Buscar:le droll

'Intensely textured, interlocking guitar riffs weave together on New Bright Object, the debut album from Berlin and Edinburgh-based duo I’m Not You.

Working under the name I’m Not You, artist Alex Gibbs (bass & vocals) and sound designer Niall McCallum (guitar & drums) have honed a sound that draws in equal measure from jazz funk of Weather Report and the math rock of Don Caballero. Their debut album, New Bright Object is their most developed statement to date, an intricate, robust and unique collection of songs born from serpentine jam sessions in rural idylls.

The duo make no secret of their admiration for bands like Battles and Tortoise. They reference Jim O’Rourke’s lounge numbers and the droll lyricism of Modern Lovers’ Jonathan Richman. There’s a touch of Vini Reilly in their sparse and serpentine guitar lines. A hint perhaps of Mogwai. All these names place New Bright Object within a constellation of albums made with bigger budgets for wider audiences.

New Bright Object opens In a flash of light, comet-like, with the sound of ‘Mr. Wind- Up Bird’. The threads they weave are full with intent, as moments of density rise like hills from the track’s quieter valleys. It’s easy to imagine the pair looking out over the rolling fields of the garden studio in East Lothian where they recorded the album, as they assiduously try and draw their own landscapes in sound.

Similarly, there is a crispness to ‘A Certain Arrangement Of Atoms’ - every clipped hat, rim-shot snare and tightly wound tom a fine-tipped mark on the score. It is intricate and precise, a result perhaps of Niall’s attention to detail. Then there is the piano, Alex’s grandmother’s, slightly out of tune, which adds a few expressionist strokes to this pointillist composition. The piece loosens, until all we’re left with is the bass.

Although the album orbits around the pendulum sway of ‘The Older I Get’, it is ‘What Cats Think About’ that stands out most. That it does is by design – a nod to the Sun City Girls and albums that like to throw their listeners a curveball every now and then. Pleasantly ramshackle, confusingly domestic, agreeably strange.

All this speaks to the spirit of the album and the creative relationship between two best friends whose differences seem to have been the only things they could agree on.'

Chins For Lefty is the debut album and first recording by Gichard, a new duo chronicling the absurdities of end-stage capitalism and mouldering social rituals from their vantage point in Glasgow, Scotland. Recorded primarily in the band’s home studio straight to tape, Chins For Lefty combines gorgeous, ramshackle melody, DIY kosmische punk, drum machine + synth and, in vocalist/lyricist Lisa Jones, an absurdist commentator on the human condition as it navigates the anxieties of the modern world. Instrumentalist Chas Lalli’s swirling music accompaniment stitches an evocative mix of musical styles, the ragged wind beneath the lyrics’ wings.

Although the duo first collaborated in their previous group Dragged Up, their disparate musical and artistic backgrounds make for an alluring mix in Gichard. Lalli has spent the last 20 years in the Glasgow underground, most notably in the noise rock group VOM, while Lisa Jones’s practice was in poetry and spoken word. Beginning as co vocalist in her previous band, in Gichard her lyrics are centre stage; the vision concocted alongside Lalli amounts to a total world-build.

Chins For Lefty scans almost like a novel, with each track elucidating a skewed universe that bears only some resemblance to the one you and I partake in. Like all works of fiction Gichard’s songs are rooted in reality and the lived experiences of its authors, but here characters are exaggerated, social mores and habits are pulled apart to reveal their inherent alienness. Universal emotions are laid bare, the bright light of anxious examination searching out every hairline fracture in our relationships. Distorted and cracked, the mirror that Gichard hold up to our world is also pretty damn funny.

