Category Archives: New Release Reviews

New Release Reviews

Oral Habit – A Broken Chord

Isn’t it the truth that sometimes you do not know you are missing something until it comes right back staring you in the face? And so it was with this band, specifically my chance encounter with their song ‘Thin Trippin.’ It instantly summoned sonic senses that were once stimulated on a daily basis, the only thing is those days were over three decades ago. That grazing indie guitar sound, the playing that leans into groove as much as it plays for electric guitar posturing and the uninhibited way they are putting the song across thinking if folks were to mistake it for a pop tune, they could not care less. It has such strong echoes of the early nineties, of a time when UK bands in particular had a purity of intent, they were channelling the debris of the twentieth century cultural life lying around them, those sixties garage records shoved away in family lofts, late night TV cult film re-runs, the abandoned guitars and vintage organs which synthesised electro pop had tried, and failed ultimately, to make redundant, then building a reactionary sound of their own. Which is not to say that Oral Habit are revivalists of the original revivalists, but they are plugging right into those very appealing influences, all slowly abandoned as Britpop shifted the emphasis once again, and even better, they now have a far greater palate to work from. So Oral Habit are a band that also reference grunge, they trip out on psych, they push too hard with feverish college rock abandon, and they wrap their whole essence around a hard kicking rock melange of original songs that emphatically shout they are their own, unique force.

Oral Habit themselves come from a place that makes perfect sense of that unruly spark. The core trio of Charlie Hales alongside his brother Felix and bassist Tippi Lewis, operate with the kind of restless, sleeves‑rolled‑up determination that has always powered the best DIY scenes. Their sound seems born out of pushing whatever battered gear is within reach until it either sings or collapses, the sort of setup where overheated valves, misbehaving pedals and half‑broken amps become part of the aesthetic rather than obstacles to be tidied away. Charlie had been sketching out ideas alone long before the band officially coalesced in 2023, but once the three of them locked in, they quickly found themselves orbiting a wider network of like‑minded psych‑garage outfits scattered across the country; the kind of bands who have had their brains rewired by years of Osees and King Gizzard tours. They have already forged tight bonds with London’s Hot Face and caught the ear of Manchester’s Sour Grapes collective, whose catalogue of fuzz‑leaning misfits places Oral Habit firmly among their own. Most intriguingly, they have connected with the Krautpop! label now settled in Falmouth, a home for the more lysergic corners of the UK underground and a natural landing place for a group whose instincts lean towards the wild, the wired and the wonderfully unrefined.

Above all this is a debut album that sets out as many ideas as it can pack into eleven songs lasting just thirty minutes. Do not let the quickfire nature fool you into spotting a drought on ideas, if anything it is the exact opposite. Oral Habit are flying off on so many tangents they almost keep tripping themselves up as they go crash landing into the next song. It is restless, the opening title track setting out its A-B-C positioning, an avalanche of noise hammering the nail of their ethos into our heads before we explode into the ‘Surface Breaker’ riffage, two minutes of speed shifting, crunching gear changes that challenge the listener to keep up. No one is going to hold them still long enough to pin a label on them either, just as you catch yourself thinking that ‘Faux Fidelity’ has darker gothic shades you are fired into a spin of flanging fuzz guitars. Then we are parachuted into the kind of swampy grunge thrashing that Steve Albini would surely have been happy to put his name to. But they can do hooks as well, in fact the album is overflowing with them, it is just that they never settle in the same place for long. The psych pop connections are pretty real too, there is even a flash during ‘Chekhov’ that recalls Status Quo before they got comfortable in denim, but here again the track ends in a far different realm, heavy rock riffing in its purest mode, like all the unnecessary bits have been taken out. ‘Mystery Gash’ pulls a tantalising facility for tasty major/minor melodic writing out of the bag, hidden depths that are also uncovered on the becalmed organ led closer ‘Crooner & Moon.’ So, for all the whiplash turns and stylistic pile‑ups, there is a real craft at work here, a sense that Oral Habit already understand the value of instinct, immediacy and leaving the edges jagged. This is a debut bursting with potential, announcing a group with the nerve, imagination, and sheer appetite to make their own corner of the guitar‑rock universe feel alive again.

