Category Archives: New Release Reviews

New Release Reviews

Little Barrie – Gravity Freeze

I have always thought of Barrie Cadogan as a Jeff Beck or Ronnie Wood kind of figure in the modern music world. Appearing to be more comfortable as the engine room of the electric guitar rather than the front stage focus, he nevertheless has a facility for conjuring blues and psych inflected magic from his instrument whenever on the stage. Barrie’s is the magnetic demeanour of a magician on hot coals delicately casting spells through his axe, so your attention is naturally drawn to him regardless. That is definitely something that can be said of those two comparisons at the top, but it does not end there, because Barrie is in similarly high demand to his iconic peers of earlier generations. So much so that it has pushed back the release of a latest effort from this three-piece configuration under his own name, a set up long favoured because it allows a settling into the machinations of a band rather than be the sole focus. But the air traffic first had to clear itself of stints with The The, Liam Gallagher, Liam Gallagher & John Squire, The Black Keys, and that is without even look at his studio commitments, before the return of Little Barrie had clearance to land.

Little Barrie’s ‘Gravity Freeze’ marks the band’s first album under their own name since the loss of drummer Virgil Howe, whose death in 2017 left Barrie Cadogan and Lewis Wharton unsure whether the project could continue. I remember seeing them when Virgil was still around and he was a big presence, often doing the lion’s share of onstage announcement a-la a front man while Barrie tuned up. After regrouping through therapeutic collaborations with longtime friend Malcolm Catto, yielding two joint albums, the pair began shaping new Little Barrie material that carried forward their earlier momentum while opening up fresh territory. True to the DIY ethos they had honed with Howe, the songs took shape in a makeshift Dalston rehearsal space before being fully realised at Rat Salad Studios with engineer and co‑producer Rupert Lyddon, a trusted creative ally from past projects. Drummer Tony Coote, whose jazz‑inflected feel and natural swing aligned perfectly with the band’s fuzz‑driven groove, completed the lineup, helping bring ‘Gravity Freeze’ to life with a renewed sense of purpose and continuity.

So, it has been a while but sometimes an enforced brake leads to an eventual return fizzing with punch and solid intent, fuelled by the frustrations of the time that is running away from us. That is certainly where we begin, the propulsive descending bassline on ‘More Bad Miles Of Road’ signalling the arrival of an album that has no inhibitions about leaning into the strengths of the musicians. It even gives a warm nod to the classic psych-rock power trio with a deliberate Jimi Hendrix sonic reference as the number fades. Wearing your influences so proudly can submerge some acts but it is what you do with these affections that counts; Barrie moulds them into his own evolving sound with style, in tandem with an increasing originality over the years. A love of fuzz penetrates ‘It Isn’t Soul’ before ‘December’ hits us with a groove that most definitely is. ‘Luggin’ Hurt’ is a seven-minute freak out in the under-ploughed field The Stone Roses explored on their second album. Side two moves through a palette of smouldering blues, loose shuffles, and driving, in‑the‑room grooves, all threaded with the band’s renewed focus on rhythm and live energy. Cadogan leans into the blues roots that have always shaped his playing, while the groovier cuts tap into a post‑Can sense of percussive momentum. As he puts it, rhythm has always inspired him as much as guitar work, and one of the key grooves here began as a messy loop he wanted to turn into something hypnotic, almost dance‑leaning, yet still swampy and simmering. Best of all, you finish with a sense that Barrie Cadogan has so much more to come with this project, all it needs is for the multitude of other acts who love to eat from his table to give him the time.

Danny Neill

The vinyl edition of ‘Gravity Freeze’ is available via the link: https://amzn.to/3PxxOHI

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New Release Reviews

Alela Diane – Who’s Keeping Time?

In my daily musical listening activities I do come across a lot of new singer-songwriters of an acoustic, introspective flavour. So much so that you could make an argument for this coffee store style of quiet balladry enjoying as much of a trend setting age now as in the early seventies when Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Paul Simon and Cat Stevens coloured the airwaves. But it is not quite the same today, primarily because a circumstantial cause of this movement is the comparative ease of recording music from the bedroom, where a quiet acoustic intimacy is far more attainable than the space required to record a band. And the direct route to online distribution means the old barriers to exposure no longer apply, so we feel an avalanche of guitar and voice melancholia raining down on us every day. Furthermore, when touting their wears these acts know the value of a vintage sound, the emphasis is always on a natural organic creativity, cosy situations more homely than a studio environment and the value of real instruments over electronics. On the downside however, we listeners can feel they would sometimes benefit from a stricter critical ear; three guitar chords strummed slowly and emoted over might feel very sincere when sat on a bed pouring your heart out, but that alone does not guarantee a riveting listening experience. Unless that is, you are playing one of the major natural talents in this field for well over a decade, an artist like Alela Diane for example.  

Even though the aforementioned regulation boxes of a 2026 retro-leaning songwriter album were ticked for this album, the musical quality lifts it high above the pack. Alela had built a daily routine of working up the material in the attic of her 1892 Victorian home, from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon, and when the time came to record, she wanted to use the same location. This was partially born from a desire to connect with other local musicians and feel the spark of collaboration in the album’s grooves. She enlisted her pal Peter Lalish, of the band Lucius, to give her guitar lessons and invited Anna Tivel for tea. “It felt imperative to connect with artists I respected and get reacquainted with my own town” she recalled. And so, Alela Diane’s seventh album, ‘Who’s Keeping Time?’ has the feel of a creative project that rose up naturally once life finally quieted around her. You can hear that shift in perspective in the way these songs move; unhurried, attentive, tuned to the small revelations that surface when the noise drops away. She talks about “coming to the end of a season,” a moment when her daughters were older, the sleepless nights had eased, and a rare stillness settled over the house. In that space, she found her thoughts drifting back toward music, circling melodies and half‑formed ideas until they began to gather shape. The record carries that sense of intuition and community, the feeling of someone rediscovering their own internal rhythm and following it wherever it leads.