Opener Cholesterol Test launches an expansive, cosmic guitar and synth intro that belies the Tascam-tape recorder it was recorded onto, like a Chromatics cut substituting anxiety for overt sexuality. Here Jones intones an apology to a non-responsive recipient, in the medium of a long voice note forensically deconstructing an interaction from the night before. Over punk guitars and shuffling, lo-fi drum machine splutters, the narrator in Asking The Apes “prefers things to people” before being taken hostage in the city zoo to confess an obsession which consumes the protagonist, ending with the immortal two liner “I sleep in a cocoon of old newspapers at the end of your street / And I think I have been fired from my job,” On album standout Posthumous Hologram, the narrator is faced with a human simulacra, in this case an undead pop star; the face of the encroaching technological singularity. Yes, it does requests, it can do My Way in 200 different language options. But what are the implications? While you’re left pondering, the alternating deadpan verse delivery and undeniably catchy chorus keep you company.

By the time Break Up With Johnny Dogbirth rattles into view, the band are satirising a suburban inanity blown up to cartoon proportions, soundtracked with a drawled musicality that recalls Rowland S. Howard’s post-Birthday Party balladeering. This approach is furthered on Human Resources: over an angular guitar+bass track, Jones’s short story recalls Dry Cleaning’s erudite lyrical post punk. On Soft Face, Lalli’s guitar and drum machine are swathed in echo and delay, as Jones dissects dating rituals with a west of Scotland drollness. Hamming It Up brings a porcine perspective in a short story that begins with the line “I was breastfeeding discreetly in the service station. She didn’t mind.” What follows is a passage punctured with canned laughter and a narrative involving tribute acts, modern farming techniques.

Brilliant first single Your Private Hell closes the album, the closest the group get to earnest perhaps, filtered through a surreal central Scottishness. While Your Private Hell might seem like a sardonic take down of romance, perhaps it’s the very distillation of love in all its awkwardness, selflessness and weirdness. Here there’s a distinctive Glasgow-ness to this doomed romance: the protagonist falls for an outsider, offers them cheap jarred hot dogs and carbolic soap (the infamous, excoriating soap dished out in schools and government buildings throughout Scotland), offers to cover up a murder, stalks them in the all-night Spar. It’s a short story of intrigue, murder and the irresistible pull of self-sacrifice to share in someone else’s suffering. If that’s not love, what is it? You can see this vision mapped out in black and white on their video for 'Your Private Hell'.

Sugaring a Strawberry, the sophomore record from Julia, Julia, is a study in coming undone—on purpose. Recorded at COMA, Julia Kugel's home studio, and mixed through a custom Flickenger clone, the album drifts in and out of clarity like memory itself. It's emotionally retrospective, creatively unvarnished, and deeply human. You can hear it in the hiss, the warmth, in the vocals so raw they're like an open window. These songs weren't engineered for perfection. They were built to breathe. Her long-time collaborator and husband, Scott Montoya, mixes it all so loosely that you can hear the air between tracks— a space that makes the music feel inhabited rather than recorded.


"Bound" opens the album like a secret passed between sisters, solemn and unspeakably close. It begins with the softest of touches: hushed guitar, a near- whispered delivery that carries the intimacy of someone singing only for one other person. It's a love song, but not romantic, more ancestral in the way long bonds can be. All glow and undercurrent, "I Know," is like hearing someone hum through a wound. The track arrives as if it had been waiting, coiled and complete, to be sung. Its pulse is slow but insistent, anchored on a hypnotic loop and a vocal that's half-incantation, half-confession. One of the most outward-facing songs on the record, "Feeling Lucky," opens like a cigarette flicked in the dark– smoky and a little bit slick. Built on a skeletal beat and a nearly detached vocal, it leans into a sarcastic swagger that barely masks the ache beneath. The delivery is droll and glazed, the instrumentation is sparse and a little woozy, leaving space for her voice to sway—a shrug of a song, stylish in its sadness. "A Love That Hurts" drifts in on soft, fingerpicked guitar and a dry, close-mic vocal that feels both haunted and immediate. The mix is stripped down and analog-warm, letting tape hum and silence frame the emotion. Julia sings like she's remembering something she doesn't want to, each line a slight unraveling. Like the rest of the album, "A Love That Hurts" doesn't push toward resolution. It sits in the ache, sifts through it, makes it beautiful.

Sugaring a Strawberry doesn't seek catharsis so much as stumbles into it. There's a quiet volatility to these songs like they might fall apart if you press too hard. It moves in shadow and softness, asking questions it doesn't answer. It doesn’t end with closure. It ends with truth.