Danny Neill

You can download the album via this link: https://amzn.to/3Q0qip7

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New Release Reviews

Joan As Police Woman – Real Life Evolution

It was the summer of 2006 when I chanced upon Joan Wasser for the first time, performing in her Joan As Police Woman guise, at a venue called the Spitz near central London’s Spitalfields Market. I had no idea who she was, I had not attended the intimate club size room to see her, I think I was there on a press duty covering the support act but stuck around to see the main event. If my memory is correct Joan was playing a weekly residency there for a month. That name was a curiosity obviously, maybe this was going to be a stand-up comedy routine? But as she hit the stage with her trio, playing mostly from the piano stool although occasionally strapping on a guitar, it very quickly dawned on me that I was in the presence of an artist playing a set that I would be, and now actually am, talking about decades later. She had a real command on stage that night, an undeniable authority even extending to breaking a song off midway through to invite people talking at the bar to leave. In a music environment that suddenly seemed to be producing acres of fey introspective singer-songwriter types, over indulgently turning their dreary diary entries into equally dreary ballads, here was someone with a direct line to the core of the human experience, turning that connection into impossibly well-crafted songs that plugged straight into our emotive senses. That night Joan was performing songs from her debut album ‘Real Life,’ a record that sounded like an instant classic to these ears at the time and has not diminished in the slightest over the past twenty years, its quality remains true.

As well as being impressed by the material that night I was equally mesmerized by the musician herself. She clearly had a dexterity beyond your average troubadour; the piano work especially had the touch of a classical performer whereas the guitar songs shone a light on Joan’s harder edges. The same kind of contrasts were apparent in her voice as well, it could be as tender, pure of tone and heartfelt as a Karen Carpenter recital but again, you sensed a more streetwise cutting edge pulsing just below the surface. Joan was obviously a performer of a higher stripe, the kind who gets inside the music she is performing and equally, not the type who would find any artistic merit in dialling in a photocopy performance. Which brings me onto the motivation and welcome rewards that come from this new release, a full ten track re-recording and vivid re-imagining of the songs from ‘Real Life.’ Whilst this is technically an anniversary, there is nothing nostalgic about this project. Joan is reviving the material in this way because she wants to stay connected to it, like Dylan has been doing for decades, she wants to keep her best music alive and free from stagnation to both her audience as well as herself by breathing fresh air and exposing new light to the original templates. Add to that the inevitable changes an artist goes through having lived through another twenty summers, the wisdom and maturity realised, and instantly this work becomes as valid and worthy of immersion as anything in her impressive catalogue.  

It sounds like the songs were felt their way towards depending on Joan’s personal attachments to them in 2026. Nothing is radically re-worked for the sake of it, in fact there are certain tracks that stick respectfully close to their original form, although others feel like they were totally destroyed before being rebuilt from scratch. It is an approach Joan has discussed ahead of this release, stating that if she ever felt bored with older material she would “reinvent them until the joy came back, not as an act of revision, but of rediscovery. Songs live beyond their creators. Like us, they settle into themselves over time, finding their own equilibrium. That spirit is the pulse of this new album.” There is a totally fresh cast of collaborators for this project too, Iggy Pop being one of the headline names who infuses ‘Save Me’ with his own identifiable signature so effectively it now plays like a lurching, dirty rock beast. Then there is Krystal Warren who helps transform ‘Save Me’ into the slinkiest of soft-soul grooves, a radical departure from the original Anhoni collaboration. Also ‘We Don’t Own It,’ which I recall Joan saying back in 2006 was written in memory of Elliott Smith, now moves away from the hushed guitar ballad of before into a breezy slow reggae realm built on understated electronica.

Joan has taken care to highlight the pedigree of the other key participants too. She credits “from my current touring trio, Will Graefe brings his emotionally masterful guitar work and Jeremy Gustin his remarkable rhythmic sensibility. Parker Kindred’s inventive drum creations were the spark behind other [tracks]. Thomas Bartlett unlocked a new dimension of the title track and added Rhodes bass throughout. This album gave me the chance to reunite, decades on, with upright bassist Tony Scherr, guitarist Oren Bloedow, and funk bassist Danny Blume, musicians whose artistry has only deepened with time.” That title track, along with the gloriously open and vulnerable ‘Anyone,’ formed the strongest pillars of the original album and so they remain today. Indicative of how close to perfection Joan arrived first time around, these are the two songs that bare the closest resemblances to their originals. I hold the 2006 version of ‘Real Life’ in such high regard that I was actually a little nervous as it approached here, newly repositioned as the closing number. I did not need to worry, it is a little more lived in now but by the time we get to the line about never including a name in a song before, the goosebumps still rise up vigorously. And why does that happen? Because this is real life and so am I. And because ‘Real Life’ was, and remains in its modern rendition, an incredible album.

