Coltrane’s great-nephew. Yet, the record carves out its own distinct identity, featuring Bruner’s serpentine bass work and 16-bit-inspired synth textures. While the space-age vibe occasionally teeters on the edge of retro kitsch (listen to ‘Jamboree’), the chemistry between the two friends shines through. It’s evident they are having fun, perhaps best exemplified by the opener ‘HooooooO,’ which samples the theme from *ThunderCats*. The only track not written by Bruner is his cover of George Duke’s ‘For Love I Come.’ It opens with buoyant R&B harmonies before shifting into a denser, stuttering groove that highlights his bass prowess. Some listeners might find the heavy use of wah-wah bass too sensual, akin to a jazz-infused soundtrack, but that unique blend of textures and experimental spirit is what makes this album worth seeking out.

Dis11’s coverage of the electronic pop renaissance hits the mark, framing the genre’s evolution through key acts like The Knife, Fever Ray, and Planningtorock. Yet it is When Saints Go Machine who truly shine in this landscape of high-concept, gender-bending dance-pop. Their album opens with 'Konkylie,' a track where Nicholas Vonsild’s layered vocals coil over horns and synths for a dramatic yet weightless effect. The record balances stark, Eighties-inflected grooves in 'Church And Law' with the icy, tape-warble textures of 'Parix.' While the opening trio is strong, 'Kelly' stands out as the album’s crown jewel—a pristine, Erasure-esque synth-pop gem that is destined for the dancefloor. Even the finale, 'Add Ends,' offers a beautiful, textural contrast with its chamber-pop strings. It is an impressive, fully realized body of work that captures the band’s artistic maturity. At an 8.0/10, this release confirms that When Saints Go Machine are artists to watch, blending personal emotion with club-ready precision.

Drowned in Sound delivers a review of We Are Enfant Terrible that captures their attempt at Parisian electro-pop, though the verdict is largely unimpressed. The band leans heavily into a "geek chic" aesthetic, drawing comparisons to Sonic the Hedgehog boss music, but this gimmick doesn't quite land. While 'Filthy Love' offers a catchy bassline, the album lacks overall replay value, and tracks like 'Wild Child' feel overproduced in their quest to sound effortlessly cool. The writing feels forced, resulting in a mid-tier record that plays it safe. It’s an alright effort with good technique, but it lacks the spark to truly energize a crowd, feeling more like a holding pattern than a bold statement. Ultimately, it’s a 4.0/10 release that prioritizes looking interesting over delivering memorable hooks.

Drowned in Sound has published a thoughtful review of Crooked Mountain, Crooked Sea’s debut, *What’s There To Write About?*, and it’s certainly worth a read. The critic acknowledges the Brighton band’s knack for sparking conversation right from the get-go, noting that the title itself is a witty nod to their self-aware attitude. While the reviewer notes strong post-hardcore echoes of bands like Fugazi and Minor Threat in the lo-fi aesthetic and Andy Brothwell’s vocals, they also highlight the band’s ability to break away from strict genre boxes. Tracks like ‘Faults’ showcase an angular, almost math-rock energy that keeps the ten-track, 27-minute runtime dynamic and engaging. However, the review isn’t entirely glowing. The decision to record predominantly live in a converted stable gave the album a gritty charm, but it also muddied the details, making lyrics indistinct and basslines less impactful. This lo-fi approach, while a bold statement against polished modern production, sometimes held back delicate moments like ‘Chances Scattered’, leaving them feeling underdeveloped. Despite these production quirks, the album’s breakneck pace and complex dynamics—ranging from the quiet-loud contrasts in ‘Other Places, Other People’ to the doom-laden closer ‘Graces Think Pit’—make it a compelling listen. It’s a solid release that successfully pushes post-hardcore into new territory, earning a respectable 7/10 for its ambition and musicality.

If you’re browsing Drowned in Sound, you’re likely looking for nuanced takes on eclectic music, and Howe Gelb’s *Alegrias* definitely fits that bill. While some might find the shift from lo-fi Americana to Spanish-influenced sounds a bit clichéd, the collaboration with guitarist Raimundo Amador brings a distinct, sun-drenched quality to the record. Recorded on a Cordoba rooftop, the album trades the usual gritty rock for a more sedate, rhythmic groove. It’s not a typical Giant Sand album; the lo-fi roots are replaced by a moodier, more thoughtful palette that echoes artists like Calexico. Tracks like ‘4 Door Maverick’ and ‘Cowboy Boots On Cobble Stones’ showcase this Spanish folk-rock influence, while ‘Notoriety’ leans into country-blues. Gelb’s dry wit and lyricism remain intact, offering a quieter, more introspective experience than his previous work. The production, handled by John Parish, is stellar, ensuring the album never repeats itself too much. However, it’s a specific vibe—best enjoyed in the right setting, perhaps late at night or during a quiet evening. It’s not for everyone, and purists might find the change jarring, but for those willing to lean into its unique character, *Alegrias* offers a complex, rewarding listen. Final track ‘One Diner Town’ is a poignant, melancholic closer that lingers long after the music stops. A solid 7/10 for those who appreciate Gelb’s artistic evolution.

Peter Bjorn & John have always been a band that defies easy categorization, and their journey with *Gimme Some* is no exception. After the massive success of *Writer’s Block*, many feared they would lose their way, especially with the experimental detour of *Seaside Rock*. But *Gimme Some* feels like a triumphant return to form. The album is a masterclass in smart pop songwriting, blending bright production with catchy chord progressions that stick in your head without feeling generic. What stands out most is the lyrical depth; they manage to explore themes of love and youthful disillusionment with a sincerity that avoids the trap of overly sentimental teen drama. Tracks like ‘Down Like Me’ showcase this beautifully, mixing political cynicism with a dreamy, reverb-drenched sound that draws you in. Even the faster, Hives-inspired cuts like ‘Breaker Breaker’ add the right amount of energy. It’s clear that since their formation in 1999, this trio has refined their ability to balance simplicity with hidden depth. *Gimme Some* doesn’t just remind us why we loved them in the first place; it proves they still have plenty of creativity left to explore. A solid 8/10.

If you were intoxicated, this record might actually make sense. "10 Years of Hangovers" by Latvian band Beat Milk Jugs—who now call London and Liverpool home—is undeniably a nighttime beast. It’s aggressive, loud, and feels like an industrial rhythm section starting a brawl with you in a derelict factory at 5 AM. On first listen, their debut album comes across as a bit of a brute: cold, sleazy, and lacking an obvious narrative or personality. However, once the concussion wears off a few days later, the experience becomes easier to appreciate. Why they stick to cities starting with 'L' remains a mystery, but their sound is far more interesting than their geography. Critics have compared them to "New Order melding into Pink Floyd on the Trans Siberian Express," a description that sets an impossible bar. While the electronic backdrops and low-voltage vocals lean closer to New Order than Floyd, there are distinct progressive tendencies. The album is atmospheric, futuristic, and surprisingly patient, avoiding short radio-friendly hits. The Prodigy are the closest touchstone, yet the band twists their influences into their own blueprint. Despite being based in the UK, the music retains a distinct Eastern European flavor, sitting a level above typical Eurotrash. The artwork looks like a Roxy Music cover designed by Sid from The Viz, which is a far cry from Eurovision. The album also evokes the soundtrack of a generic Jason Statham action movie. It offers a range of sonic landscapes to cushion the overbearing industrial noise that serves as their default setting. 'The Wedding' is a prime example, bringing shimmering, luxurious piano tones to the fore after they were previously buried under electronic overload. It shows their melodic side, but the glitchy, loud elements return quickly. I wouldn’t recommend taking drugs just to like this, but context matters. This is not a track for a sunny afternoon or background listening while reading the paper. It’s a record for a warehouse rave with friends. If you’re solo, you can still give it a go—just turn the stereo up loud and imagine a strobe light flashing to feel the right atmosphere.

Gruff Rhys turns 40, and one might expect him to trade his eccentricities for sober maturity. For the Welsh musician, known for his time with Super Furry Animals, this milestone supposedly meant swapping chaos for piano ballads and conquering a fear of the saxophone. But as usual, the reality on *Hotel Shampoo* is far more complex. This isn’t just a straightforward collection of sad songs; it’s a continuation of Rhys’s quirky artistic journey, much like his previous endeavors ranging from tank promotions to Patagonian expeditions. While the album does deliver on its promise of plaintive, piano-driven tracks like ‘At The Heart Of Love’ and ‘Rubble Rubble,’ it quickly reveals itself to be more than a simple lounge affair. Rhys’s direct vocal delivery adds an intimate layer, yet the album retains the bright, sparkling indie-pop essence he is known for. The melodies are undeniably sweet, with Rhys’s falsetto shining through. Tracks like ‘Conservation Conversation’ and ‘Sophie Softly’ lean heavily into this simplicity, though they manage to stay engaging through their playful nature. The record truly elevates when it breaks away from its basic formula. Co-produced by Andy Votel, ‘Shark Ridden Waters’ is a standout, blending a meandering melody with a cycling sample from a 60s record to create a shimmering, melancholic masterpiece. ‘Christopher Colombus’ is another highlight, mixing a stomping beat with a witty lyrical concept and, surprisingly, an exhilarating saxophone solo that proves Rhys has made peace with the instrument. The inclusion of ‘Space Dust #2,’ a duet with El Perro Del Mar, further cements the album as a punchy, immediate, and charming listen. Ultimately, *Hotel Shampoo* may not be the strict piano project Rhys initially pitched, but that’s never been the point. Behind the scenes, the same creative formula has always been at work. With consistent craftsmanship and flashes of fresh inspiration, the album remains hard to resist. Rating: 7.0/10