"Something Soft", das zweite Album der irischen Post-Punk-Brandstifter M(h)aol, ist alles andere als soft. Von der ersten Note des Eröffnungsstücks von "Something Soft" bis zu den verzerrten Schreien des letzten Stücks fühlt sich die Platte antagonistisch gegenüber dem Konzept der Sanftheit an, klanglich und thematisch. Es ist eine unapologetische Annäherung an intersektionellen Feminismus, Tierschutz, Konsum und den Kampf um einen Platz in einer Welt, der es an Empathie mangelt. Was M(h)aol bietet, ist Katharsis in zwei Formen: die Art, die man bekommt, wenn man anderen gegenüber offen ist, und die Art, die man bekommt, wenn man mit Recht etwas kaputt macht. Wut und Empathie effektiv zu kanalisieren ist ein Akt der Widerstandsfähigkeit, und um "Something Soft" zu machen, mussten M(h)aol besonders widerstandsfähig werden. Nach ihrem gefeierten Debüt "Attachment Styles" änderte sich das Line-up von M(h)aol und bestand nun aus dem Kerntrio Constance Keane (Schlagzeug/Gesang, sie/ihr), Jamie Hyland (Bass/Gesang, sie/ihr) und Sean Nolan (Gitarre, er/ihm). Dieser Prozess veränderte die Herangehensweise der Band an das Songwriting und die Auftritte und führte zu einem unerwarteten Durchbruch. "Something Soft" zeichnet sich durch einen dringlicheren Sound aus, der sich eng um den Rhythmus von Hyland und Keane legt. In Songs wie "Pursuit" und "Snare" verbindet sich Keanes Gesang mit dem Schlagzeug, als würden ihre Worte durch ihr Spiel zum Leben erweckt und direkt aus ihrem Körper kommen. Vor dem Hintergrund dieser ängstlichen und schwadronierenden Tracks nimmt ihre Stimme den Raum eines inneren Monologs ein, in dem sie von einem angespannten Heimweg und von der Misogynie im Green Room aus einer Position der drolligen Beobachtung heraus erzählt - eine universelle Erfahrung, die in spezifischen Details wiedergegeben wird. Wie seine Vorgänger "Attachment Styles" und die "Gender Studies" EP wurde auch "Something Soft" von Jamie Hyland aufgenommen. Es ist die technisch ausgefeilteste der bisherigen M(h)aol-Aufnahmen, denn die Band, zu der auch Sarah Deegan vom Pixie Cut Rhythm Orchestra am Bass gehört, zog in das Dubliner Ailfionn Studio, wo sie die räumlichen Gegebenheiten und das Studio-Equipment nutzten, um ihrem Sound mehr Nuancen zu verleihen. Die zusätzlichen Sessions und das Können hinter den Reglern waren ein Segen, aber für eine Band, die es gewohnt ist, unter extremem Zeitdruck zu arbeiten, war dies eine unerwartete Herausforderung: Konnten M(h)aol das Gefühl der Unmittelbarkeit beibehalten, das ihre Musik bis zu diesem Zeitpunkt geprägt hatte? Songs wie "DM:AM" zerstreuten diese Sorge schnell, indem sie innerhalb von 20 Minuten aus einem Drone entstanden, den Nolan spielte, während Hyland ihr Aufnahme-Equipment aufbaute und sich beeilte, den Song einzufangen, sobald Keane und Deegan dazukamen. Eine der geisterhaften Hymnen von "Something Soft", "1800-Call-Me-Back", begann als Scherz, dass die Band einen Fußballgesang schreiben sollte, wurde aber weitaus komplexer - die köstliche Balance aus Chaos und Klarheit, die sie gefunden haben, wäre ohne Zeit unmöglich gewesen. "I Miss My Dog" ist weniger spontan, aber seine Meditation über Trauer baut sich in einem halsbrecherischen Tempo auf, von Rückkopplungen über Keanes Schlagzeugspiel und Gesang bis hin zu einem spektakulären Schluss, der die Trauer in Bass und Gitarre erstickt, eine der größten technischen Leistungen von M(h)aol bis heute. Der Feinschliff unterstreicht den schelmischen Charme von M(h)aol und lässt das Intime hymnisch wirken, indem persönliche Erfahrungen genutzt werden, um die allgemeinen Systeme, unter denen wir leben, zu beschreiben. Für diejenigen, die sich in den Songs von M(h)aol wiedererkennen, ist das Hören von "Something Soft" wie ein Sprung in einen lang laufenden Chat-Thread, voller Wut und Humor.