Danny Neill

You can buy a physical copy of the album here: https://amzn.to/4eCx2mh

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New Release Reviews

Raffy Bushman – New Life

Jazz’s critics often overlook the simple truth that when the wide ranging, often maligned, genre locks into a groove, it can be as rhythmically charged and dance‑inducing as anything on a club system. That pulse has been there from the earliest swing bands through the breakbeat gold of Blue Note and the fusion era, right up to today’s easy dialogue between jazz and hip‑hop. Raffy Bushman’s solo debut taps directly into that lineage. Across its seven tracks, moments of introspection sit inside an undeniable forward drive, the whole record coated in an infectious rhythmic sheen. The centrepiece, ‘Renaissance,’ is the clearest example. A springy double‑bass line sets the foundation before Bushman’s piano is at first coordinated with the bass riff but quickly pushes the tune into a rolling surge of ideas. When the trio suddenly drops away, he unspools a lattice of interlocking keyboard figures which are almost Bach like in their intricate, looping patterns that toy with time and tug the ear in multiple directions at once. The band then snaps back together for a final, exhilarating climb. This is music that balances complexity with immediacy, full of heat and precision, and delivered with the confidence of a trio who can play it structured and yet still sound loose, in the moment and totally responsive to each other.

Raffy Bushman’s path to his first solo album reads like a long, looping circuit finally hitting the home straight. He emerged in the UK jazz underground as a pianist with a sharp ear for the places where jazz and hip‑hop meet, building early projects around that rhythmic dialogue. As his ambitions widened, so did his ensembles: string‑laden classical‑jazz hybrids, chamber‑sized experiments, and collaborations that pushed him deeper into arranging and orchestration. Those years broadened his palette without ever pulling him away from the instinct that drives all his work, namely taking familiar forms and bending them into something newly alive. Today he is back at the piano trio format that first defined him, carrying the weight and clarity of everything learned since. With Matt Davies and Alec Hewes anchoring the rhythm section, he folds his arranging experience into a leaner setting, creating seven pieces that move fluidly between tender audio lyricism, tight, bouncing grooves and bursts of harmonic colour. The album plays through like a summing‑up of the journey so far; a musician whose roots in hip‑hop, jazz, classical and gospel have fused into a voice that is indisputably his own, and a trio sound buffed and polished by years spent exploring every corner of his musical identity.

The album’s lead single,‘The Leopard,’ arrives late in the running order but acts as one of its clearest statements of intent. Built on a deceptively simple three‑note riffing piano figure, it grows into a full‑bodied groove that lifts off with real force. Bushman tips his hat to the film that inspired the song title, echoing its themes of clinging to tradition, yet he twists that idea by blending bebop phrasing with a lightly Latin, swung backbeat. As he explains, “the foundation of the composition is the left-hand repeated figure, which I had on a loop in my head for about a year before starting to add the other elements. I like how this figure blends with the very slow legato melody – this piece is all about textures.” That interplay between repetition and colour gives the track its charge as we hear a simple motif transforming into something vivid and propulsive. The album is bookended by ‘Two Peopleʼ and ‘New Life,ʼ both of which offer serenity and a reflectiveness to the conversation, which are highly understandable when learning of the new relationship developments and impending fatherhood anticipation that was inspiring Raffy while this album came together. “’Two People’ was written for my partner,” he explains, “who encouraged me to record my solo pieces, whilst ‘New Life’ gave me the opportunity to step out of the strict stylistic aesthetic I normally work within, and just express myself, and how I feel about becoming a father.” Considering all these real life, circumstantial, musical and background elements that hit a timely synchronicity for the birth of this album, we can safely say that it instantly stands as one of the pivotal moments in a serious jazz artists career. Furthermore, ‘New Life’ has a timelessness and classicism about it that will ensure it endures far beyond the year of its creation.

Danny Neill

The album is available via this link: https://amzn.to/4vyHbGm

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New Release Reviews

Bity Booker – There’s No Song About A Stone

It is always a delight in the business of music discovery, record hunting and general audio thrill seeking, to come across an artist who you assume will be of a familiar type only for them to far exceed your presumptions. Not only that, but also equally beguiling is when there is something quite mysterious about them. They do not conform in the way so many of their peers do, despite using the exact same tools and even occupying the same space, there is still that essence of the unknown. Bity Booker in 2026 has been, for me, one of those unexpected encounters. Yes, Bity (pronounced Bee-Tee) is an acoustic guitar playing singer who writes and plays her own material, a very well populated field of expression you must agree, but she stands apart because there is an element of magic to her work that is quite hard to pin down. So, right there is the wonderful thing, because so many times the greatest music casts a spell and often it is not a mixture you can dissect down to the ingredients that make it work. And thanks to the positive impact, there is no need to do that anyway, that is where the wonderment lies. The music of Bity Booker is the sound of another realm and from the moment you cross over there are no explanations necessary, you are simply mesmerized.