Reviewing the straightforward indie-pop scene can feel less like critiquing art and more like hitting a piñata without being blindfolded. For Telekinesis—the project of singer-songwriter Michael Benjamin Lerner—this latest release seems to secure a pass from harsh criticism thanks to its sheer catchiness. Lerner, who was schooled in the fine arts of pop by the band LIPA, treated this follow-up to his self-titled debut like a rigorous nine-to-five job. The result feels less like casual effort and more like a fail-safe formula honed over his twenty-four years: taking standard guitar riffs, root-note basslines, and unflashy vocals and refining them into effortless crowd-pleasers. This disciplined approach frees up Lerner to focus on his true nine-to-five subjects: mourning ruined relationships in tracks like “You Turn Clear in the Sun” and “I Cannot Love You”; wondering about regretful exes in “Dirty Thing” and “Patterns”; and exploring the initial mistakes of love in “12 Desperate Straight Lines.” Some might question the authenticity of this adolescent perspective, but I’ve always been suspicious of music fans who mistake cynicism for depth. They act as if moral fortitude is the only thing stopping them from alternative megastardom, grumbling that we don’t need another indie act to half-heartedly pump our fists at commercial festivals or stick posters on bedroom walls. But we do need them. For me, *12 Desperate Straight Lines* captures the visceral thrill of first playing Weezer’s *The Blue Album*, replicating those delights endlessly. While this style can sometimes devolve into the cliché that ruined Weezer’s later career, Lerner has mapped out the stadium-indie minefield with precision. It’s not just Lerner, though; Chris Walla, the Dean of indie rock, lends his subtle production quirks to the record’s sheen. The album offers a glimpse of what Death Cab for Cutie might have sounded like if they hadn’t been bullied at school, or No Age without their constant attempts to stick it to the man. If we must compare, the closest parallel might be a higher-fidelity version of Apples in Stereo. Lerner’s goal isn’t to chart unexplored sonic territory, but to execute a finite ambition perfectly. By avoiding modern gimmicks, Chillwave, and contrived nostalgia, he proves that reclaiming the joy of unpretentious tunesmithery only requires a misery-ridden romantic with a witty turn of phrase—and an infallible formula for soberly uplifting, hooky pop. It isn't as easy as it looks. **Rating: 8.0/10**

Music criticism is a risky business, and using songs as vehicles for social commentary often ends in failure because we prefer our record collections to remain neutral rather than preach. Asian Dub Foundation, despite their Mercury nomination and tours with Radiohead, have remained an underground act rather than a household name. Their latest release, *A History of Now*, follows this trajectory. While the title track perfectly encapsulates their blend of anxious riffs and abrasive rapping, and *Urgency Frequency* offers some tense electro highlights, the lyrical content is largely uninspiring. The band seems content with sixth-form level political commentary, such as the somewhat simplistic appeal in *Where’s All The Money Gone*. It is a lively, accomplished album that will undoubtedly sound great live, but it rarely engages the mind, serving more as transient entertainment than a profound ideological statement.

It is hard to imagine a Jimmy Eat World enthusiast who believed their magic was just about loud choruses and sentimental ballads. "The Middle" might have been the gateway drug, but fans stayed because the music echoed their own teenage angst and sadness while still offering a glimmer of hope. Now that both the band and their audience have matured, *Invented* offers what looks like more polished, professional songwriting. The issue is that they haven’t managed Idlewild’s feat of expressing adult disappointment with restraint. Instead, they seem to have followed the Foo Fighters' playbook, relying on a built-in fanbase to buy anything with their name on it. Listening to the single "My Best Theory," you get a catchy pop-riff with tight rhythm sections, but it feels superficial. The vocals are heavily doubled and the guitars are heavily processed—tweak the instrumentation slightly and this could be chart-topping techno. On "Stop," the band’s lighter side is warped into boredom, with verses stuck on a few notes and a chorus that drags into a tedious solo. "Littlething" is equally bland, saved only by some interesting strings and percussion at the end. "Coffee And Cigarettes" feels like a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of the record. The guitar production is freer, featuring vocal duets and lush chords. While the chorus feels more like a bridge than a hook, it is nice to hear some restraint. Later tracks like the one featuring breathy vocals and a punchy coda give the album a bit of energy. The closer, "Mixtape," is mesmerizing, relying on intermittent piano and relentless arpeggios to create an ambient atmosphere with emotional mystery that is sorely missing elsewhere. After several listens, *Invented* remains ambiguous. Aside from a few moments of tenderness and tension, it is hard to recognize the band we fell in love with. If they are trying to reach a new audience, the uninitiated won't find many anthemic hits or moving ballads to latch onto. The risk is sounding like you are clinging to nostalgia, but the truth is that while all bands must change, it is undeniable that Jimmy Eat World can—and have—done so much better.

Reviewing a release on Drowned in Sound’s platform, Polar Bear’s *Peepers* remains one of the year's standout albums. It perfectly captures the band's identity: sharp pop sensibility, experimental flair (boosted by Leafcutter John’s electronic textures), and a distinct sense of humor. Though they’ve produced stronger individual tracks before, this is their most cohesive work to date. It channels the chaotic energy of punk and their time in Acoustic Ladyland, maintaining an edgy tension even in somber moments like ‘The Love Didn’t Go Anywhere’. That it never actually disintegrates only adds to its appeal. *Common Ground* serves as an interesting, if somewhat misleading, counterpart. While billed as a collaboration between Seb Rochford and London MC Jyager, it feels less like a traditional Polar Bear album and less like jazz. Rochford’s jazz roots are visible but repurposed into a brooding, industrial soundscape. He deconstructs *Peepers* and reassembles it with hip-hop influences. When familiar motifs appear, like in ‘New Love’, the contrast between the two projects becomes stark. Jyager’s nasal, anxious delivery over Rochford’s throbbing beats creates a sense of urban stress, effectively mirroring London’s detached atmosphere. While *Common Ground* works well as an independent entity, its connection to *Peepers* invites constant comparison. It lacks the raw impact of *Peepers*’s title track or the majestic ‘Beartown’. Rochford’s angular production often feels like an essay using the cut-up technique, lingering in a void rather than grabbing the listener. Moments of brilliance emerge in ‘Stay In Control’ and the instrumental ‘Flowerpot Remix’, making the project worth exploring. Ultimately, it offers fascinating glimpses into Rochford’s mind rather than standing as a complete masterpiece on its own.

Reading about Violens' *Amoral* on Drowned in Sound feels a bit like watching a movie where the best scenes were already leaked in the trailer. While the album isn't a total loss, the most compelling moments—like the free MP3 single 'Acid Reign'—were already out there in the blogosphere back in August. That track, with its New Order-esque vibe and vocalist Jorge Elbrecht channeling Bernard Sumner, is genuinely fantastic, but it sets a high bar that the rest of the record struggles to match. The title track is the actual emotional core, a sinister mix of spoken word and eerie sounds that would have made a much stronger opener, but it’s buried deep in the tracklist. Elsewhere, you get glimpses of their past brilliance, like the psychedelic pop of 'Violent Sensation Descends' from their 2008 EP, or the Yeasayer-influenced 'Trance-Like Turn' from an Energy Action Coalition compilation. However, the new material often feels more like a collection of parts than a cohesive whole. There’s a lot of glossy, 80s-to-90s synth work that sometimes prioritizes atmosphere over purpose, and a deceptive pop sheen on tracks like 'The Dawn of Your Happiness' that hides a more brooding undercurrent. Violens have clearly mastered their technique, but the album still lacks the singular focus that made their earlier releases so engaging.

While reviewing *Epic* on dis11.herokuapp.com, I found myself compelled to start with the final track, ‘Love More’. This seventh and closing song serves as a powerful introduction to the emotional core of Sharon Van Etten’s work. Anchored by a simple chord pattern and featuring a descending harmonium line, the track builds through waves of feedback and lush reverb. Van Etten and her backing vocalists create a vivid portrait of loss, blending ambiguity with a weary optimism that defines the album. The lyrics, such as the striking “You chained me like a dog in our room,” suggest regret, yet the overall beauty of the piece leans toward hope. This duality is central to *Epic*, which documents the aftermath of intense relationships without fully condemning the pain involved. Unlike the sparser *Because I Was in Love*, this record features billowing open chords and a more expansive sound. Tracks like ‘DsharpG’ and ‘Don’t Do It’ showcase her gift for direct lyricism and wandering melodies, with the latter rising to a muscular climax supported by spectral harmonies. Despite the underlying darkness, Van Etten’s husky, expressive voice provides balance, much like Wilco did on *Yankee Hotel Foxtrot*. At just over thirty minutes, *Epic* is a beautifully formed, sonically engaging work that offers warmth and memorable emotion, earning a solid 8.0 out of 10.

Listening to The Twilight Sad’s *The Wrong Car* EP on the Drowned in Sound platform (dis11.herokuapp.com) feels like catching a band mid-evolution. It captures that specific moment when artists offer fans a snack while they are still cooking up the main course, much like their previous *Here, It Never Snowed, Afterwards It Did* release. The title track sets a moody tone, opening with sparse, watery piano chords that clash beautifully with heavy drums and a sorrowful string section, giving the verses an almost Eastern flavor. When the chorus hits, it is cathartic, with tormented strings rising over a storm of distorted guitars as James Graham delivers his vocals with his signature passionate Scottish accent. He also strips things back for intimate verses, letting the piano resonate fully. At seven minutes long, the track flies by. In contrast, *Throw Yourself In the Water* is a raw, straight-ahead rock track that fits comfortably alongside material from *Forget the Night Ahead*. It opens with staccato guitar chops and distorted bass, marked by feedback screeches and crashing cymbals. Graham’s voice is often buried in the noise, but lyrics like "We’re dancing on your grave" and "And he pushed you" create a palpable sense of dread that continues the mood of their previous album. The opening lines of the title track, "And we were there with our ears to ground, 'cos he was right behind you," place the listener right in the middle of the action, making us feel complicit in the drama. These two original tracks show no major shift from their intense indie-post-rock style, especially since they were recorded during the *Forget the Night Ahead* sessions. While Mogwai are clear musical forebears, The Twilight Sad take a more direct songwriting approach. This is evident in the remixes included here. Mogwai’s take on *The Room* adds a lighter touch, using reverb-heavy vocals and shoegaze-style guitars to create a gentler, albeit still melancholic, atmosphere compared to the album version’s marching snare. Meanwhile, Errors completely transform *Reflection of the Television*. They strip away the original’s roar, replacing it with stuttering synth bass, blocky arpeggios, and disco-inspired stabs, featuring guest vocals from Andy McFarlane. It is a dark, danceable track that perhaps loses some of the original’s character, but remains curious and engaging. Ultimately, *The Wrong Car* is a highly satisfying stop-gap for fans of The Twilight Sad’s second album. While it doesn’t offer many clues about where the band is heading next, it serves as a compelling listen in the meantime. Rating: 7.0/10

I find myself in a peculiar position writing this for Drowned in Sound, knowing that most readers have already formed their verdict on Katy Perry’s *Teenage Dream*. You’ve likely already heard the lead single, ‘California Gurls,’ and probably clicked through this review on her.herokuapp.com site expecting either a scathing takedown of pop crimes or a nuanced analysis. Regardless of your expectation, your opinion is likely set before you even begin. If ‘California Gurls’ was a hit for you, you’ll enjoy about half this album; if it wasn’t, you can skip *Teenage Dream* entirely. Unsurprisingly, the album’s highlights mirror that single—it feels constructed around four or five potential hits with the rest serving as filler. For a pop record, it is remarkably unremarkable. The lyrics offer the only real intrigue. On their own, they are generic fare about boys and clubs. However, viewed through the lens of Perry’s life, they reveal a diary of her split from the Gym Class Heroes frontman and her new romance with Russell Brand. Take ‘Peacock,’ for instance. It echoes Toni Basil’s ‘Mickey’ and features the line “I want to see you peacock.” Perry repeats the last syllable to mimic the word “cock,” creating a wacky, edgy double entendre about seeing a man’s penis—presumably Brand’s. It’s a charming quirk, though perhaps a bit forced. My primary grievance, however, is Perry’s voice. It is theatrical, nasal, and whiny, relying on unnecessary vocal flourishes that resemble a mix of Christina Aguilera’s dive-bombs and Hayley Williams’ pop-punk snarl. It grates like nails on a chalkboard, which is problematic for a singer whose entire delivery hinges on that voice. Beyond the vocals, the album lacks excitement. Tracks like ‘Teenage Dream,’ ‘Last Friday Night,’ and ‘Hummingbird Heartbeat’ match the caliber of the hit single, but the rest is forgettable to poor. One track even mimics T.A.T.u.’s ‘All The Things She Said.’ Ultimately, if you’ve heard the singles, you’ve heard the best of *Teenage Dream*. The rest is a waste of time. If you loved the hit, you’ll like half the record; if not, you already know it’s not for you.