»Nuts of Ay«, the thirteenth album by the Berlin-based electronic pop duo Tarwater (Ronald Lippok and Bernd Jestram), is their first in a decade, since 2014’s »Adrift«. Beautifully poised and smartly dressed, it's an album that draws Tarwater’s various pasts into a high-definition present, while bringing the duo, yet again, into productive dialogue with all kinds of fellow travellers.

Tarwater’s music has always been marked by a hypnotic pop-ness, but that’s particularly evident on »Nuts of Ay«, where a song like »Hideous Kiss« weaves together jangling guitar, pastoral flute, and flittering electronics into a gem-like construction. While the lyrics of »Hideous Kiss« are written by the duo, »Nuts of Ay« also continues a longstanding Tarwater tradition of recasting the words of others in their own mould. This time, their remit is broad: poetry from Derek Jarman (»All Nuns«) and Millner Place (»Trapdoor Spider«); lyrics from Jean Kenbrovin (»I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles«), the late Shane MacGowan (»USA«) and, again, John Lennon (»Everybody Had a Hard Year«).

This cast of found and borrowed lyricists also finds collaborative echo in the guest musicians dotted throughout »Nuts of Ay«. Schneider TM turns up on the lovely, Felt-like »Spirit of Flux«, where guitars channel the tangled reveries of Vini Reilly and Maurice Deebank into lush pop. Carsten Nicolai joins, as Alva Noto, dappling »On Waves and Years« with intimate glitching textures; he also provides the album cover art. Elsewhere, Masha Qrella appears on »Down Comes the Goose«, and actor Lars Rudolph pitches in for »USA«.

It may have been ten years since the album's predecessor, but Lippok and Jestram have kept active with other projects. They’ve collaborated with Masha Qrella, Immersion, and Iggy Pop; worked on radio plays with Kai Grehn, some based on the writing of Nick Cave (»The Sick Bag Song«, featuring Tilda Swinton, Paula Beer and Alexander Fehling) and William S. Burroughs (»The Cat Inside«); and made music for several radio-tatorts (radio plays based on »Tatort«, a long-running German police TV series) by playwright Tom Peuckert.

Both voracious and committed in their creative energies, Jestram and Lippok report back from these experiments with »Nuts of Ay«, one of their most compelling, deeply lustrous, dreamlike albums yet. They say there was no concept for the album, which is surprising, perhaps, given its holistic mood, explaining it »grew together like a coral reef in the studio over a period of several years«. There’s something to be said for letting an album gather and mutate naturally, without an overarching framework in place, and »Nuts of Ay« certainly feels like an unforced collection of material that nonetheless inhabits a similar space, one where guitars twist like driftwood next to amorphous, aqueous electronics, Lippok’s droll yet completely convincing vocal delivery riding songs that pulse and plume with curious, unpredictable rhythms.

But you can also hear elements – submerged but still present – of other music that’s inspired the duo: they’ve drawn some connections for us with psychedelic folk, Bowie in Berlin, Burial, and the film music of Popol Vuh and Krzysztof Komeda. This music shares a strong sense of place – whether in the world, or the mind – and the twelve songs on »Nuts of Ay« have such similar presence; a shared mood, a shared world, a shared sense of the possibilities of what electronic pop music could, and should, be. A bold and brave pop experiment.