We begin with ‘The Owl Song’ which sets the scene for the individualist approach that dominates throughout. It is something of a call and response duet with the feathered friend in the title, offering the kind of delicate, whimsical beauty deployed by Joanna Newsom, which is as close to a comparison I can make although fundamentally, Bity plays wholly her own style. This strange brew is there on ‘A Tear,’ a song that immediately places the tunefully picked acoustic guitar and a sprightly, subtly chilling, voice in line with the natural world, moulding the environment to human connections, drawing the lines between how we feel joy and pain in tandem with our planet. Those same teardrops are also falling on ‘Dewdrops,’ echoing into a vast valley as if tumbling through open air and landing in widening circles of space, but this is not a sorrowful experience, more like a natural serenity. There is an elegantly gliding quality to the whole work and a connection to flying animals is present throughout, songs are based on the crow and parrots (with a neat reference to them originally escaping from Jimi Hendrix’s cage) although the standout for me has to be the graceful ‘Love Is Like A Swallow In The Spring.’ It all adds up to a mightily mature work on what Bity herself calls “my first ‘non-debut album.’ I call it a ‘non-debut album’ because I have long been making music in different forms, from death metal to alternative folk, so it feels strange calling it a ‘debut album’. It is the product of years of songwriting and performing solo.” 

‘There’s No Song About A Stone’ arrives as an independent release, issued in a run of just 250 blue‑marbled LPs alongside CD and digital formats, but its cottage industry design feels entirely in keeping with the way Booker moves through her craft. She admits to taking her time with music in a way that makes her happy, working outside commercial rhythms, outside expectations, letting songs form at their own pace. She thinks of her creations as things shaped by time, dreams, thoughts, rain, wind and you can hear that philosophy in the recordings themselves. These tapes feel alive; birds flicker at the edges, people pass by, London hums in the background, all of it part of the room she recorded in, all of it folded into the spell. So here is a gathering of some of Bity’s favourite songs, a mix of pieces road‑tested at gigs and others never aired before, but what binds them is the sense of an artist following her own internal weather. It stands apart from the regular singer‑songwriter crowd thanks to its ethereal detachment, its deep connection to the natural world, its refusal to sand down the oddities that make it breathe. Booker is flying her freak flag with pride, and the result is a record that will stand out wherever it is heard; this is the sound of someone fully unleashing their creative essence into the world and trusting it to find its way. Should the stars align favourably, this singer and these songs will do just that.

Danny Neill

You can get yourself a physical or downloaded edition of the album here: https://bitybooker.bandcamp.com/album/there-s-no-song-about-a-stone

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New Release Reviews

Visible Cloaks – Paradessence

The more head scratching you do when first exposed to some albums, the better they turn out in the long run. That is definitely the case with the work of Visible Cloaks, a forward thinking duo who have just released their first full length album in nine years. They obviously come from other planets, I am not even going to attempt to question that, and their calling card has the word ‘experimental’ splashed across it in bold, large lettering. And yes, they have solar systems of ambience in their sonic kit bag, if you want to predict what music beamed in from outer space is going to sound like, I put my money on it being something like this. The forms and structures we associate with songs or indeed most pieces of music are nowhere to be found, these audio offerings are not bound by anything so restrictive as time signatures, beginnings, middles or closing passages. It is hard to define just what they are doing, the whole 14-track suite flies past our hearing senses in less than 45 minutes and you are surprised that amount of time has passed, in much the same way as we cannot see our planet spin, so too the music of Visible Cloaks comes and goes without any tangible hint of motion whatsoever.

But I come back to those words ‘experimental’ and ‘ambient,’ for the beauty in this record is less with these aspects, instead the beating heart is the multitude of moments that feel warm and familiar. I might even lean into the word nostalgic, for there are times here that the early days of electronica, when the plugged in vibrations were still audibly having their dials turned by human hands, are vividly recalled. And as the stars begin to explode into glorious meteor showers, so too the music suddenly enters the realms of the familiar. The track ‘Slippage’ for example, is about halfway through when the sound of something metallic rattling around an empty tin bucket falls away to reveal firstly, an ever-widening expanse of deep space but then secondly, some rousing melody played on electric keys with more than a sideways hint of the bagpipes to them. Later on, the track ‘Shapes’ introduces some delicate acoustic piano notes to the mix alongside distant horn sounds evoking memories of early twentieth century, northern industrial England. Quite unexpected for sure, but still one of the many elements that hold your attention as our journey into the stars becomes ever more probable by the day.