This is an album that has a sombre awareness of the passage of time, it is rarely low in mood though, more determined to be exhilarated by the wonders of existence and celebrate them. That is an element to Alela’s sound that has hooked me right from the start, how even when pensive and reflective, the overriding characteristics of her voice are magnificently soothing and uplifting. It is an element that remains undimmed by the passage of time and tragedy, a quality we hear on one of the records most poignant of songs. ‘Spring Is A Fine Time’ was written in reaction to the passing, at the age of 83, of fellow Portland outsider musical heavyweight, Michael Hurley. It postulates that spring is the best time to die, with all the natural world around bursting into new life. The track becomes a bright little tribute to her friend, all playful whistles and sly wit, the sort of thing he himself might have delighted in. That same magical blend of mournful grace and mystical awe burns in ‘Endless Waltz,’ a love letter to Alela’s grandparents as they waltz into the unknown, the perpetual motion of time felt in every note.

Across these eleven tracks we journey from the feverish, popping thought bubbles of Alela’s mind on the swirling ‘Galloping’ (written whilst in bed with a fever and you can hear that) to the more pointed political edge of ‘Piss, Coffee, Blood Or Wine,’ a song that builds in momentum the more Diane sinks her teeth into the lyrics. It is a title offered as a visual for the social state of affairs in her homeland today, depicting a slumped figure on the sidewalk with a puddle of uncertain origin forming around its beaten frame. ‘In My Own Time’ holds aloft the albums central theme, it is an ode to pausing and resisting the pull of life’s relentlessly ticking clock. It harks back to the laid-back classicism inherent in this artists work right from the start, the kind of song that feels as natural as water and belonging as if it has been in the world for decades. Which brings me back to why Alela Diane stands tall in such an overpopulated musical field; it is because there is something so pure in her work that just feels right, it always seems like it had a place reserved in the musical architecture that was merely waiting to be occupied. It heralds a new phase in her journey, shaped by the natural shifts in home life and answered with a deeper, ever‑attentive musical maturity.

Danny Neill

You can buy the new Alela Diane ‘Who’s Keeping Time?’ via this link: https://amzn.to/4v79ZWl

Alela Diane by Nicholas Peter Wilson
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New Release Reviews

Jasmine Myra – Where Light Settles

The key word here feels like ‘duality,’ as there are doubled-up, parallel layers surrounding this music in abundance. Firstly, the beauty of the sound itself, this is very much a composed piece of work in which the textures and intricacies are many and they have been applied with precision and clear intent. And yet, there is a fluidity at play as well, these are pieces that have a natural grace to them and a free-flowing air. What at times appears complex can also sound undeniably immediate, offering the listener instant payback and audio pleasure. I am considering these facets before even getting to the inspiration, the ignition from the artist that brought these tracks to life. Clearly saxophonist Jasmine Myra was both bemused and infused with fascination at the punches and blows we encounter on our journey through life. How pain must be part of the process but also how learning and wisdom can come from those experiences, not to mention an arsenal of coping strategies and a maturity that helps us arrive at an appreciation in the wonder of it all. In fact, Jasmine pointed to these very thoughts herself in the build up to this album. “Pain is unavoidable” she reasons, “and you’ll have hardship no matter what, but you don’t grow or learn about yourself or the world around you without it. The duality is the growth and coming out the other side. I had the concept from the start.”

So, this is the third Jasmine Myra album, and she is an emerging talent no more, we had better start thinking of her as an artist settling into their own gravitational field. After the warm reception to ‘Horizons’and ‘Rising,’ she arrives at ‘Where Light Settles’ with a clearer sense of purpose and a broadened musical vocabulary, drawing on years spent shaping a distinctive approach to ensemble writing and instrumental narrative. This new record finds her expanding that language with a larger group and a more cinematic sweep, recorded live in a single room to preserve the charged, collective focus so essential to bringing this music to life. “This album is so much about energy. We had to be able to see each other,” she says. Now based in London but still closely connected to the Leeds scene that nurtured her, Myra steps into the role of producer for the first time, guiding a 15‑piece band through arrangements that place her alto saxophone as part of the details. It marks a turning point because more than merely composing backing for her sax expressions, every aspect of this construct, through the strings, piano, flute, guitar, vibraphone, and harp, has been dreamed up and inspired with cohesion by the dynamic Myra imagination.

The elegant, expanded piano chords that usher in ‘Opening’ set the tone for the lush nine-track journey we are about to embark on. It feels natural even before the guitar and wind instrumental passages enter the picture. The one other aspect of this whole work that shines through from the start is Myra’s love of nature, specifically regular trips to North Wales, the Lake District, and the South Downs. “I just love those landscapes. It’s the duality: nature can be brutal but beautiful and I love that juxtaposition.” That these have been built to play as a suite of songs is also apparent early on, the segue into second track ‘Reflections,’ which also has some beautiful piano arpeggios laying a groundwork, is quite seamless. The only way to experience this album is as a nine-part listening experience in the sequence presented here. From the early morning rise at the outset, vividly evoked when we first hear some Myra sax, to the eventual dimming of the day on ‘Where The Light Settles,’ this is music that belongs as one and will undoubtedly reward the time spent experiencing it if played that way.