Artwork by Carsten Nicolai
Mastering by Bo Kondren, Calyx Berlin

»Trapdoor Spider«, »On Waves and Years« & »Breaking Day«: lyrics by Milner Place
»All Nuns«: lyrics by Derek Jarman
»USA«: lyrics by Shane MacGowan
»Down Comes the Goose«: lyrics from a traditional song
»Forever Blowing Bubbles«: lyrics by Jaan Kenbrovin
»Everybody Had a Hard Year«: lyrics by John Lennon

Nachdem er 2022 "The Consistent Brutal Bullshit Gong" schrieb, hat sich Nate Mendelsohn immer mehr in seiner Musikgemeinde in Brooklyn, NY, verwurzelt. Er produzierte die letzten FRANKIE COSMOS- und DOUGIE POOLE-Alben, trat bei VAGABON und SAM EVIAN auf und machte Aufnahmen mit YAEJI und LADY LAMB. Diese Erfahrungen mit abenteuerlichen Künstler*innen sind in Mendelsohns Songwriting eingeflossen und haben, zusätzlich zu seinen frühen Jahren in der Jazz- und Avantgarde-Welt, ein Album hervorgebracht, das so manchem wahrscheinlich den Kopf verdrehen wird, wenn man Alben namens "Pet Sounds", "Fantasma", "Insignificance", "Blonde" oder "XO" mag. Wie auf einigen der genannten Alben verschmilzt auch auf "Well I Asked You A Question" das Physische mit dem Synthetischen: gesampelte Orchester duellieren sich mit echten Orchestern ("Fantasy"), die gesprochenen Worte eines Roboters duettieren sich mit einem menschlichen Chor ("Around"), und Geräuschexplosionen üben sich in Soli über traditionelle Rockinstrumente ("Rachel's Getting Married"). Obwohl viele der Sounds auf dem Album erweitert und gebrochen sind, arbeitete Mendelsohn mit der vollen MARKET-Band - Stephen Becker, Natasha Bergman und Duncan Standish - zusammen, um die Songs zu entwickeln. Er wollte "musikalische Unfälle mit ausgefransten Rändern - immer noch eine Gruppe von Leuten, die in einem Raum sind und Songs spielen". Neben der Kernband leisteten Katie von Schleicher, Mike Haldeman (MOSES SUMNEY, ALTO PALO), Justin Felton (L'RAIN, BIG THIEF), Rose Droll (FEIST, ART FEYNMAN) und Helen Newby mit der Technik von Adam Hirsch (Sam Amidon, Stephen Steinbrink) weltumspannende Beiträge.

Hailing from the Isle of Wight and steadily building in momentum via a run of stunning singles, Wet Leg are making their much anticipated breakthrough with their debut album on Domino. The duo hit a note between the brooding post punk and new wave romanticism and a spikier pop streak which should find them winning hearts and minds all over festival season. 'Chaise Longue', 'Wet Dream' and 'Too Late Now' have been doing the rounds since the girls signed to Domino in 2021, and it only takes one listen to know they're going to be huge. Razor sharp hooks, singalong choruses and a droll sense of humour are all conspiring to make Wet Leg your new favourite band.

After making waves with her critically acclaimed debut EP Sometimes I Forget You're Human Too, Bored at My Grandmas House, AKA Leeds-based Amber Strawbridge, is releasing her debut album “Show & Tell” on 7th June via CLUE Records/EMI North. The title track is out now with the reveal of the record - ‘Show & Tell’ is a breezy track which meets at the intersection between dream-pop, bedroom-pop and shoegaze, the sprightly guitar work echoing the droll lyrics and themes. It’s a hooky song which lays bare difficulties with trust, and building walls for self-protection. As Amber explains: “Show & Tell is quite a tongue-in-cheek song about me being the opposite of an open book and all the little specific things about me that I sometimes wish were different. Overall it’s about me being a guarded person and fearing the possibility of having to be vulnerable and realising that vulnerability is actually a beautiful thing and something I shouldn’t be so scared of.”