The path to ‘Paradessence’ traces back through a decade of sonic world‑making by Spencer Doran and Ryan Carlile, whose work as Visible Cloaks has always hovered at the intersection of digital craft and imagined ecologies. From the prismatic surfaces of ‘Reassemblage’ to the luminous collaboration with Yoshio Ojima and Satsuki Shibano (who also appear here), the duo has treated electronic composition as a form of speculative architecture. Doran’s curatorial and soundtrack projects expanded that vision outward, revealing a deepening interest in how music can hold memory, landscape, and futurity at once. On ‘Paradessence,’ those threads converge into pieces that seem to breathe and reorganise themselves, as if the album were modelling its own evolving habitat. This sensation hits a pitch by the time we reach ‘Intarsia’ (featuring Ioana Selaru), wherein the scraping violin textures and sudden bursts of simultaneously familiar and alien voice sounds all merge to suggest that something is banging on the walls of another dimension. And maybe that is exactly what happened? Closing track ‘System’ may have the soothing presence of familiar sounding keys and wind instruments, but it also suggests that we need to explore new ways of playing them from this point on. I could not find any dictionary definition of the word ‘paradessence’ but just like the music this album contains, it still somehow makes sense. So, just as unfamiliarity must not be mistaken for confliction, so too must we have faith in the evidence placed in front of us today, that the Visible Cloaks are opening us up to a quite wonderous place.

Danny Neill

You can buy a physical copy of the album via this link: https://amzn.to/49puZ25

Visible Cloaks by Jonathan Sielaff
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New Release Reviews

Meiko Kaji – Otoko Onna Kokoro No Aika

Wewantsounds’ ongoing excavation of Meiko Kaji’s early‑’70s catalogue continues to reveal just how much more there is to her legacy than the cult‑cinema mythology. Best known internationally for Lady Snowblood and the Stray Cat Rock films, Kaji was also a striking vocalist, capable of turning pop melodrama and noir‑shaded groove into something that was easily identifiable as her own. ‘Otoko Onna Kokoro No Aika,’ originally released in 1974, captures her at a moment when Japanese pop, enka, and cinematic orchestration were colliding in vivid, stylish ways. This is evident right from the outset with ‘Akashia No Ame Ga Yamu Toki‘ boasting a string arrangement straight out of the mid-twentieth century widescreen, panoramic manual as well as a lead vocal that soars above the backdrop with grace, tension, and satisfying release. It is in every way a scene setter for the musically rich journey that follows.

It is revelatory how much the western production tropes of the period had bled into the music of the east. On ‘Meiko No Yume Wa Yoru Hiraku’ there is a keyboard part laced with a harpsichord texture and a gypsy violin part, not to mention a general sense that the music is primed to leap in any direction, echoing the anything goes attitude of the sixties psychedelic era. It is not a throwback in any sense though, ‘Ginza No Cho’ has the muddier soundboard more familiar to funk soundtracks which would have been ultra contemporary at the time although, once again, there is a little bit of fuzz guitar decorating the instrumental breaks. That said, it is the sensitive, yearning ballad ‘Onno Kokoro No Uta’ that is an early highlight. This is one where the vocal is a tour de force in sweet melodic serenity. This makes sense after I have just done a quick translation into English of the song title, also riffed on with the lamenting album name, it reads as “songs of a woman’s heart.” This vulnerability and tenderness is emphasised on further tracks featuring lush strings, flute, and mournful trumpet accompaniments, all of which add to the satisfying listening experience to these English ears denied the benefit of language comprehension. The music is so vivid and explicit though, it almost does not matter.

‘Tokyo Nagare Mono,’ the theme from Suzuki’s ‘Tokyo Drifter,’ features sharp edged fuzz guitar but it quickly sidesteps, via arresting harmonica, into a unique kind of spaghetti western melange, this music is pretty wild in its own way. It is not all about getting hip with the sonics though, there are some pretty fine, very well composed arrangements here which grab the attention not with dynamism but inviting, deceptively complex, melodic pathways. And for all the interest that awaits in the threads of the music, it is that Meiko Kaji vocal performance that remains the star of the show. Ultimately, far more than a tie‑in to her film work, this album plays like a self‑contained suite of Showa‑era torch songs and atmospheric funk, delivered with the same controlled intensity she brought to the screen. Kaji approaches each track as a performance, blending her instincts as a singer with the detail and engagement of a storyteller, moving from the smoky sway of the funkier sections to some sleek seventies reimagining of older material. The result is a record that strikes a perfect balance between tradition and forward thinking, a reminder that Kaji’s artistic range extended far beyond the roles that made her famous.

Danny Neill

You can buy the new re-issue CD via this link: https://amzn.to/4e3JFXc

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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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