‘Likeness And Shadow’ hits full bloom from a bedding of propulsive bass and as the lead instruments fully flower, not just sax but some crucial baton grabbing from the piano too, you can almost see the sun cracking through the trees as shadows glide across the landscape. ‘Some Rain Must Fall’ progresses with a similar, yet far more forlorn, double bass plucking and in moments like this I am awe struck by the magic of music, how so much can be said without words; this song did not need a literal title to tell me what we are feeling. I can see the ripples of the suns fading reflection shimmering on the freshly fallen puddles in the pavement. Jasmine has self-declared influences in artists like Fabiano do Nascimento, Arooj Aftab and Alabaster Deplume which can be detected when hitting her hypnotic peak, something in that gentle mesmeric tension speaks to her musical tastes, but the track ‘Echo’ actually pulls in folk music textures too. ‘Breath’ is a tranquil interlude before ‘Fragments’ is almost ‘Tubular Bells’ like in the way it builds sonic variations on top of the most inviting of piano figures. Finally, the resting title track is described by Jasmine as “a metaphor for hope, and for me, it’s the perfect title for this album. It communicates the energy and the meaning behind it; and it ties in with the theme of duality.” It is a twin setting that carries right to the end because, as well as being a perfect circle closing return to the start, it also leaves you hungry to take this glorious ride once more. ‘Where Light Settles’ is a Jasmine Myra album that primes her for an impressive future just as it whets our appetites for so much more Myra related listening to come.

Danny Neill

Buy the album via this link: https://amzn.to/4wCMR3x

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New Release Reviews

Kelley Stoltz – If You Don’t Know Me, Buy Now

I dare say there are many artists who claim disinterest in the mechanics of the music business, but few walk it like they talk it as much as Kelley Stoltz. The irony, of course, is that his refusal to play the game only makes him more compelling. If the pun‑heavy album title did not tip you off, the lead track and first single, ‘Competitive Bastard,’ certainly does; this is a groovy shrug from a musician who has long since stopped chasing exposure and instead makes records for his own delight and fulfilment. Walking this line feels like child’s play these days and he carries himself like a man who knows it, producing work with the maverick flare and caustic wit of a true individualist outsider, albeit one that would surely occupy a mainstream habitat were all fair and just in the checks and balances of the music world. ‘Turn The Earth’ is another one that carves a space between pop exuberance (it has a crazy descending ping-pong-ping-pong hook that could be straight out of children’s TV) and something far heavier. So much so that when you hear lines like “should we live in terror? Should we live in peace? Should we live for something that we can’t even see?” it all feels a little like gallows humour.

Kelley Stoltz has spent nearly three decades carving out one of the most idiosyncratic paths in American underground pop. Born in New York in 1971 and raised in Michigan, he emerged in late‑’90s San Francisco with a home‑recorded blend of psych shimmer, garage‑rock grit, and melodic classicism that instantly marked him as a true DIY outlier. Across a deep run of releases for Sub Pop, Third Man, and Castle Face, he has become known for playing almost everything himself, folding the tuneful precision of ’60s pop architects into the off‑kilter charm of cult ’80s power‑pop and new wave. After his eighteenth album, 2024’s ‘La Fleur,’ Stoltz returns with this nineteenth LP that extends a long‑running fascination with hooks, texture, and late‑night introspection. Guests include Brigid Dawson, Karina Denike, Pete Straus, Allyson Baker and others add vocal colour, but the vision remains singular. A favourite of Brooklyn Vegan and John Dwyer, Stoltz has also logged time as Echo & the Bunnymen’s rhythm guitarist (a connection that can be heard clearly on the pounding ‘Not Gone’), serves as Robyn Hitchcock’s West Coast drummer, and currently hosts KEXP’s Bay Area spotlight show ‘Vinelands.’

This is definitely a record that leans heavily into Kelley’s wry humour and vulnerable undercurrent while reaffirming his reputation as a pop chameleon, forever reshuffling his influences into something unmistakably his own. That is especially apparent on ‘Watts Moon Starr’ which manages to fuse college rock, early indie, electro pop vocal mechanics and retain its rustic garage rock edge all rolled up into a mass that is unmistakeably Stoltz like. Chart hits of the eighties do actually bleed into Stoltz’ sound increasingly these days (maybe there is enough time between the pop world of his teenage years that it no longer is something to react against?) which can be heard in the Numanoid tension of both ‘Seventeen Lines’ and ‘Look Again.’ The latter of these two is one of the standout pop moments on the whole album. ‘Daughter Of The Golden West’ has Britpop energy and a rather Jarvis Cocker-like lilt in Kelley’s voice appears, a similarity that once you spot it seems to crop up repeatedly, which is no bad thing, Kelley having a similarly engaging delivery that leaves room for extravagant flourishes. There is no let-up in pace or drop in sonic thrills as we progress, ‘Radio Station’ is wispy like the airwaves it sings of while ‘Queen Of Diamonds’ brilliantly fuses a glam-rock stomp to vintage sixties psych vibes. Closing on ‘The Aches & Pains Of Middle Age’ Kelley sounds acerbic with lines like “I played on a famous stage to nobody,” but it all merely reinforces how much brilliance gets overlooked; but for those tuned in, this smaller corner of the musical world feels like the richer one anyway.