The Pheromoans are tenants of an unruly domain. Over the last 18 years the group have evolved from garage rock primitivists to auteurs of their own curious sound; a frothy brew of loose electronics, refractory rock and humdrum musing. Their songs are mutable, capricious, unreliable narrations, often withholding as much as they reveal. Russell Walker’s understated vocal has always been the band’s unifying focus, it is wry, unsparing and wilfully honest. Walker’s lyrics are an observational tour de force, sometimes droll, yet often tipping over into unlikely pathos. With previous releases on Upset The Rhythm, Convulsive and Alter, 2024 will witness The Pheromoans return with lucky album number 13, entitled ‘Wyrd Psearch’ (out March 1st on Upset The Rhythm).
‘Wyrd Psearch’ was recorded in Lewes throughout 2023. This was undertaken by founding member James Tranmer, his keen instinct for how the band should sound shaping many of the creative decisions. Joined by new guitarist Henry Holmes, the five piece doubled down on a decidedly breezy, melodic approach. Scott Reeve’s drumming is ever brisk, whilst Daniel Bolger explores AOR peripheries on keyboard and bass. “Wyrd Psearch finds us on relatively zestful form” affirms Walker “whether it be merrily recalling the Jason Williamson / Tim Lovejoy Covid summit, or mentally bathing in the pleasures of lunch hours spent strapped to a listening post in Borders.” With The Pheromoans there is always a familiarity at play, only broken and reassembled, like a bygone sitcom gone rogue in your memory. This contributes to the group’s peculiarly British outsider perspective, one that shouts from the sidelines, but never goes unnoticed.
Subjects covered lyrically on ‘Wyrd Psearch’ include “mid-life crises, male pattern baldness, and thwarted artistic and personal ambitions” according to Walker himself. “Nothing is off limits for scrutiny, even rural arts communities” he concludes. Lead single ‘Downtown’ swings with chiming guitars and finds Walker mid-breakdown trying to persuade a loved one to accompany him into the town centre to collect controlled medication and wind back the clock to happier times. “I want to keep you in cotton wool until pay day” he confides. ‘Cropped to Death’ and ‘Father Austin’ are ruminative and more relaxed in nature, whilst ‘Twibbon Wife’ is a more energetic effort, all jabbed synth chords, circuitous basslines and rampant drum fills. ‘Faith in the Future’ similarly bounds along with reverie.
Walker claims that the album’s title is an expression of his frustration at the ubiquity of people claiming things are eerie or weird / wyrd in the present cultural milieu. The artwork for the record is designed as an actual word search too, a knowing nod to how we all grapple for meaning amongst the absurdity of each day. Leaning into ‘weird’ as a coping mechanism is not on The Pheromoans’ agenda however. This album holds little sway with the supernatural, it’s not enough. The overriding impression given by ‘Wyrd Psearch’ is of a band renewed with ideas. There’s no trouble finding the right words, they’re hitting their mark, keeping up with the commentary. ‘Wyrd Psearch’ is a document of The Pheromoans mastering their unquiet moment.

When one of South Africa's most sought after trumpet players steps forward after a career alongside the very best in the International jazz scene, you know it's going to be a special record.

Dennis Mpale was one of South Africa's heavyweights. You'll find his name springing up on every important South African jazz record and billing since the 1960's. Chris McGregor's iconic Jazz/The African Sound LP, Abdullah Ibrahim's Dollar Brand, Barney Rachabane in the highly influential ensemble Roots, and early work in house bands appearing alongside Nick Moyake in The Soul jazz Men to name just a few. His trumpet playing had character, an extension of the body and amplifier of that great South African sound.

Leaving South Africa during Apartheid as a strong supporter and member of the ANC, Dennis made London his home, joining the newly established SA Jazz scene and standing in solidarity against the oppressions back in Africa.

Moving between London and South Africa during the 70's and 80's It wasn't till the early 1990's when Dennis finally settled again to make his biggest transition to solo artist, redefining his Jazz past and putting a heavy kwaito infused house slammer on the agenda. 1994s 'Paying My Bills' (a title maybe more appropriate now than it ever has been) is a mighty jazz kwaito house effort: From the heavy synth beat and gorgeous floating solo opener of 'Paying My Bills', to the highly infectious vocal phrasing on thumping house anthem 'Take My Time'. Paying My Bills takes the sensibilities of a jazz maestro and pairs it with one of South Africa's biggest producers Peter 'Hitman' Moticoe, creating the perfect recipe for a certified summer slammer.