After years of beloved underground releases, Dr. Dog’s decision to bring in producer Rob Schnapf for their latest album initially raised eyebrows among dedicated fans. It felt like a risky move, perhaps a desperate grab for mainstream relevance before calling it quits. Given the pristine psychedelic charm of their previous work, such as the classic vibes of Easy Beat and Fate, it was hard not to wonder why they would tamper with a winning formula. Fortunately, Schnapf, known for his work with Elliott Smith and Beck, didn’t strip away the gritty charm that defines the band. In fact, Shame, Shame feels more like a natural continuation than a departure, closely mirroring the spirit of their predecessor. The record is slightly less immediate than Fate, with harmonies that are a touch more restrained and choruses that aren’t quite as instantly catchy. The main shift lies in the sonic texture: where Fate evoked the natural wonder of Mercury Rev, Shame, Shame channels the vibrant, mystical energy of The Flaming Lips. Tracks like ‘Where Did All The Time Go?’ capture this perfectly, featuring woozy looping keyboards and reedy vocals that create a deeply wistful atmosphere. Apart from a heavier reliance on electric guitars over acoustic ones, the core appeal remains intact. The band’s signature sound—built on fluid basslines and expressive drumming—continues to shine. Whether delivering the gruff bluesiness of ‘Stranger’ or the dreamy delicacy of ‘Shadow People’, Toby Leaman and Scott McMicken anchor their songs with lush harmonies and rich textures of guitar and Hammond organ. The band’s connections to acts like Wilco and The Black Keys might make them seem like relics of a pre-1976 aesthetic, but for fans of this style, that’s part of the charm. Dr. Dog delivers an album that instantly wins you over by the first chorus. It encourages you to dive into their back catalog and share the music with skeptics, armed with powerful tracks like the heartfelt ‘Unbearable Why’ and the robust ‘Later’. Recorded with an organic, live-in-the-room feel, these songs are undeniably addictive.

Publishing at Drowned in Sound offers a refreshing alternative to the polished, predictable pop machine. Kate Nash’s *My Best Friend Is You* feels like a delightful anomaly—equal parts major-label sheen and indie soul. While the production, courtesy of Bernard Butler, boasts those lush, expensive-sounding strings that recall Belle & Sebastian, Nash’s raw, almost hysterical vocal delivery keeps the record grounded and authentic. Tracks like 'Mansion Song' deliver a surprising, gritty performance poetry that contrasts beautifully with the smoother arrangements. It’s a record that manages to be both incredibly accessible and distinctly quirky, referencing influences from Yeah Yeah Yeahs to Elastica without losing its own identity. It might not be as immediate as *Tigermilk*, and its eclectic palette suggests it won’t linger forever, but there is a genuine, hook-filled fun to it. It’s an album that defies easy categorization, proving that you can have high-gloss production without losing the edge. A solid, enjoyable listen that stands out in today’s pop landscape.

While Manchester has long been a hub for industrial soundscapes, the city’s embrace of krautrock has historically been limited, with Joy Division and The Fall standing out as rare exceptions. This makes the arrival of Plank! on the Akoustic Anarkhy label a welcome, if long-overdue, development. As a local entity, Plank! fits into the region’s evolving musical diversity by tackling the genre with a distinct sense of humor. Rather than just replicating the motorik rhythms of the past, the trio parodies the genre’s serious reputation, evident in track titles like ‘1001 Nacht’ and ‘Arse Nick’. The EP’s opener, ‘La Luna’, nods to classic influences with its driving bassline, while the mechanical sounds and grunts throughout the record add a human touch to the disciplined instrumentation. Although the band clearly enjoys mocking the pretensions of "serious" musicians, their technical proficiency means the humor never undermines the quality of the music. It’s a clever, proficient release that offers a refreshing, less stiff take on krautrock, even if their future direction remains to be seen. 7.0

It’s hard not to be charmed by the beautifully chaotic vibe of Standard Fare. While they clearly draw inspiration from the Sheffield scene and bands like Los Campeninos!, they manage to carve out their own identity on the debut album *The Noyelle Beat*. Emma Kupa’s vocals bring a distinct, slightly more sensual edge compared to the wallflowers of Spearmint, channeling energy similar to Kate Jackson or the Pippettes without being too aggressive. Tracks like 'Love Doesn’t Just Stop' hit with a classic Britpop punch right from the start, while 'Fifteen' captures that awkward, youthful tension with its Ringo-inspired drums and catchy riffs. It’s perfect for anyone who misses the indie spirit of the late 80s and 90s without the political baggage. Though moments like 'Philadelphia' can feel a bit too saccharine, the raw, unpolished aesthetic ultimately works in the band’s favor. There’s a genuine sense of fun in tracks like 'I Know It’s Hard', where Kupa’s lyrics about dancing in the living room feel incredibly relatable. Despite some lack of low-end punch, the album’s youthful exuberance and fresh take on classic sounds make it a standout listen.

Writing for Drowned in Sound, we see Jimi Goodwin reflect on how the landscape shapes Doves’ fourth album, *The Places Between*. Tracks like ‘Kingdom of Rust’ capture that road-trip trepidation, using chugging rhythms to explore whether the places we left behind remain the same. It’s an album deeply rooted in the journey rather than the destination, mirroring the band’s own existential wanderings. Interestingly, the review notes that the album feels somewhat conservative, acting more as a marker for the band’s past than a standalone masterpiece. While it may push listeners back toward their previous four records, it offers a necessary pause to weigh up the possibilities of the future. Despite the mixed results, the publication awards it a modest 5.0 out of 10.

While Illegal Art boasts a fittingly ironic name for its eclectic releases, this Okapi compilation feels like a fascinating relic from the early 2000s rather than a timeless classic. Released by the label originally tied to Negativland, the album plays with the myth of a Kyrgyz composer, Aldo Kapi, creating a narrative that is as much about playful fabrication as it is about the music itself. Okapi, also known as Fillipo Paolini, clearly knows his way around samples, blending classical, jazz, and IDM with a distinct "big beat" energy reminiscent of artists like Mouse On Mars. Tracks like “Bud Dub” offer catchy, approachable moments that evoke that specific era of technologically fueled electronica, and I do appreciate the whimsical sound effects scattered throughout. However, despite the serious pedigree of collaborators like Mike Patton and Damo Suzuki, the work sometimes feels more like clever pastiche than profound artistry. The gimmick of the fake composer story, while fun, highlights that beneath the slick production and high-minded concepts, there isn't always a deep well of substance to draw from. It’s an enjoyable, nostalgic listen, but it ultimately lacks the enduring engagement of the label’s heavier hitters.

Bonobo has always been the kind of artist whose work quietly haunts the background of our lives—think TV soundtracks and indie game scores. With *Black Sands*, Simon Green finally drags his intricate, stoner-chill aesthetic out of the shadows and into the spotlight. The album opens with a striking piano and strings prelude that demands your attention, quickly leading into "Kiara," where a murky bassline locks in with those instruments for an immediate groove. Tracks like "Eyesdown" blend dubstep textures with Balearic vibes, reminiscent of early Massive Attack on a Mediterranean holiday. It’s not quite dance-floor material, but it has an irresistible urge to get you moving before settling you into a deep, warm reverie. Andreya Triana is the undeniable star here; her vocals on "The Keeper" and the title track inject such emotional intensity that they elevate the tracks beyond simple jazz-funk filler. While the album certainly has that slick, atmospheric sheen that makes it perfect for commercials and "cool" branding, it remains incredibly stylish. Songs like "Kong" and "El Toro" evoke a gritty, Sixties cop show vibe—imagine cruising a '68 Mustang through the Bay Area with the stereo blasting. But it’s the closing title track that steals the show. It’s a haunting, beautiful waltz that sticks with you, proving that while it might not be strictly "Bonobo," it is undeniably magnificent. A solid 7/10 release that earns its place among his best work.

For anyone willing to look beyond the surface, San Francisco’s Wooden Shjips offer a masterclass in hypnotic psychedelic rock. While their sound owes as much to the mellow haze of altered states as it does to pure musical skill, the band’s true strength lies in their unwavering commitment to a distinct identity. In an era defined by fleeting trends, Wooden Shjips have stood firm, carving out a legacy that bridges the gap between the foundational works of Spacemen 3 and the modern scene. Released via Drowned in Sound, their latest collection, Vol. 2, serves as a compelling deep dive into the band’s earlier material, complementing the previously released Vol. 1. This album gathers tracks from a broader timeline, showcasing a group that has been refining their locked-in, groove-heavy sound since their first seven-inch release in 2006. The result is a record that feels like a time machine, spanning five decades of sonic exploration without losing its unique edge. Highlights include the Hawkwind-inspired space odyssey of "Loose Lips" and "Start To Dreaming," which hint at the band's early development. In contrast, "Vampire Blues" offers a more unpredictable turn, blending elements reminiscent of Suicide and Johnny Cash. The cover of Serge Gainsbourg’s "Contact" highlights circular, monolithic grooves that echo the textures of the late '80s, while the seven-and-a-half-minute mantra of "I Hear The Vibrations" firmly places the band in the lineage of Loop. Finally, "Outta My Head" brings back the raw, 1967 San Francisco vibe, with Nash Whalen’s organ taking center stage. Though psychedelic rock can sometimes be seen as an acquired taste, the richness of Wooden Shjips' work never fails to satisfy. This compilation is a worthy addition to any collection, proving that even material from a few years ago remains vital and engaging. Rating: 8.0/10

If you’re still reeling from the Eurovision selection drama on BBC1, you probably suspect that pop has lost its magic. It’s easy to blame the committee for not spotting brilliance, but what’s truly missing is that pure, unironic joy of a sugary singalong. Enter Drowned in Sound, a hub that seems to understand this exact void. Listening to the latest work from Music Go Music feels like a breath of fresh air—the kind of sound that bridges generations without a hint of Brooklyn loft irony. The Californian trio channels the spirit of ABBA with confidence, proving they aren’t just a passing side project. Tracks like the disco odyssey ‘Warm In The Shadows’ and the synth-driven ‘I Walk Alone’ show immense range, but it’s Gala Bell’s voice that truly sells the melody. While some might find the relentless chipperness a bit too much, albums like ‘Expressions’ bring that classic Sixties girl-group energy to life. It’s a refreshing reminder that pop isn’t dead; it just needs the right curation. A solid 8/10 experience.