Danny Neill

You can get yourself a physical copy or download of the new Kelley Stoltz album here and it will not be available to stream until September, so don’t wait that long, let’s give the artist and label the taste of the action they deserve and purchase it this way: https://dandyboyrecords.bandcamp.com/album/if-you-dont-know-me-buy-now

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New Release Reviews

Teddy Thompson – Never Be The Same

Teddy Thompson has made an amazingly simple and astute observation when chatting during the build up to this new album. He has said that “songwriting is magical. You can hear one hundred people sing ‘I love you,’ and you know which one is telling the truth. If the root of the sentiment is authentic, it will resonate.” Which is something I believe to be true as well. It is why musical analysis can sometimes be a futile process, the element which enlightens an otherwise regulation song structure can be impossible to define. As Teddy says, it is just like magic which is why we reviewers are always placing such value in conviction and truth, if a song feels real then so often it will hit that much harder. But I am not sure if this is good or bad news where Teddy is concerned, because this record is steeped in so much raw feeling that you sense the real man behind every line, as if he is letting you leaf through the pages of his own inner journal. And if real life is his source (Teddy makes no attempt to deny that it is) then he has almost certainly endured the pain of a relationship ending; he is dealing with heartbreak and furthermore, trying to stay afloat in ever changeable currents. But just like the renowned artists of previous generations that Teddy will so often draw comparisons with, he has turned the turmoil into an incredible work of art.

Speaking of Thompson’s background, as enviable a route into music the offspring of successful musicians can appear to have, the hand they are dealt is often a tough one. Teddy, son of Richard and Linda, has been treading the boards and releasing his own music for the whole of this century, offering himself up for instant scrutiny and comparison to one of folks’ greatest artists at a time when he was still finding his feet. This is not a regular kind of problem for anyone starting out on spit and sawdust circuit, trying to get themselves noticed on social media and streaming platforms. Those days are usually spent under the radar, and those potential new Bob Dylan’s will have written all their bad songs, played enough uninspired gigs, and tried on a variety of ill-fitting hats long before anyone is planting them on a stage next to Dylan himself to assess their credibility. Teddy Thompson did not really have that luxury and I confess, when I used to see him twenty-five years ago supporting or playing in his fathers’ band, I did not entertain the idea that he would ever be composing songs comparable in craftsmanship to those Richard would, and continues to, write. Still, today and for a while now, years of perseverance and honing his work have earned an honorary membership to the ‘famous musicians’ offspring’ club where inductees prove their talent would have risen to the top with or without the aid of heritage. I put Teddy alongside artists like Neneh Cherry, Sean Ono Lennon, Justin Townes Earle, Martha & Rufus Wainwright and Jakob Dylan, all of whom impressively found their own undeniable voice and unique identity just like Teddy enjoys today.

So, what is the Teddy Thompson sound? Well, it is far more soulful than you might ever expect. He has a retro sheen but is nothing like a throwback, belonging to the here and now and we are lucky to have him. It is simply that his tools and approach adopt the classicists outlook rather than leaning into any modern shortcuts. It comes back to that feeling of being real, the ache in these vocals best accompanied by instruments and playing that can respond with an empathetic feel. Opener ‘Come Back’ is a vivid scene setter, a folk-rock ballad that finds our narrator pleading for a departed loved one to return, the cold isolation in the verses giving way to a middle eight sunburst exposing loves contradictions, not merely in the tonal shift but also a lyric that states “when you were here I couldn’t wait for you to leave.” Delicious electric riffing fuels ‘I Need Real (Love)’ and ‘I Remember’ has a sweeping, heart‑stopping flourish that could have come straight from Roy Orbison’s own horizon. This clears the decks for ‘So This Is Heartache,’ a place where an original southern soul train pulls into the station, resplendent with its classic slow-burning balladry architecture from the genres golden age and a lyrical conceit that meets heartache as if being formally introduced.

Rather than plunging us into an irretrievable morosity, ‘Worst Two Weeks Of My Life’ has an upward trajectory to the verses arriving at the question “will I ever be the same?” However, there is almost a celebratory acceptance of the inevitable oncoming changes and as the albums title alludes, evolution and shifting sands are part of life so you might as well be prepared to move on. Speaking of changes, the chord progressions in ‘Baby It’s You’ are Beatle-like in their graceful flow, which is something Teddy was aware of too as he subtly decorates this one with some George Harrison worshipping guitar lines. ‘Make Up Your Mind’ is a bouncy ode to indecision whilst ‘The Game’ revives the early sixties pop song echoes, right down to the satin swoops and heart-on-sleeve drama in the string arrangement. And I cannot let ‘Not What I Need’ pass without commenting on the brilliant break in the song where Teddy, deliberately heavy handedly, adjusts the line “I should have told you weeks ago” to “months ago.” Then finally, the flute enhanced chamber pop of ‘Same Old Song’ ends the record in a reflective state of mind, but as the title is sung remotely with great foreboding, you sense our narrator has finally shuffled to the cusp of a new phase and is ready for the great leap forward. And for sure, you cannot blame him wanting to move on, but neither should we ignore that the document Teddy Thompson has left us with will be something us listeners revisit time and time again, this is a career highlight kind of album.

Danny Neill

Get a physical copy of the album here: https://amzn.to/4wz2LMk

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New Release Reviews

Kevin Morby – Little Wide Open

Ever since I first came across the music of Kevin Morby, some thirteen years ago with ‘Harlem River’ standing on the first step of his career ladder, he already felt like an artist with a voice honed and chiselled from years of performing. There was a maturity at play from the start enhanced by a style instantly marking him out as the natural heir to the space left by the passing of Lou Reed. It is not merely the semi-spoken delivery, especially as through the following years his voice also revealed a capacity for soulful explosions and uninhibited force, but there was an immediate purity to the sound. His felt like an expressive electric folk that needed some space to breathe, there was nothing calculated or artificial about the music of Kevin Morby, it needed a spark of ignition from the natural elements to fire itself into life. Of course, the prompt for inevitable comparisons to heavyweights like Reed and Bob Dylan was the lurking presence of mortality in Morby’s songs. Whether dwelling on the finality of death, examining the search for a God as a crutch to existence or sinking into deep introspection as the souls of dearly departed relatives speak via ancient photographs, Kevin has rarely shied away from the notion that death is a part of living.