Having previously only ever been released on CD, this is the first ever vinyl pressing of the album (hazy early test pressings lurk on a small number of lucky shelves). Vinyl mastering is handled by The Carvery's very own Frank Merritt here in London, with the resulting tracks generously split over 2 discs to fully appreciate the swampy heavy dub bass drolls for full dancefloor effect. It's loud and punchy and makes space for those glorious trumpet improvisations while keeping the synth refrains and heavy bass thumping.

Early plays include resident NTS DJ's and a feature on Palms Trax Radio 1 residency with surely more support to follow.

Running with the ball that 2020’s “Serve To Serve Again” punted forward, this album marks another energetic break towards the goal for Vintage Crop. ‘Kibitzer’ sees the band define their field of play, more melodic at times, still bruising, forever droll. These ten tracks of ‘snappy as elastic’ Australian punk are packed with tensile riffage, hefty beats and witty refrains of everyman curiosity.

‘Kibitzer’ was written in quick response to their critically lauded ‘Serve To Serve Again’ album. Harsh guitars, a brutish rhythm section and a knack for always having the right words at hand are still abundant, but this time Vintage Crop’s songs expand upon their forceful nature with greater harmonic arrangement. It was recorded by Jasper Jolley in one single session on a former apple orchard in Geelong, a backdrop that mirrors the band’s own organic growth whilst highlighting their willingness to approach capturing their own sound their own way. The album was then mixed and mastered by Mikey Young.

‘Kibitzer’ delves into themes of identity, resilience and acceptance; some of the more upbeat notions that the band have dealt with to date. ‘Casting Calls’ opens the record, slamming through the speakers with gusto and setting the tone for the following 30 minutes. “It’s rolling, we’re rolling, we’re winding back the tape, we’re getting better with each take” sings lead songwriter Jack Cherry. Accepting your limitations and taking pride in your work are key themes on ‘Kibitzer’. In fact ideas around learning, growing and being able to take things in your stride are strongly felt through their entire body of work. These themes hit home with the album’s title too, with Cherry feeling that ‘Kibitzer’ is an apt way to describe a lot of the band’s focus. “I feel like a lot of our lyrics over the years have been our unsolicited opinions on other people’s situations, the very definition of the word Kibitzer. So for this record we wanted to lean into that tendency by acknowledging it and even go as far as stamping it on the album cover.”

Musically the band have expanded their palette on this album; exploring a world of rhythmic harmony and a newfound vocal melodicism. There’s also greater lyrical elaboration and considered song structures at play. ‘The Duke’ is a mob of rollicking chants and heavy hitting, catchy to the core. ‘The Bloody War’ is a more sanguine reflection of tumbling drums, struck chords and shrill keyboard warble. “He’s got the keys to the universe and they’re hanging from his belt loop, his wit is as quick as lightning, his disapproving gaze is the thunder that follows” pipes Cherry on ‘Double Slants’, guitars chiming through the hubbub. ‘Hold The Line’ turns the wry amusement of dealing with cold callers into a fidgety anthem of knowing frustration. Whilst ‘Switched Off’ even welcomes the introduction of horns (courtesy of Heidi Peel) to the group’s repertoire, ushering in an unexpected serenity into their tough sound.

Running with the ball that 2020’s “Serve To Serve Again” punted forward, this album marks another energetic break towards the goal for Vintage Crop. ‘Kibitzer’ sees the band define their field of play, more melodic at times, still bruising, forever droll. These ten tracks of ‘snappy as elastic’ Australian punk are packed with tensile riffage, hefty beats and witty refrains of everyman curiosity.

‘Kibitzer’ was written in quick response to their critically lauded ‘Serve To Serve Again’ album. Harsh guitars, a brutish rhythm section and a knack for always having the right words at hand are still abundant, but this time Vintage Crop’s songs expand upon their forceful nature with greater harmonic arrangement. It was recorded by Jasper Jolley in one single session on a former apple orchard in Geelong, a backdrop that mirrors the band’s own organic growth whilst highlighting their willingness to approach capturing their own sound their own way. The album was then mixed and mastered by Mikey Young.