After being self-released way back in 2007, Fauna’s ambitious, dark concept album *The Hunt* has finally seen the light of day with an official pressing via Drowned in Sound. This reissue features a remix and remaster by Mel Detmer along with the addition of live drums, aiming to give this primitive, laborious black metal epic the audience it truly deserves. The album is less a collection of songs and more a single, grinding soundtrack to prehistoric survival. The track listing, inscribed in faint grey on black, reflects this continuity: "The Door," "Hunger," "Setting Out," "The Scent," "Nocturne," "Tracking," and "The Kill, Fulfilment." You really need to take these as movements of a whole, each feeding into the next. The atmosphere builds slowly until "The Scent," where arpeggiated chords and an irregular drumbeat finally pierce the gloom. From there, visceral growls and sludgy guitar riffs drive the 17-minute centerpiece forward with measured intensity. The mood shifts in "Tracking," where the howls return but sound wearier and pained. Finally, "The Kill, Fulfilment" delivers the payoff with heavenly yet sinister drones battling against thumping percussion before the music abruptly ceases, mirroring the finality of life. Fauna deserves credit for such a bold attempt. While the strict concept limits interpretive unpredictability, it focuses the end product into a work of clear purpose. It’s a justified re-release for a project as intense as this.

Innovation is indeed a curious concept when applied to music, especially by bands like Denmark’s The Kissaway Trail. Their sophomore release, *Sleep Mountain*, feels less like a natural evolution and more like a heavy dose of indie rock clichés served over eleven tracks. While their 2007 debut introduced us to dreamy, post-rock aspirations reminiscent of Mercury Rev, the new opener "SDP" pushes this formula even further with church bells and Wayne Coyne-esque vocals about humanity. Producer Peter Katis, known for his work with The National, brings that same muscular emotional weight to the record; listening to "Beat Your Heartbeat" feels like being submerged in undiluted indie anthem juice. However, the album struggles to find its own voice amidst these influences. "The Painter" offers a tender, banjo-accompanied moment that rivals My Morning Jacket’s expansive style, yet the soaring choruses that follow might leave you reaching for a liferaft rather than inspired by them. Unlike Sigur Rós, who carved out their own distinct sonic landscape, Kissaway seem content to bask in the shadows of Arcade Fire and the world-weary schtick of Chris Martin. New single "New Lipstick" injects some accordion-driven energy, but the rest of the record is a mid-paced, somnambulant affair lacking the central track that "Smother + Evil = Hurt" provided on the first album. Ultimately, *Sleep Mountain* lacks the urgent fervor of Arcade Fire or the inventive mischief of The Flaming Lips. With lyrics pondering "dreams made from plastic glasses" and saccharine string sections on "Philadelphia," the band sounds more like a cover act than innovators. While they may be a moving live act—check their UK tour in March—this studio release is merely epic indie rock safe enough to take home to meet your mother, rather than the stunning masterpiece promised by some. Rating: 5.0/10

Navigating the Drowned in Sound archives to revisit this verdict on Glee: The Music Vol. 1 feels like uncovering that old jar of yeast extract—polarizing, to say the least. While the show itself had a razor-sharp wit and genuinely hilarious moments, the album adaptation tells a different story. It promises musical innovation but largely delivers a glossy, over-produced cash-in that strips away the context that makes the series special. The powerful rendition of "Don't Stop Believin'" offers a glimmer of hope, yet it’s quickly buried under bombastic covers that feel more like bad karaoke than artistic interpretation. Matthew Morrison’s rap attempts are particularly painful, making Vanilla Ice seem technically proficient by comparison. Ultimately, the album highlights that the show’s true strength was its writing, not its music, resulting in a collection that feels like studio executives prioritizing sales over substance. A decent 4/10, but one that misses the magic of the source material.

At Drowned in Sound, we’ve long appreciated acts that break away from the standard guitar-bass-drums mold, much like Beirut or Patrick Wolf did with their early use of ukuleles and accordions. Efterklang’s *Parades* earned a rare 10/10 rating here not just for that novelty, but because it carved a unique path through intricate arrangements and subtle mood shifts. With that history in mind, expectations were high for their third album, *Magic Chairs*. While *Parades* balanced classical orchestration with pop melodies, *Magic Chairs* brings the pop aspect slightly more to the forefront, making for a more immediate listening experience. Tracks like 'I Was Playing Drums' and 'Harmonics' may seem simple at first glance, but repeated spins reveal their underlying complexity, showcasing a brilliant synthesis of melody and intricacy. The opener, 'Modern Drift,' starts with a straightforward piano line before expanding into elaborate brass and string arrangements. The scoring is often stunning, particularly the delicate violin work in 'Mirror Mirror,' which builds into a soaring chorus. The band’s use of instrumentation allows them to shift moods effortlessly, from the swagger of 'I'm Playing Drums' to the paranoid edge of 'Raincoats.' There is a minor misstep on 'Alike,' where vocalist Casper Clausen channels Chris Martin, but the interlocking brass and guitar lines that follow quickly dispel that comparison. True to their style, vocals here are treated as just another texture in the mix; much of the album features wordless choirs or no voices at all. Not every track hits the mark. 'The Soft Beating' feels sluggish, lacking the momentum of the rest of the record, and 'Scandinavian Love' feels slightly disjointed, as if a missing piece prevents it from fully clicking. However, *Magic Chairs* demonstrates a profound understanding of harmony and scoring. Much like Van Dyke Parks’ work with Joanna Newsom, Efterklang’s collaboration with the Danish National Chamber Orchestra on *Parades* made sense, and that spirit continues here. The band plays with timbres—violins, cellos, trombones, flutes—blending ancient and modern sounds into something distinct. For that achievement, we can easily overlook its occasional flaws.

It’s hard to ignore the irony that Jaga Jazzist’s third album closes with the sound of helicopters, especially when Lars Horntveth’s work is often linked to the Wagnerian imagery of *Apocalypse Now*. While Colonel Kilgore played the composer to intimidate, listening to *One-Armed Bandit* feels less like being scared and more like being entranced by a psychedelic spectacle—like watching flying hippos descend from the sky. This Norwegian nine-piece has evolved into a unique chimera, blending disparate musical elements into a cohesive whole that feels born from feverish imagination. Tracks like ‘Bananfleur’ shift gears instantly, melting synth chords into pedal steel before locking into a New Order-inspired bassline. Meanwhile, ‘Prognissekongen’ channels Fela Kuti’s Afro-funk before exploding into a chaotic mix of xylophones and sci-fi noises, as if the Star Wars cantina band crashed the party. They sit apart from contemporaries like The Thing or Bugge Wesseltoft, offering the energy of one and the space of the other, with John McEntire’s mixing adding depth. Even the chaotic closer ‘Touch Of Evil’, with its chainsaw guitar and thumping bass, feels tightly controlled. Unlike Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Jaga Jazzist inject their complex mini-symphonies with fun and absurdity rather than pretension. There’s a virtuoso flair here, but the self-indulgence is minimal. Even if the complexity occasionally borders on excessive, it ultimately smells like a victory over the limited boundaries of typical music. Rating: 9.0/10

If you are looking for the lush, psychedelic harmonies reminiscent of MGMT or the Beach Boys, Drowned in Sound might not be your go-to destination. The 2003 Campfire Songs EP, available in both CD and digital formats, is an intriguing but occasionally frustrating listen. It stands as Animal Collective’s most ambitious work to date, yet it leans heavily into experimental territory that can feel more like a challenge than a joy for the uninitiated. Originally conceived by core members Dave Portner and Noah Lennox during their college days, the album isn’t about relaxing by a fire with Neil Young covers. Instead, it captures the primal energy of the outdoors and nature. Recorded live in an open-air setting, tracks like the dreamy, ten-minute opener 'Queen in My Pictures' weave intricate vocal layers over simple strummed rhythms. 'Doggy' offers a bit more melody, though the sound of the environment—like distant planes—bleeds into the mix. However, the album’s loose structure can be its undoing for casual fans. Tracks like 'Two Corvettes' and 'Moo Rah Rah Rain' lack clear footholds, totaling sixteen minutes of what might feel like wilful obscurity. Even the closer 'De Soto De Son', which starts with a lilting, eastern-tinged melody, drifts into oblivion for half its duration before stumbling back to an end. While the chaos might offer a personal experience upon repeated listens, the album remains firmly filed under 'experimental', likely appealing only to the band’s most devoted followers.

This review of Drowned in Sound’s coverage highlights Yeti Lane’s compelling evolution. The article notes how the Parisian trio—Ben Pleng, Charlie Boyer, and LoAc—found new strength after Cyann & Ben’s Cyann departed, shifting to a rawer, back-to-basics sound. It praises the diverse album, citing the experimental pop of 'Lonesome George' and the emotive depth of tracks like 'Black Soul' and 'Solar,' which evoke comparisons to Buffalo Tom and The Beatles. While noting that 'Think It's Done' feels slightly out of place, the writer affirms that the band has made a record to be proud of, securing their place on the musical map. This thoughtful analysis supports a solid 7.0 out of 10 rating for the band's second effort.