And so, it continues with this latest fine album ‘Little Wide Open,’ although the man himself readily admits there are more reflections on love to be found on this record too. His domestic happiness with partner Katie Crutchfield (also featured on these pages in her guise as Waxahatchee) is alluded to alongside deliberately referencing the strangely compatible yet conflicting lifestyles they experience as a couple. This appears to be sung about during the title track, of which Kevin had this to confide ahead of the release. “It’s about the two of us being songwriters. The pros and cons. The complications. A crazy lifestyle of us each crisscrossing the world.” Nevertheless, true to form, the preoccupation with lifespan, passage and the random inequalities of fate have a place here and Kevin, as usual, plays the card with a gentle, empathetic touch. The poignant song ‘Bible Belt’ alludes to a 2021 tour stop when a young couple driving to his Denver show crashed; the boy died, the girl survived, and he reached out to her while she was in hospital. A year later, playing the Bataclan in Paris (a venue marked by the horrific terrorist attack that killed ninety people) he looked into the crowd and saw her, standing beside the boy’s mother. They had travelled all that way to see him. The sight jolted Morby out of his expectations for the night, turning the room into something tender and solemn. “It was very sweet to see them,” he says before reflecting that the boy died trying to reach his show. “It’s insane. But it happens. It’s a numbers game.”

The most tangible evolution in the music of Kevin Morby on display here is how he seems to have hit a satisfying balance between the hurt and the hope. He may be willing to ride in tandem with the darkness but the sense of squeezing every available drop of awe and wonder from the experience is not absent either. The Lucinda Williams monologue during ‘Natural Disaster’ lays some hard truth out on the table before Kevin re-emerges as the voice of reassurance. Then he unleashes the most thunderous of extended closing codas, building the pace and encouraging his guitar to carve shapes in the clouds. ‘Javelin’ is particularly rousing as well, built on a propulsive bass line and a shuffling drum rhythm and the lyric makes the idea of being alone in the middle of middle America feel like a situation alive with curiosity. That is the big wide open of Kevin’s minds eye right there, a landscape that tugs both ways; part devotion and part ache. It is the big sky and the humble lives below it, the Midwest that raised him on restraint and familiarity, on solitude and soil. A country he carries within him, whether he wants to or not.

As for the personal details, well if you want a snapshot of a songwriter pouring his life onto the page look no further than ‘Die Young.’ If the opening lines about singing on a stage and missing his woman are not enough then how about the tune itself? The song plays like such an intentional pastiche to Waxahatchee’s ‘Right Back To It’ it could almost trade as an answer song. Here again though, our man is inclined to look up, not down, re-iterating the refrain “thank God that we didn’t die young.” And so it goes, across this whole album, wherein Morby folds every strand of his past work into something sharper and more whole; the Dylan‑tinged realism, the fatalistic meditations, the dust‑bitten folk‑rock grit, and that strange spiritual voltage he summons when he needs it most. The result is his most cohesive, fully realised record yet; this whole work is the sound of an artist finally pulling all his weather systems into one sky.

Danny Neill

Get a physical copy of the album here: https://amzn.to/48Usyo4

Kevin Morby – Photo by Chantal Anderson
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New Release Reviews

Brother Wallace – Electric Love

Talk about a confident mission statement of a beginning. ‘Who’s That’ comes marching in on top of a strutting soul beat that definitely means business. One-two, one-two, one-two with funky blues keys sitting on top of the rhythm and a fanfare of soul horns joining in just as our main man begins to demand information on “who’s that baby?” He is telling it like it is and taking down names, “when the going got tough you were nowhere to be found,” but the undeniable impression is that this man’s head is in a good place and he wants to shit to get real and start happening. Openers do not come much more assured and this improbable debut artist has laid the table out for some tasty delights that are about to be served. If the opener had an assured strut, then ‘That’s The Man’ waltzes in wearing sunglasses indoors. It has a syncopated bang to the riffing, the kind that is potentially begging for a hip-hop producer to cut up and dramatically repurpose. Not that anything else is needed on these tracks, this is a masterclass in modern interpretation of soul music born out of the school of gospel, it is overloaded with hooks, textures, beats, and passion. On that, ‘Gone With The Wind’ disguises itself as a detour onto smoother soul playing surface but, even here, there is room for a groovy piano intersection that echoes with the motion of a northern soul dancefloor.

By the time we hit the title track it feels like the previous northern references were just a tease, because this one is an out-and-out Wigan Casino era pumping floor filler. “It’s all I can do, just to hold on to, electric love” Wallace sings as the dizzying momentum of the frantic, energised beat sends him into a tailspin. There is no respite though, ‘Top Shotta’ may spend more than a minute of its intro with nothing more than our man singing over a piano line, but it is those fat low keys at the bass end of the keyboard smashing out a groove begging for the heartbeat drums and handclaps that eventually join the party. If we can just pause now briefly, you need to know that this excitement is being generated by Brother Wallace, a West Point, Georgia-bred singer, pianist, and soul revivalist who began singing early and was playing piano by the age of six. At age fourteen he was directing choirs before becoming a music teacher in adulthood. He has taken a long route to a debut album which finally took some positive turns when Dan Taylor, of the pure soul rockers The Heavy, had a chance encounter with Wallace and took on the driving role of co-producer and co-writer, generating the momentum that we feel today on this sensational release.

And back to the music, ‘No God In This Town’ is the first time we take our foot off the gas, as Brother Wallace proves he has the versatility to handle that southern gospel style; a mournful church organ underlays a track that cannot help but feel rousing as the horns and the bereft emotion rise while our singer laments the towns spiritual void. Then he announces, correctly, “I’m a man on a mission” as the furiously maniacal beat of ‘Who Do You Love’ shoots out of the starters block. If there is anyone unable to answer these questions as our man advances, they had better get out of the way quick. Eight tracks in and as the Brother hits ‘Any Day Now’ he begins to uncover even more refined fabrics in his dressing up box. This one is so smoky it is almost out of view, a song that floats in the air and caresses your mind rather than submerging you with rhythm, although the Motown beats of ‘A Patient Man’ soon redress that balance. The electric keys that drive ‘Midnight Valley’ evoke a dimly lit jazz club atmosphere, although the lived-in grit of Wallace’s voice keep us anchored in the soul world before ‘Jealous’ sees our man let his guard down, unafraid to show vulnerability.

‘Hope Of Fools’ demonstrates again what a rhythmic instrument the piano can be when played the Brother Wallace way, it reminds me of those classic early Bill Withers tracks. ‘Let’s Get Together’ is a credible stab at something inclusive, positive, celebratory, and even anthem worthy, it throws every winning ingredient into the melting pot. You might reasonably expect this to be the end (and it is on some versions) but instead ‘Honey’ delivers a final downpour of sweet stuff before we close with ‘Me And My Running Shoes,’ a wholly unexpected two minute brush with authentic slide guitar blues, it is almost as if Brother Wallace is warning us, especially with that choice of footwear, not to pin him down. He sure can switch to any direction in the blink of an eye and no matter where he heads, his conviction will ensure it never feels like a wrong turn. Soul music done right like this just feels so good and if you do not believe me, plug in to ‘Electric Love’ and then try and say I am wrong without sounding foolish.

Danny Neill

Get a physical copy of the album here: https://amzn.to/4fgOzkJ

Brother Wallace – Photo: Hana Snowcopy
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New Release Reviews

Various – Tokyo Pulse (Japanese Funk, Modern & City Pop From The Tokyo Scene 1974-88)

Japan’s musical past is a vast, interlinked web of scenes that rarely travelled far beyond its borders at the time. Yet the country’s funk, soul, and early city‑pop experiments of the 1970s and ’80s remain some of the most inventive recordings of the era, these cuts were sleek, melodic, and often startlingly ahead of the curve.‘Tokyo Pulse,’curated by Tokyo turntablist and archivist DJ Notoya, digs deep into that world and emerges with a set that feels both revelatory and overdue. This latest volume continues the labels’ ongoing excavation of Japan’s groove‑driven heritage. The presentation is characteristically meticulous: sleeve design by Manuel Sepulveda (Optigram), detailed notes from Notoya himself, and a mastering chain that runs from Nippon Columbia’s engineers in Tokyo to a final vinyl polish in Paris. Most of the tracks have never been issued outside Japan, which gives the compilation the thrill of discovery as opposed to the comfort of familiar canon.

The opening cut, Naomi Chiaki’s ‘Yoru E Isogu Hito’ (1978), sets the tone with a slow, shadowy glide, half soul ballad, half late‑night city drift. Chiaki, better known for her work in the kayōkyoku tradition, shows how fluidly Japanese pop singers could slip into funk‑leaning territory when the right musicians were behind them. Yumi Murata’s ‘Ranhansha’ (1979) sharpens the edges. Murata (who would later collaborate with Ryuichi Sakamoto) brings a cool, controlled vocal to a track built on clipped guitar, nimble bass, and a rhythm section that feels primed for a smoky basement club rather than a glossy studio. L‑E‑V‑E‑L’s ‘Bagdad No Atari Nite’ (1981) nudges the compilation into the next decade, where the production becomes smoother and the grooves more refined. This is a bridge between the earthy funk of the late seventies and the polished city‑pop sheen that would soon define Tokyo’s mainstream. Side one closes with GAM’s ‘Lake In The Forest’(1980), a gentle, reggae‑tinged piece featuring musicians associated with the cult Arakawa Band. Its breezy sway and pastoral calm offer a moment of respite, a reminder that Japanese groove music often absorbed global influences in unexpected, highly personal ways. It is also, for me, one of the outstanding highlights of this set, fusing its Jamaican sensibility with some sweet melodic manipulations worthy of the most commercially tuned-in jazz funk purveyors of the day.

L-E-V-E-L

The flip side jumps forward to the late eighties, that big drum and fretless bass sound as effective a time stamp as any release data, with Nami Shimada’s ‘Mitsumeteirunoni.’ This is a mid‑tempo electro‑funk track that captures the era’s fascination with dance‑floor gloss, visions of shoulder pads and rolled up jacket sleeves are hard to shake. Shimada, who would later gain international attention through her work with Soichi Terada, anchors the track with a poised, crystalline vocal. Bread & Butter’s ‘Memory’ (1974) pulls the mood back into the seventies with a ‘Shaft’ like wah-wah intro that breaks down into a sultry simmering thing of soul warmth capped by an aching harmonica figure. The lineup reads like a miniature history of Japanese pop innovation: Haruomi Hosono, Ray Ohara, Tatsuo Hayashi, and Shigeru Suzuki all contribute, each of them central to the evolution of modern Japanese music; from Happy End’s folk‑rock revolution to the studio wizardry of Tin Pan Alley and the electronic breakthroughs of Yellow Magic Orchestra. Minoru Koyama’s instrumental ‘After Image’ adds a cinematic, fusion‑leaning dimension, full of drifting electric keys and widescreen atmosphere. It is the kind of track that could easily soundtrack a lost art‑house film. Chikara Ueda & The Power Station’s ‘Island Cuckoo’ (1979) brings a breezy, Brazilian‑inflected funk energy. This one is certainly light on its feet, rhythmically playful, and instantly charming. The compilation ends on a reflective note with Higurashi’s ‘Anata Wa Doko Ni Irundesuka’ (1974), a tender blend of folk and funk that closes the record with a quiet emotional resonance.