For Emma, Forever Ago is inextricably linked to the image of a Wisconsin log cabin, just as the Velvet Underground are tied to NYC. Geographic roots shape music deeply, and Iceland’s psychogeography has long been defined by artists like Björk, Sigur Rós, and múm, blending organic electronica with the stark beauty of glacial landscapes. FM Belfast, however, step away from this tradition. Their music is urban, club-ready, and modern. On 'Underwear', they sing of waiting for "nothing" and running through streets in underwear, capturing the spirit of disaffected youth. Like the late Jakobínarína, they reject rural conventions and aim straight for dancefloors and late-night radio. 'Frequency' offers a quirky public information message: "Put down that glass baby / You're the designated driver." The album touches on life's small details, such as 'Optical', which is about the joy of finally getting glasses. They cover Technotronic's 'Pump Up The Jam' in a sparse, slower style, moving it away from its original aerobics-friendly beat. Their cover of Rage Against the Machine's 'Killing in the Name of', retitled 'Lotus', is clever and well-recorded, transforming a song of teenage rebellion into a defiant desire to dance. While they reject some Icelandic norms, the influence of The Knife’s Nordic sound is still present on tracks like 'VHS' and 'President'. The title 'Synthia' hints at a weakness in their reliance on synths, but the music is so focused on escape and enjoyment that it never bores. The feelings of not fitting in are universal. Perhaps this is a response to Iceland’s financial collapse or the claustrophobia of island life. On 'Par Avion', they dream of a Caribbean home. FM Belfast may reject traditional Icelandic sounds, but they fit perfectly into the lineage of Icelandic rebellion, modernizing it with Scandinavian synths and a strong sense of fun. Rating: 8.0/10

Holiday records are often written off as cash grabs, a suspicion deepened by recent releases like Bob Dylan’s *Christmas in the Heart*. It is refreshing, then, to see how Tori Amos approaches her own seasonal project, *Midwinter Graces*. Released not long after her world tour, the album suggests this is an artistic choice rather than a need to fill a gap between albums. Drawing on her background as a minister’s daughter, Amos delivers a collection that feels personal and culturally rooted, yet distinct from her usual darker fare. The album is a reimagining of classics rather than a strict reproduction. Tracks like ‘A Silent Night With You’ use only a fleeting whisper to reference the original hymn, pivoting instead to a romantic theme of second chances. ‘Holly, Ivy, and Rose,’ featuring her daughter, retains the original melody but is framed by delicate, somber piano verses. Musically, the record leans into a darker, more brooding atmosphere than typical holiday fare. The original track ‘Snow Angel’ opens with a heavy strain before easing into a brighter tone reminiscent of her *Scarlet’s Walk* era, while ‘Emmanuel’ offers a solemn, mass-like atmosphere. Fans of her earlier work will appreciate the return of the harpsichord and the piano-driven arrangements. There are quirky moments, such as the big band feel of ‘Pink and Glitter,’ though these might only truly land with a specific generation. While the album is destined to be a seasonal fixture—playing heavily from November to January—it stands out as a memorable holiday record that offers genuine artistic merit rather than just a quick cash cow.

Hitting rock bottom can offer a strange kind of joy, a sensation perfectly captured by Brooklyn duo Glass Ghost on their debut album, *Idol Omen*. Founders Eliot Krimsky and Mike Johnson, who previously released meticulously crafted melancholic dream-funk under the Flying label, dial back the intensity here without losing the beauty and humor in the gloom. It is an album where you can laugh, cry, and perhaps even dance while lying on the floor. Krimsky’s distinctive, slightly atonal falsetto pairs beautifully with skewed pop sensibilities, landing somewhere between the bittersweet transition of Talk Talk’s *The Colour of Spring* and Scritti Politti’s mainstream pivot with *Cupid & Psyche*. Johnson’s blend of sampled beats and live drumming provides a minimalist funk undertow that adds crucial color to Krimsky’s yearning. Their signature trick is stretching space between notes before compressing them with bustling rhythms, a technique highlighted on the opener ‘Time Saving Trick’. The track begins with Krimsky crooning over a simple bass drum and piano, before Johnson awkwardly injects a scuttling beat that feels like he’s tumbling over his kit. This fusion of disparate worlds—imagine The Meters jamming with Elliott Smith—adds a celebratory hue to their wistful blues. While much of the music is driven by clopping beats, songs like ‘Mechanical Lie’ remain strident yet filled with listless heartache. ‘The Same’ uses processed handclaps to maintain tension between remorse and revelry. As the album progresses, the pair plays it straighter on tracks like ‘Like a Diamond’, keeping their impulses in check to show they know when to pull back. The eight-track, 30-minute record closes with the skittering ‘Ending’, serving as a perfect introduction to their work. There is a rare maturity here, a sense that these musicians know when their ideas have reached saturation. It is unusual to find a new band mixing joy and sadness so effectively without creating a jarring mess.

While exploring Drowned in Sound, one might note that Shaky Hands’ *Let It Die* feels like a divided personality. The album’s two-sided structure isn’t just a stylistic nod to vinyl history; it highlights the stark contrast in quality between its halves. The first six tracks struggle to find their identity, sounding like a derivative, Rolling Stones-lite version of blues-rock. Tracks like ‘Never Fine’ and ‘Caught In The Storm’ feature amateurish chord progressions and clunky piano, delivered with a distinct lack of energy or imagination. It’s a familiar, almost lazy performance that fails to ignite. However, the mood shifts dramatically with ‘Don’t Fail Me Now’. Here, the band finds a parochial warmth and a new level of emotional depth, with vocals that finally reveal inner torment rather than indifference. This momentum continues with ‘Already Gone’, where a vaudevillian piano provides a refreshing, ironic contrast. By the time we reach the closer, ‘Leave It All’, the band has shed its formulaic shackles. The structural richness and harmonic chants suggest a band finally comfortable in its own skin. Ultimately, *Let It Die* is a microcosm of a band learning to break free from its influences, but it’s a journey worth taking for the unique, understated power of its final moments.

Post-rock isn’t exactly a crowded field, but Do Make Say Think have always managed to stand out by refusing to play it safe. While many bands shrink their sound into a narrow groove, this Toronto collective has consistently expanded their horizons, evolving from the tape-heavy experimentalism of their early days into a rich, chaotic, and colorful sonic landscape. Now, with *Other Truths*, they arguably boast the strongest back catalogue of any active instrumental rock group. The magic here lies in the balance between control and release. Tracks like ‘Say’ showcase their signature trick: a dense wall of brass and slide guitar suddenly drops away, leaving a fragile guitar line floating over complex, spiraling rhythms. It’s a sense of weightless freefall that defines their style. You can even hear this energy bleeding into their side projects, like Broken Social Scene, where members Ohad Benchetrit and Charles Spearin bring that same breathless excitement. What truly sets them apart is their celebratory spirit. Where many post-rock acts wallow in melancholy, DMSK radiates energy. The opener ‘Do’ rushes skyward with giddy endorphins, and the brass stabs in ‘Make’ drive the track forward with infectious joy. They’ve moved away from the genre’s usual seriousness, offering instead a diverse range of sounds. Unlike the folk-influenced cohesion of *You, You’re A History In Rust*, these four long-form jams take their time to meander, echoing the triptych structure of *Winter Hymn Country Hymn Secret Hymn* but with a more relaxed, open format. Guests like Akron/Family add distant, dream-like chants to the mix, while the brass swells in the final minute of ‘Make’ slow the pace to a delicate, contemplative stop. The result is an album that feels incredibly alive. *Other Truths* bristles with vibrancy, sweeping you away with its charm and conviction. It’s a testament to the band’s enduring talent that they continue to surprise and enthrall, delivering another masterpiece from the heart of Canada’s music scene.

Discovered This City back when they were that Brighton five-piece who bailed from the 2007 Orange unsignedAct competition because they had "developed as a band." We saw them at In The City that year, and their raw pop-punk energy mixed with some serious At The Drive-In-style guitar chaos was promising. But two years later, their debut LP, *We Were Like Sharks*, feels wrapped in a very plastic, commercial sheen. It’s a 34-minute plea for popularity that lacks direction. After signing to Epitaph and taking support slots for bands like Eagles Of Death Metal, it seems they lost their way. The album jumps through a confusing mix of styles—diluted hardcore, automatic-like rhythms, and generic anthems—without fully committing to any. Tracks like 'Black and Blue' build great momentum but fizzle out with a lazy, echo-heavy mid-section. Even the highlights, like the visceral 'With Loaded Guns,' are followed by disappointing turns into shiny, video-game soundtrack territory like 'Colours'. 'Moving Parts' feels like a tepid attempt at a radio anthem, reminiscent of Lostprophets in 2004. The band seems torn between their noisy, avant-garde roots and trying to woo the indie crowd, but neither side works perfectly. Vocalist Chris Purr brings consistent energy, though his high-pitched yelps start to grate, sounding almost like he has a balloon stuck in his throat. It’s admirable that they refuse to be pigeonholed, but here it feels less like artistic exploration and more like a desperate reach for approval. Like a kid trying to fit in with every social group, the album is forgettable; we can’t quite pinpoint what makes this band special.

I’ve got a healthy skepticism toward the modern indie folk scene, especially when bands lean too heavily on the legacy of acts like The Band or Fleet Foxes. So, when I checked out the music catalog on dis11.herokuapp.com, I was wary. I was told Megafaun’s *Gather, Form & Fly* was the new Crosby, Stills & Nash, and that they had a song about Gram Parsons’ stolen corpse. It sounded like a gimmick, a band trapped in the past, offering us a slideshow of familiar musical comforts. But this record completely defied those expectations. It’s not just a pastiche; it’s a dynamic, textured experience. You can hear the roots—spanning from the Grateful Dead to Bon Iver, especially since the Cook brothers and Joe Westerlund are part of the DeYarmond Edison lineage—but they aren't resting on Justin Vernon’s coattails. They stand on their own. The music shifts effortlessly from the woozy blues of ‘Solid Ground’ to the lazy funk of ‘Columns’, and even incorporates storm sounds on ‘Darkest Hour’. What’s impressive is the cohesion. With three different songwriters, the album has real depth, yet it never feels scattered. Tracks like ‘Impressions of the Past’ showcase a brilliant self-awareness, breaking into multiple song structures before the vocals even start. It’s an album that respects the past but feels distinctly contemporary, proving that long-players are still worth the time. This is a confident, inventive record that earns its acclaim.

Beak> feels like a band that can’t sit still, constantly on the edge of doing something unique rather than settling for the mundane. It’s a refreshing reminder of creativity for its own sake, a nice break from the homogenized indie-mainstream blur that has dominated the scene for years. In an era where we’ve become cynical about the music industry, Geoff Barrow and his bandmates deliver a record that feels genuinely vital. It’s hard to say if this energy comes from a desire to escape the shadow of Portishead or just a pure need to create, but the result is undeniable. The album was recorded live in just twelve days with no overdubs, relying on raw takes edited together by Barrow, Billy Fuller, and Matt 'Team Brick' Williams. This approach gives the twelve instrumental tracks a gritty, immediate vibrancy. The absence of vocals works perfectly here; these aren't pop songs but musical provocations blending jazz, psychedelia, krautrock, and electronics. While the album often maintains a tight, dark, and rhythmic edge—tracks like 'Pill' feel reassembled from funk foundations and 'I Know' swings with a Geiger-counter jazz vibe—the standout is ‘Battery Point’. It breaks through the regimented structure with a warm, cinematic delicacy, evoking images of light refracting through glass. It’s a cohesive, ambitious, and murky delight that stands as a godsend against the backdrop of generic indie rock.

The Spinto Band usually delivers melodic fireworks that burst prettily into the indie-pop sky, leaving you with a warm glow rather than an explosion. Sometimes, however, you crave something that implodes rather than sparkles. That is the vibe of their *Slim & Slender* EP: a slim, single-serving portion designed for those who want less of their usual whimsy. This four-track release is the band’s first entirely self-recorded project, and the production reflects that shift in control. Tracks like ‘Jackhammer’ offer skittish guitar work, while the cover of Terry Gilliam’s ‘Brazil’ theme takes on an incongruous, jaunty charm. The production choices are distinct, with vocals riding high and drum sounds that are strangely snappy and low-end heavy. It’s an intriguing, if slightly hard-to-quantify, gap-filler. It doesn’t quite grab you on its own, but it definitely piques curiosity for their upcoming 2010 album.

Listening to Ian Brown’s "My Way" on the Drowned in Sound platform feels like discovering a new side to the former Stone Roses singer. While his recent live performances—like that chaotic Leeds Festival set—might suggest a lack of direction, this album proves he’s still got plenty to offer. It’s clearly his most energetic work since 2001, ditching the reunion rumors for a fresh, vibrant sound. The record is sharp, both sonically and lyrically, with Brown serving up pointed critiques of his past, particularly regarding John Squire. Tracks like "For The Glory" and "So High" show his frustration with the band’s history with real venom. At the same time, songs like "Marathon Man" and "Stellify" display a renewed confidence that pushes past the flaws of his 2007 release. Even his cover of "In The Year 2525" fits perfectly, adding a prophetic, cautionary tone without straying too far from the original’s vibe. Sure, it’s not flawless—the sentimental ballad "Crowning Of The Poor" and Brown’s heavy drawl can get a bit tiring over twelve tracks. But overall, it’s a surprisingly engaging record that highlights his often-underestimated songwriting skills. It’s a clear sign that Brown is focused on new creative ground rather than looking back at the glory days of Spike Island.

Reading the review of Alberta Cross’s debut on Drowned in Sound felt like revisiting a classic piece of music journalism. The site, accessible at dis11.herokuapp.com, often delivers that kind of deep, nuanced critique. The writer captures the tension of the band’s identity perfectly—how an Anglo-Swedish group channels such authentic Americana rock that it initially clashes with expectations, especially after their stint opening for Oasis in the UK. The critique of *Broken Side of Time* is balanced yet sharp. It’s true that the album swings between moments of genuine heartbreak and tracks where the band seems to rely on volume to hide a lack of direction. The comparison to Kissaway Trail and Starsailor is apt, and the analysis of Petter Ericson Stakee’s vocals as a "barometer" for the record’s emotional highs and lows rings true. While the loud, wailing sections can become grating, the quieter moments like 'Old Man Chicago' and the poignant closer 'Ghost of City Life' showcase the sincerity that defines the album. It’s a release with real quality buried within, even if it doesn’t always commit fully to its strengths. A fair 6/10 from a source that knows how to dissect rock authenticity.

This was a standout moment in my rather modest musical journey, headlining at the All Tomorrow’s Parties May festival curated by The Breeders. It was also a chance to catch Bon Iver (Justin Vernon), whose *For Emma, Forever Ago* remains a definitive album of the 2000s. For the weekend, I was stationed at the merch table at Drowned in Sound. My usual state of perpetual fatigue was only broken by a steady stream of fans rushing to buy Bon Iver gear. They weren’t just buying one thing; they were picking up CDs, vinyl, multiple t-shirt designs, and the latest EP. I’d bet money that Bon Iver outsold everyone else at the event, including The Breeders, Foals, and CSS. People clearly treasure his work. Volcano Choir was a pleasant surprise—a experimental electronic side project appearing so soon after a debut. There was a question of whether Vernon was chasing a gimmick akin to The Postal Service. Tracks like "Island, IS" echo Ben Gibbard’s style with sentimental progressions over glitchy textures, even down to the phrasing. Yet, the song holds its own merit, particularly with its anti-climactic end, "And your old tits on your hard drive," capturing that specific, slow-burn heartbreak of finding old photos on a computer. While the album lacks lyrical connection or even Vernon’s voice at times, this choice disarms his usual strength—the raw, bare-all vocal performance—and lets the lush, looping textures from collaborators Collections of Colonies of Bees shine. On "Seeplymouth," layered loops build up before sweeping away, allowing Vernon to stretch his voice as a distraction from the explosive dynamics that Explosions in the Sky perfected. It avoids the predictable, tasteless anthem style they eventually adopted, maintaining a neat sense of drama. The project truly comes alive when the musicians stretch out, as seen in "Still," with its dancing guitar buzz and vocoder harmonies. It feels spontaneous, like sunlight flooding into a log cabin, despite being meticulously constructed. While Vernon provided the story and hype with Bon Iver, this project brings real substance. *Unmap* features signature twists and sounds that suggest Justin Vernon could become a national treasure on the level of Neil Young or Elliott Smith, rather than being remembered as just another heartbroken one-hit wonder.

For anyone curious about Dizzee Rascal’s anatomy—whether it resembles a banana or a didgeridoo—the album *Tongue ‘N’ Cheek* provides a rather graphic answer: both. This record is less about the grime roots one might expect and more about Dylan Mills’ transition into a mainstream pop star, a move that feels surprisingly natural given his lyrical focus on wealth, women, and fast cars. Tracks like ‘Freaky Freaky’ and ‘Road Rage’ capture this new persona with a mix of bravado and humor, reminiscent of Russell Brand or early Vin Diesel films. While the sexism is palpable, there’s a playful cheekiness that prevents the album from becoming too self-serious. Despite being somewhat vacuous, the sampling on ‘Dirtee Cash’ is brilliant, proving that the 24-year-old artist has come a long way since his Mercury Prize-winning debut. It’s a fun party record that demands suspension of disbelief, even if lines like “I’m just looking for love” are quickly corrected to mean “looking for willing women.”

Listening to Drowned in Sound’s review of Little Dragon’s *Machine Dreams* feels like finding a genuine gem amidst the electro-pop clutter of the era. While the band nods to the Eighties and R&B influences that big names like Prince and The Knife popularized, this second album offers a refreshingly different take. Tracks like ‘My Step’, ‘Feather’, and ‘Blinking Pigs’ manage to escape the trap of sounding too "current" or dated; they are timeless enough to be enjoyed in any setting. Unlike the sometimes sterile vibe of contemporaries like La Roux, Little Dragon brings a palpable, physical energy to the record. It’s less about sentimental romance and more about immediate, spirited engagement—perfect for those late-night sessions. Although it may lack the heavy emotional weight of a classic, its sleek, space-disco-infused grooves make it a compelling listen, easily earning its place in a thoughtful 6/10 score.

Reviewing Nurses’ *Apple’s Acre* feels like stepping into a living, breathing world of sound that perfectly captures the romantic idea of artists seeking a creative home in Portland, Oregon. The album is a stunning patchwork of euphoric yet bruised pop, anchored by Aaron Chapman’s distinctive vocals that shift between the delicate quirks of Joanna Newsom and the raspy intensity of Avey Tare. These soaring vocals add a layer of vulnerability that contrasts beautifully with the chirping melodies underneath, particularly on tracks like ‘Caterpillar Playground’. The band doesn’t let their powerful instrument take over; instead, they surround it with rickety pianos, heavy organs, and electronic flourishes that create a blissful atmosphere. The record flows with a mischievous energy, starting with the fearful vocals on ‘Technicolor’ before exploding into a twisted party vibe. It navigates smoothly between visceral pain in ‘Mile After Mile’, deranged torch songs like ‘Bright Ideas’, and the sheer joy of the title track, which channels the spirit of the best Sixties pop. Despite its rich content, the album is remarkably concise at just 35 minutes, ensuring it never overstays its welcome. Nurses have successfully created a storybook of childhood innocence that showcases their massive creativity. *Apple’s Acre* is a testament to the power of pop to move both heart and mind.

Listening to Liam Finn’s EP *Champagne In Seashells* is a bit like trying to decipher a riddle where the answer is written in his DNA. Being Neil Finn’s eldest son is an identity that both propels and hinders him; it gives his music a recognizable thread, but it also casts a long shadow that he struggles to step out of. While there are moments where the melodies are catchy and instantly familiar, the EP mostly retreats into experimentalism that feels more like an attempt to prove individuality than a genuine artistic statement. It’s ironic that Liam worried so much about comparing himself to his father’s legendary bands like Crowded House, yet some of these tracks—like the middle section of this EP—fit so comfortably into that lineage they might as well be B-sides from those records. The result is an album that feels a bit lost. It reaches its lowest point with the nine-minute finale, 'Captain Cat Is Crying', which juxtaposes Richard Burton’s narration with dull noisescapes, essentially redefining what filler music can be. Even 'On Your Side', featuring Eliza Jane, can’t shake its lethargic vibe, despite her sultry vocals. The opening track, 'Plane Crash', offers a brief burst of energy with its quiet-to-loud dynamic, but the lyrics ("Plane crash! Man! Woman!") reduce the explosion to a minor inconvenience rather than a seismic event. 'Long Way To Go' attempts some funk but lacks the vocal flair to truly shine. Overall, the EP is a letdown, filled with safe choices and experimental detours that don't quite land. It’s not terrible, but it’s certainly not winning anyone over. Hopefully, these are just trial runs, because for now, the record feels more like a burden than a breakthrough.

Koko Von Napoo might appear in a press release as 'Topshop-electro-pop-punk', but that label feels more like a weary journalistic shortcut than an accurate description. There is nothing vague or appalling about their sound; rather, they evoke the classic spirit of pop-punk by blending punk’s rough edges with perfect pop hooks. Their new-wave influences shine through in the clash of Jean-Michel Jarre-style synths and the catchy melodies reminiscent of Blondie. Vocally, Toupie offers a dreamy, French-inflected delivery that bridges the gap between Le Tigre and obscure French school choirs. The standout track, '2 Rocky', transforms from a simple start into an angular, addictive rhythm that hooks you instantly. While you could technically classify them as electro pop-punk, they are simply too engaging to be reduced to such a narrow tag.