‘Tokyo Pulse’ is a worthy piece of musical cartography although the fact that it plays as an infectiously retro laced funk odyssey from start to finish should not be overlooked. It traces the threads connecting Japan’s funk, soul, folk, and early electronic scenes, revealing how porous and inventive the country’s musical culture was during these decades. The curation is sharp, the mastering immaculate, and the sequencing thoughtful enough to feel like a journey rather than a survey. For collectors, historians, and anyone fascinated by the ongoing re‑evaluation of Japanese music, this is essential listening. It is a vivid snapshot of a city whose musical imagination has always been far broader than the world realised at the time.

Danny Neill

The ‘Tokyo Pulse’ CD album is available to buy via this link: https://amzn.to/3R1h38g

Bread And Butter
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New Release Reviews

Ray Bull – Please Stop Laughing

Ray Bull offer a persuasive case that any path to great music counts, especially given that the New York duo did not start as a band. They were actually art‑school kids at Cooper Union, Aaron Graham with his images, Tucker Elkins with his films, circling ideas that were generally unrelated to music making. It took a chance reunion at a Brooklyn gallery years later for them to realise that had both been quietly edging toward songwriting. They moved into a Bushwick loft, and the boundaries between their art forms dissolved almost immediately. That fusion of disciplines became their calling card. Their ‘Did You Know’ series, equal parts Photoshop trickery and surreal storytelling, spread fast, as did the ‘Songs That Are The Same’ fusions which revealed uncanny overlaps between pop hits. On a musical level alone, this was all fantastically engaging stuff. It was no surprise to me to find that Taylor Swift songs could be easily married to other peoples’ hits, but was the match making potential of White Stripes ‘Seven Nation Army’ and Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ widely known? Or ‘Running Up That Hill’ and ‘Titanium’? I have one of my own; ‘It’s Raining Men’ by The Weather Girls and Jethro Tull’s ‘Beggar’s Farm.’ Same song, but I digress.

Graham and Elkin’s audience ballooned: 600K on TikTok, half a million on Instagram, and tens of millions of streams for their own songs. Festival slots, support tours, and a sold‑out 2025 headline run followed. And so, after such a groundswell of appreciation and deserved attention, all roads have led us to this new album of original music, a collection that distils a half‑decade spent living, working, and shaping an identity together. It is a portrait of two artists wrestling with the persona they have built and the emotional truth underneath it. Often when someone comes to prominence via a vessel other than producing their own music, getting that aspect of their work accepted can be problematic. People can have a resistance if they sense that composing and building a presence in that way is not their core being; few have crossed between these poles with ease. The times when it does work, however, are like this; from the moment you hit play on opening track ‘You’re Still Here, So Am I’ there is a sense that we are in the realm of a vital, melodically eloquent, modern art-rock band from the US. Ray Bull had already proved with their previous activities that they understood music, that they can play and that they boast tonal range. Here though, they show that they can do something with these skills. They can express, there is something to say and stories to tell.

And when these two sink their teeth into a song it comes out packed with detail and intrigue. ‘Marry A Skater’ has production frills literally piling up on top of each other, not to mention an artisan’s song structure incorporating a slumbering chorus, an elegant middle eight and a nonchalance in the verses that suggest a shrugging of the shoulders at life choices in the lyrics. Lines like “you can marry a skater or go fuck the neighbour’s, its fine” and “go start your family, work at Morgan Stanley and rot, save up for the yacht” appear like withering put downs, but the song is heavily swayed by a sense of wonder at the uncertainties of embracing either conformity or chaos. Far from your basic pop songsmiths, even though each track has a winning immediacy so essential to the form. The same can be said of the title track, more of a guitar strumming indie anthem but still one constructed with chart-hit sensibilities and dramatic lifts akin to Britpop. The thing is, Ray Bull can easily insert these little reference points that might inspire comparisons to alternative savants such as Vampire Weekend or Spoon, but in doing so they also lay down a marker that challenges onlookers with the thought that they do not merely equal the work of their peers, they genuinely have the chops to surpass them.

If anything holds Ray Bull back it might simply be that they are too good at this. It should not be that way but sometimes versatility is a curse, I hope their audience meet them with open minds and arms. The deeper you go into this album the range just keeps on widening. We hear pensive electro pop, folksy ballads, routes into country textures and they even pitch themselves as fully paid-up members of the pop world. One of my most despised modern tropes is the overuse of synthetic, auto tuned vocals but when utilised by these two, even this production tick can sound like a valid, potently applied, production choice. They can do mainstream too, the rising chorus on ‘Under Your Eyelid’ would not sound out of place if played on a prime-time TV talent show. Basically, if this band ignite, it is not a stretch to imagine them becoming massive. Just listen to the perfection that is ‘All That You Are,’ featuring a vocal with strong echoes of Chris Bell’s ‘I Am The Cosmos,’ hinting that we are witnessing a uniquely joyous blend of artfulness within mass appeal of the most satisfying kind. I would love to see that success become ever more real, these two absolutely warrant it.