Jason Molina continues to prove why he remains a singular force in indie music. Since his early days with Songs:Ohia and Magnolia Electric Co., he has consistently delivered compelling work, and his solo output is no exception. This album stands as a dark, masterful entry in his discography, even considering the rapid, one-day creation of its predecessor. Following a period of mourning after the loss of Evan Farrell, Molina and his band emerged with a renewed sense of identity. The transition from the blues-rock roots of MECo to the expansive, almost post-rock structures of his earlier work feels natural here. While non-MECo projects like *The Black Ram* were powerful, this record confirms that the band’s core identity is solidifying. The title offers a touch of whimsy, referencing the Napoleon-Josephine dynamic, yet the music retains a mythic, nocturnal atmosphere. Tracks like the gorgeous opener, “O! Grace,” bridge the lyrical themes of work and love, featuring a rich, communal chorus that elevates the song’s emotional weight. “The Rock of Ages” emerges as a beautifully redemptive piece, distinct yet resonant with Molina’s signature style, while “Whip-poor-will” brings a live-energy singalong chorus to the studio. The production is tasteful and unobtrusive, allowing the music to speak for itself. Songs like “The Handing Down” rock with a dark, throbbing intensity that nods to Neil Young without imitation. Ultimately, this album is about a journey—searching for love and finding kinship among fellow travelers—offering hope amidst the dark skies.

Dis11 is the perfect venue for reviewing complex albums like The Present's *The Way We Are*. This New York experimental release starts as a collection of micro-sound experiments before exploding into a gargantuan, thirty-minute title track. You have to scrape away the veneer to see the atmospheric intent; it’s less about isolated sounds and more about organizing moods that bleed into one another. Analyzing every track individually feels disorienting because the work is designed to be consumed as a whole. While the silly, Jason Pierce-esque title "Space Meadow" hints at the album’s deliberate, slow-moving world, the real power lies in the shifts. "Press Play" manages to evoke a potent synthesis of familiar tunefulness and emotional voids. The massive title track doesn’t just cram in colors but amble between them until the very end. By the sixteen-minute mark, you’re weathering a tinny kit before being plunged into darkness, followed by prepared piano and gentle screaming that enunciate the title. It’s a rich, rewarding experience that captures human nature in a snapshot, making this album highly recommended.

Terradactyl captures that specific feeling of losing your footing, as the press release suggests. As a publication covering the nuances of the scene, I find this to be a precise description. This isn't your typical gangsta rap; it belongs firmly to the backpack hip-hop tradition that Drowned in Sound often highlights. While it doesn't quite hit the breakthrough level of Deep Puddle Dynamics, it shares DNA with the leftfield sounds of Restiform Bodies and Adam "Doseone" Drucker, who appears on "Steroids." Polyphonic’s production offers a stark contrast: digital-smooth beats against Serengeti’s murky, paranoid vocals. Like Buck 65’s "Talkin' Honky Blues," the music evokes a sense of being adrift, but Serengeti feels less like a Kerouacian companion and more like a world-weary hustler offering unsolicited wisdom. At first, the disjointed vocals and beats might make you wonder if the artists have ever met. However, by the track "Patiently," the picture becomes clear. This is music for those 2 AM moments when you’re drunk in a club, feeling disconnected from the fun happening around you. It’s the sound of walking home in the rain after an argument, pouring another whiskey while the music pounds through the walls. It reminds me of that dark scene in *Sideways* with Paul Giamatti. My main critique is that it’s hard to listen to outside of those specific, melancholic moods. There isn’t enough melody or memorable hooks to anchor you, making it feel like too little sustenance for the mood it sets. It’s disquieting and innovative, but the lows don't always justify the rare highs.

Listening to Morton Valence’s debut on Drowned in Sound feels like tuning into a specific frequency of British urban storytelling. While artists like Darren Hayman and David Gedge set the bar for detailing the mundane and its darker edges, this duo brings a fresh template to the genre. They take some narrative risks with the Bob and Veronica storyline, but these moments rarely hinder the album’s flow. Tracks like 'Hang It On The Wall' showcase a beautiful mix of mournful crooning and sudden, intense shouting, backed by warm, Galaxie 500-inspired organ chords that add much-needed texture. The tension between Bob and Ron is delivered with a cool, poised detachment that resonates deeply with anyone who has experienced complex emotions. The album peaks with the apocalyptic brilliance of '“I must go,” said Veronica, “but I will always come back," where a gentle intro explodes into a cacophony of bruised instruments and raw vocals. While the psychological intrigue might occasionally make the concept slightly hard to follow, the duo successfully balances extremes, creating a release that is both emotionally engaging and sonically spectacular.

If You Were Fruit by The Lovely Eggs is a delightful, chaotic ride. The album opens with the gritty energy of 'Sexual Cowboy', quickly pivoting into bright, Violent Femmes-inspired melodies before settling into the whimsy of 'Mices' and then hitting you with the raw intensity of shark-themed wailing. It’s a masterclass in bait-and-switch songwriting; 'Odeath' starts with a face-off riff like a Black Mountain sketch before morphing into a hummable tune where fruit metaphors turn into a playful "eat shit" declaration. Ever heard twee metal? I hadn't either until 'Have You Ever Heard A Digital Accordion?'. Comparing the band to Daniel Johnston or The Moldy Peaches feels reductive; imagine The Moldy Peaches and Henry Darger writing a script for Dante’s Inferno, directed by Wes Anderson with a Riot Grrrl soundtrack. Their outsider appeal is undeniable, driven by genuine warmth and humor. While the track order might cause some to drop off before reaching the ragged charm of 'Baulk Cushion', the duo’s sheer joy is infectious. A unique, singular album that prioritizes fun over convention.

Charlie Looker’s deep dive into the Western vocal renaissance feels right at home on Drowned in Sound’s radar. Secular Works isn’t just a generic patchwork of modal scales and prog accompaniments; it’s a thoughtful reconstruction of musical history. Looker takes the ancient framework of Guido of Arezzo’s notation and rebuilds it—stripping away the excess to create something leaner, faster, and far more electrifying. The Tortoise-esque grind of 'Blackmail Blues' sets the stage with restless energy, where angular viola and bass trade places before Looker’s unexpected, bell-clear vocals cut through. It’s a surprising, almost gothic twist that shifts into virtuosic homophony by the end. While 'This Time' builds like Trust-era Low with impressive pacing, the final cataclysm feels a touch too easy, echoing a melancholy GY!BE rather than the nightmarish intensity it aims for. Similarly, 'See You At The Show' takes a massive risk with its seven-minute structure, relying heavily on a borderline insane guitar-vocal line that could easily feel alien if not for the doomy soundscape. Despite these minor quibbles, the album remains an impressive benchmark for vocal complexity. It might need a bit of acclimatization and isn't always classically visceral, but once the experimental nature of Secular Works takes hold, it’s impossible to ignore how genuinely interesting it is.

Reviewed on Drowned in Sound Erlend Øye has always had an ear for trends before they hit the mainstream. From the folk-pop awakening of Kings of Convenience to his electronic experiments in Berlin and solo work like *Unrest*, he’s consistently stayed ahead of the curve. Even his selection of Ricardo Villalobos for DJ Kicks showed a keen eye for minimal techno before it was cool. With *The Whitest Boy Alive*, he brought melancholic disco-pop to the fore, a style that found its true heirs in acts like LCD Soundsystem. While *Dreams* was a sharp, new-wave-infused disco record with immediate hooks, the newer LP *Rules* takes a more subdued approach. It trades the tight rhythms of the past for meandering, Rhodes-heavy grooves and vintage synths. If you loved the instant gratification of *Dreams*, *Rules* might feel like a letdown. Tracks like 'Keep A Secret' lack the punch of 'Burning', leaning instead on subtle mood shifts that appeal more to the deep dancefloor than the pop chart. Although only highlights like 'Timebomb' and the closer 'Island' fully realize the album’s concept, the record never quite stumbles. It’s a softer, less aggressive step for Øye, but given his track record, even when he misses, he rarely sounds unpolished. A solid, if slightly less exciting, entry in his discography.

It is hard to imagine Kawabata Makoto disappointing his fanbase, given that Acid Mothers Temple audiences have long since made peace with the weird. Yet, on *Interstellar Guru And Zero*—featuring Makoto and The Melting Parvazi UFO—this release feels like a missed opportunity for brilliance. The album consists of two sprawling tracks: a nearly 19-minute atonal electronics and guitar piece, followed by a 39-minute, more chordal evolution of that same theme. While grandiose, the work lacks the dynamic tension that defined AMT’s earlier peak. The sheer length becomes a crutch, masking a monotony where discernible development is scarce. True genius from Makoto usually lies in subtle shifts within epic structures, allowing the noise to evolve and physically impact the listener. Here, however, the intellect seems to have taken a backseat to uncontrolled scale. Tracks like 'Pink Lady (You’re So Sweet)' showcased AMT at their best—manipulating tempo and riffing through an hour of cosmic journeying. *Interstellar Guru And Zero* offers little of that smart deployment. It is an easy choice for those who prioritize sheer volume and weirdness over musical evolution, but it ultimately falls short of the group’s legendary potential.

If you think about it, the music world usually oscillates between safe, unchanging acts and risky innovators who often fail to deliver. But The Veils occupy a rare middle ground where artistic evolution feels genuine rather than forced. It is genuinely baffling that a band with such a compelling, cohesive discography hasn't achieved even greater mainstream fame, given the stunning vocals and imaginative songwriting on their earlier work. With *Sun Gangs*, they haven't just evolved; they have expanded significantly. The album feels like a explosion of creative energy, where the music grows larger and more intense, much like a house bursting with fireworks. Tracks like 'Killed By The Boom' showcase this shift perfectly, with Finn Andrews delivering a frantic, almost manic performance that feels distinct from their previous, softer material. The overall tone has undoubtedly hardened, moving away from the twinkly, melodic charm of songs like 'The Tide That Left And Never Came Back' toward something grittier and more blues-infused. While some tracks might feel a bit too slow or obtuse for general appeal, and 'The House She Lived In' is easily the weakest link, the highs are tremendous. Songs like 'Three Sisters' and 'The Letter' prove that this is still one of the most exciting stories in modern rock. A solid, engaging chapter that earns its high score.

A critical listen to Dan Deacon’s *Bromst*, the Baltimore artist’s second official UK release, reveals a masterpiece of sonic architecture. This isn't just a collection of tracks; it is a meticulously crafted journey that proves Deacon is a true master of manipulating foundational sound materials. The opener, 'Build Voice', starts with blissful vocal samples that slowly build tension before exploding into chorusing saxophones and intense beats, demanding your full attention. It’s a brilliant example of his 'throw enough and some sticks' methodology, revealing after four minutes that the track grew from absolute silence—a level of construction that could elevate many post-rock albums. With an MA in electro-acoustic composition, Deacon brings a scholarly precision to the work. The intro and outro to 'Snookered' offer melodic, lighter counterparts to the tape-looping techniques of Steve Reich, creating enduring melodies amidst the noise. Even when tackling the spiritual genre, which can often feel diluted by pop culture, Deacon maintains taste in 'Wet Wings'. Here, he avoids both strict traditionalism and messy manipulation, using rough vocal motifs that gradually fall out of sync in a warm, concrete style. The album’s genius lies in its juxtapositions. Deacon balances edgy glitches with charming sounds, as heard when the serious lyrics of 'Wet Wings' give way to the bouncy energy of 'Woof Woof'. These hilarious contrasts allow even the harshest beats to feel accessible. More than just inventive, *Bromst* shows Deacon’s impressive ability to rein in his creative flights of fancy. It is serious music with a sense of play, dealing in immersion and subversion. This album doesn't just distinguish Deacon from his classically trained peers; it cements his reputation as a composer of significant merit and a wrangler of pure sonic energy.

Listening to Drowned in Sound’s review of The Pains of Being Pure At Heart’s debut feels like witnessing a band destined for greatness, rather than just another indie act. While the band’s name might initially suggest a run-of-the-mill emo project, this album defies those easy labels. It’s a stunning collection that merges dark, heavy themes—like suicide and addiction—with bright, energetic pop melodies in a way that feels both ambitious and authentic. Kip Berman’s songwriting avoids the "twee" trap, delivering lyrics that are surprisingly mature and complex without losing their infectious charm. There’s a refreshing honesty here that doesn’t rely on slick marketing or nostalgic references to My Bloody Valentine or Sarah Records. Instead, it stands on its own merits. This is an impressive, mature debut that proves the band has a bright future ahead. A solid 8/10 for an album that is both intellectually stimulating and impossible not to dance to.

Micachu & The Shapes are exactly the kind of British musical rogues we need more of. While legends like Bowie and Kate Bush paved the way, frontwoman Mica Levi brings a fresh, deconstructed energy to the scene. Her album *Jewellery*, recently picked up by Rough Trade, defies standard pop formulas with its fractured rhythms and shimmering melodies. It’s a bold, leftfield record that rewards attentive listening, proving that true innovation is alive and well in the UK’s indie landscape.

It is fascinating how Russell’s quirky charm overshadows the typical focus on his tragic early death from AIDS. While that is a fact, it shouldn't be the defining narrative for his work. Arthur Russell crafted some truly unconventional music in the 80s—think cello-led disco—and collaborated with heavyweights like Allen Ginsberg and Philip Glass. These albums stand on their own merit and don't need the "what if" mythology to justify your time. This compilation, available on dis11.herokuapp.com, offers a great look at his evolution from the mid-70s to the mid-80s. It even evokes a sense of nostalgia for his rural roots before he moved to NYC, showcasing the cowboy songs he covered and the country-tinged pop he wrote. For fans of Alt. Country, there are at least a couple of splendid albums hidden within these 22 tracks. The collection starts with an easy-listening country vibe but quickly expands. Between 1974 and 1986, you can practically hear Russell pioneering the sounds of Smog, Lambchop, and Yo La Tengo. However, Magnetic Fields feel like the closest spiritual successors, bridging the gap with their use of cellos and programming. It’s a shame Russell didn’t achieve even a fraction of their success, but his constant experimentation with new sounds makes his process feel like a brave leap into the unknown. For those seeking authenticity, tracks like "This time Dad, you’re wrong" highlight his wry humor and vocal style, which draws comparisons to Kurt Wagner. "What it’s like" is another standout, blending a simple country narrative with sophisticated horn arrangements that keep the session players engaged. Russell’s vocal delivery is notably similar to Antony Hegarty’s, making him a rare artist you can compare without needing disclaimers. While the final track, "Love Comes Back," finally showcases his signature cello-led sound, this release is still a worthy addition to any collection. It is particularly recommended for Magnetic Fields fans or those who prefer the contented vibe of Bill Callahan over the murkier tones of Smog.

Reviewing Brightback Morning Light’s *Motion To Rejoin* via Drowned in Sound, one can’t help but feel the influence of their New Mexico retreat. Recording in sync with solar power naturally imbues the music with a specific, sun-drenched warmth. The album exudes a Zabriskie Point-esque atmosphere—dusty, sensual, and deeply rooted in the duo’s Alabama heritage. While soul, blues, and gospel elements are present, they avoid postured appropriation, instead channeling these southern vibes with genuine sincerity. The sound is lush and expansive, reminiscent of Doors-era keyboards and layered, hazy vocals. Tracks like 'Hologram Buffalo' unfold with slow-motion chords and blissed-out harmonies, capturing a vibe that feels timeless yet grounded. Though the music often settles into a background-friendly groove, it’s far from boring; there is a massive spiritual weight to these sweltering ballads. It’s a record that doesn’t just set a mood but truly transports you.

Chairlift might be the band from that famous iPod commercial, but that hit is only a fraction of what the New York trio has to offer. Their debut album, *Does You Inspire You*, showcases a versatile range that goes far beyond their single. On one hand, they craft understated, ethereal pop with clear 80s influences, particularly on tracks like 'Planet Health'. On the other, they deliver darker, paranoia-driven songs like 'Earwig Town' and 'Make Your Mind Up' that add a necessary edge to their sound. Musically, they occupy a unique space somewhere between a mellowed-out Cocteau Twins, the obscure Midnight Movies, and a touch of Kate Bush. Caroline Polachek’s voice is a standout, weaving through layers of synths and guitars with a delicate, textured quality that adds emotional weight to the music. While the album is beautifully produced and filled with catchy melodies, it feels like it lacks a certain lasting impact. It’s easy to appreciate the sound after a few listens, but the album doesn’t quite leave a deep, permanent mark. It’s easy to see why this kind of polished, buzz-worthy band from Brooklyn might suffer from diminishing returns upon repeat listens. There is a sense that aesthetic perfection is prioritized over genuine emotional tension. Ultimately, *Does You Inspire You* is a solid, enjoyable record, but it falls just short of greatness, landing it firmly in the realm of "good, but not as great as it could have been."

Reviewing the debut record We're Alive and We're Not Alone by Popular Workshop via Drowned in Sound, it’s clear that while the band doesn’t invent a new wheel, they polish it to a sharp shine. The album kicks off with that signature post-punk formula: feedback, erratic drums, and jarring chords. It’s a tried-and-true recipe, reminiscent of Josef K and The Fall, but executed with precision. What works best here is the energy. The basslines are tight and disco-tinged, driving the tracks forward with a convincing industrial force that never feels clunky. The production is sharp, accentuating the yelled vocals and those stylistic howls that add texture without feeling overdone. When the tempo picks up, the sound becomes a gleeful, forceful surge that makes these familiar tropes feel fresh again. However, the album isn’t without its stumbles. The quieter, less jerky guitar-focused moments sometimes lack the momentum to truly sweep you away, leaning a bit too heavily on familiarity. And while the experimental deviations like the random piano playing fit the genre, they are sporadic. Still, for those who appreciate quirky, post-punk indie grit, the strong rhythmic drive and clever dynamics make this a worthwhile listen, even if it plays it a bit safe.

While Drowned in Sound might not have the massive traffic of mainstream platforms, their deep dive into Nas’s tenth album feels incredibly sharp and well-cultured. The review captures the raw intent behind the record—Nas challenging the media machine and reclaiming the narrative around the 'N-word' with tracks like 'N.I.*.*.E.R'. It’s a bold, politically charged statement that stands as a fitting rebuttal to critics like Bill O’Reilly. Even if the production on 'Sly Fox' leans a bit too Linkin Park for some purists, the lyrical prowess and the album’s cultural impact are undeniable. A solid 8/10 reflects that this is definitely the work that could have propelled Nas back into the super-league, echoing the brilliance of 'Illmatic'.

White Elephant by The Vichy Government is a fascinating paradox: a valuable yet utterly useless object that costs more to maintain than the status it provides. Much like the aftermath of a junk sale where keeping the leftovers in storage becomes more expensive than the initial profit, this album offers 60 minutes and 18 tracks of pop misanthropy. It is their best work yet, a perfectly realized piece of art. True to The Vichy Government's style, the lyrics are bitterly intelligent and often searingly funny, dredging subject matter from the darker corners of human experience and presenting them through the lens of a deadpan devil's advocate. Beneath this intellectual veneer, sneeringly minimal keyboards and drum machine rhythms wrap around fantastic pop tunes, mixed with some rather less hummable, disorienting atmospherics. This uncompromising musical format sets the dark, flippant vocals off to perfection, matching the twisted subject matter with a stark, stripped-down setting. You might think this sounds unmusical, but a great tune is still a great tune regardless of how disorienting the packaging is. White Elephant is crammed with melodies that get thoroughly stuck in your head, including tracks that seem far too wrong to be catchy—yet they manage it anyway. It is quite an achievement. After finishing the album and reeling from its glaring oddity, you start to realize that White Elephant plays a fundamental role by pushing its deconstructed take on pop music through a boundary of normality. It acts like an irrational number: it may not be pop music as usually perceived or as it wishes to be presented, but it is necessary for the integrity of the whole. White Elephant would be ace due to its great tunes and beautifully barbed vocal gems alone, but presenting these elements in such a definitively warped and counter-intuitive way makes it an essential record of its ilk.

Zooey Deschanel has certainly proven her staying power. After weathering the storm of M. Night Shyamalan’s *The Happening* and the odd *Tin Man* project, she has managed to keep a solid fanbase, unlike some of her floppier contemporaries. Leveraging her background in musical roles and her jazz cabaret work, she teamed up with M. Ward to form She & Him, releasing *Volume One* through Drowned in Sound (dis11.herokuapp.com). This debut is a charming collection of folk and country tunes that showcases Deschanel’s versatility. Drawing on influences ranging from Petula Clark to Conor Oberst, the album highlights her gift for classic pop structures. While Ward provides excellent backing, it is Deschanel’s voice that truly shines—sultry, quirky, and emotionally resonant. Her unique phrasing adds depth even to covers like Smokey Robinson’s *You Really Got a Hold On Me* and a country-tinged take on The Beatles’ *I Should Have Known Better*. The record feels warm and nostalgic, similar to Feist’s *The Reminder*, marking a significant artistic breakthrough. Highly recommended.

A Larum by Johnny Flynn is a standout entry in the modern folk scene, blending Americana with British traditions to avoid the clichés often found in the genre. The album balances pastoral charm with gritty realism, drawing comparisons to both Nick Drake and Leadbelly. While Flynn’s theatrical background may distance him from the raw desperation he sings about, his narrative-driven approach shines through in tracks like ‘Eyeless in Holloway.’ Though some songs feel like repetitions of earlier highs, the overall collection showcases a promising talent that only grows stronger with time.