Danny Neill

Get a copy of ‘Please Stop Laughing’ here: https://amzn.to/3Pw0PmY

Ray Bull – Photo by Kyle Berger
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New Release Reviews

Modesty Blaise – Melancholia (25th Anniversary Remaster)

When it comes to harmony rich, densely textured, beautifully orchestrated pop music of a bright, warm, and luminous complexity, then the Beach Boys are arguably at the top of that ‘sunshine pop’ tree. It is a musical character that has never fully bloomed beyond its founders even though many have either tried to fully adopt it (Sagittarius, The Association, The Left Banke) or at least absorb it into their work as an influence (ELO, Teenage Fanclub, The High Llamas). What happens on even fewer occasions is the re-discovering of a Sunshine Pop classic that neither got its deserved amount of recognition in its time nor a gathering momentum of positive re-appraisal in the intervening years. We have that very thing here though, an album displaying a bold ambition and a taste for grand designs, sounding indisputably like it was built by a group of sonic architects who had the musical talents to pull such a bold scheme off effectively. So, prepare yourself to be amazed by Modesty Blaise and their expanded, three-disc, 25th anniversary edition of 2001 lost golden nugget, ‘Melancholia.’ Now, before we get into the back story though, there is a huge amount of music to be heard here so, should this band be a new name and you are unsure whether to continue, let me briefly describe how this album begins.

The intro is just over a minute of a piece called ‘Chorale,’ which is exactly how it describes, a gentle vocal assemblage of wordless, intoning voices of a solemn persuasion which step back to allow elegant strings admission before rising drums tentatively usher in an explosion of magnificently edifying pop splendour on ‘Carol Mountain.’ Extending to six minutes, this is orchestral, sophisticated, and melodic perfection in song. Deceptively simple and cohesive, it just packs so much into one tune; sumptuous verses and a significant chorus lift, glorious string arrangements, vocal breaks with potent harmonic variations, intervals built for cinematic effect, clearly defined central variations plus flawless opening and closing passages. It is quite simply a modern pop classic in the most relevant, to that term, sense and I go further by stating, if it were delivered from the hand of Brian Wilson, it would ride high as one of his best works. And this is only the beginning because ‘Melancholia’ is a musical opus boasting song suites, motif reprisals and unifying grand concept but what do we know of its creators?

Modesty Blaise – Photo by Gregory Jones

Modesty Blaise rose out of Bristol’s fertile indie‑pop scene having formed in 1993 by singer‑guitarist Jonny Collins and bassist David W. Brown, playing their first gig at The Mauretania in Bristol. A debut single, ‘Christina Terrace,’ came out in 1994 as a limited‑edition 7-inch produced by Edwyn Collins, guaranteeing collectable status by selling out just as local radio and television appearances gave a handy push. Further exposure, like inclusion in several end‑of‑year lists, cemented their name as a hot Bristol proposition. They grew a reputation for lavish, harmony‑rich arrangements influenced by sixties pop classicists and, in terms of access to a deserved mainstream pop audience, supporting Robbie Williams at London’s O2 Arena must have felt like an encouraging step. A Rough Trade compilation appearance, an ITV documentary centring on Jonny Collins and an ambitious BBC Radio session involving seventeen musicians kept the momentum moving. In 2001 with ‘Melancholia,’ they created the kind of work usually decorated with words like ‘masterpiece,’ which must have added to the frustration at its lack of availability in recent years. “For quite a while, people have been asking us why our biggest album wasn’t available to stream” recalled Jonny Collins. “We decided that, if we were going to do it, we’d do it properly. The remastering process was really interesting. The point was to reveal extra detail within the songs.”

Acknowledging their music was of a far more layered grain, Jonny added that “it’s been a longstanding thing within Modesty Blaise that, not only do we throw the kitchen sink in, we break in next door, rip out their sink, and throw that in too. But modern mastering has brought more clarity; we’re really happy with it.” They have certainly taken advantage of the space offered by three discs, especially on the ‘[de] Construction’ set that pulls out isolated instruments and vocal parts from the mixing desk, a process that few records truly warrant but there is so much buried audio treasure here the deep dive is, for once, a justified and rewarding indulgence. The third disc presents different single mixes and versions which again, given the progressions on an album essentially built around the pop song format, is another invaluable addition. There are bound to be times when the zippier versions heard here are all that is required.

Considering the self-confessed inclination to develop indefinitely in the studio, it is still noticeable how totally devoid of filler this album is. Even the tracks where three songs are built into one do not feel over long, despite looking like a marathon on paper. One of these is the suite ‘Old Woman – My Life Before You Came – Swivel Chair’ which shows the same capacity for realizing a vision as McCartney on ‘Abbey Road’s’ side two. There are delightful prog touches too, nothing cumbersome, more like the flighty current of Caravan as washes of keys and mellotron sound enhance the conclusion. ‘Even In My Darkest Hour’ also has a triumphant coda, where any one of the swirling keyboards, the ghostly theremin noise or the homely horn refrain would have been enough to make it a beguiling ending, but they throw all three in anyway. Our epic journey approaches its close on the thirteen-plus minute ‘The Love Suite,’ a bold creation that once again has a bit of everything but, crucially, it is everything you want. Brass, massive choruses, guitars freaking out, a united vision and an ecstatic shout to the top, it all serves to leave us totally overwhelmed by our stimulated senses, delighted, delirious and hungry for more in equal measure. Music this fully loaded with ideas doesn’t stay under the radar indefinitely, and with ‘Melancholia,’ Modesty Blaise look ready to claim the attention they have long deserved.

Danny Neill

Find out more about Modesty Blaise and how to purchase ‘Melancholia’ here: https://modestyblaiseuk.bandcamp.com/

Modesty Blaise – Photo by Gregory Jones
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