‘Kibitzer’ delves into themes of identity, resilience and acceptance; some of the more upbeat notions that the band have dealt with to date. ‘Casting Calls’ opens the record, slamming through the speakers with gusto and setting the tone for the following 30 minutes. “It’s rolling, we’re rolling, we’re winding back the tape, we’re getting better with each take” sings lead songwriter Jack Cherry. Accepting your limitations and taking pride in your work are key themes on ‘Kibitzer’. In fact ideas around learning, growing and being able to take things in your stride are strongly felt through their entire body of work. These themes hit home with the album’s title too, with Cherry feeling that ‘Kibitzer’ is an apt way to describe a lot of the band’s focus. “I feel like a lot of our lyrics over the years have been our unsolicited opinions on other people’s situations, the very definition of the word Kibitzer. So for this record we wanted to lean into that tendency by acknowledging it and even go as far as stamping it on the album cover.”

Musically the band have expanded their palette on this album; exploring a world of rhythmic harmony and a newfound vocal melodicism. There’s also greater lyrical elaboration and considered song structures at play. ‘The Duke’ is a mob of rollicking chants and heavy hitting, catchy to the core. ‘The Bloody War’ is a more sanguine reflection of tumbling drums, struck chords and shrill keyboard warble. “He’s got the keys to the universe and they’re hanging from his belt loop, his wit is as quick as lightning, his disapproving gaze is the thunder that follows” pipes Cherry on ‘Double Slants’, guitars chiming through the hubbub. ‘Hold The Line’ turns the wry amusement of dealing with cold callers into a fidgety anthem of knowing frustration. Whilst ‘Switched Off’ even welcomes the introduction of horns (courtesy of Heidi Peel) to the group’s repertoire, ushering in an unexpected serenity into their tough sound.

Deadletter release their new 7” single, ‘Pop
Culture Connoisseur’. Hailing from Yorkshire, the
now South London rooted band channel the droll
fury of The Fall and the lopsided rhythms of Talking
Heads into a strain of danceable post-punk,
exploring the darker side of existence through a
ens of narrative-driven levity.



Previously supporting the likes of Squid, Viagra
Boys and Pip Blom, Deadletter have emerged as a
genuinely thrilling live prospect. Experts in the field
of intensity, the band seamlessly switch from
conversational verses into a mix of unadulterated
post-punk fury and irresistible rhythm, addressing
hemes such as bureaucracy, loss of personal
dentity and modern-day consumerism.

New single, ‘Pop Culture Connoisseur’, produced
by Theo Verney (TRAAMS, Lazarus Kane, FEET),
finds singer and frontman Zac Lawrence switching
from the overt politicism of previous releases into a
more tongue-in-cheek narrative centred around the
case of PC Read, a police officer fired for stealing
doughnuts through a self-service checkout. In
addition to providing a case study into the fashion
hose in positions of authority often consider
hemselves above the law, the track also aims to
comment at the manner modern morality so often
relates to PR optics, as the cultural trope of law
enforcement eating doughnuts is played out in real
ime.

Have we ever needed great storytellers so badly? Voices to snap us out of our collective grey funk, to pull us out of our narrow, hemmed-in worlds and to lighten our days and enlighten us with their perspectives, Immersing us in their worldview and history. People who can make us laugh, cry, gasp or nod sagely, to see our world anew and not feel so alone. We need stories, vignettes, new windows to look out of, and narrators to help those new visions make sense.

In short, we need Scott Lavene. Born and raised in Essex, but a man of the world who has wandered far and wide, Lavene’s a storyteller who can capture all the madness, joy and frustration of life while singing about worms writhing in the ground. Lavene’s been in bands since his teens, but only really located the voice that makes his new album Milk City Sweethearts so remarkable – that combination of wry observation, humble wisdom, unguarded vulnerability and unpredictable humour – in a music workshop for alcoholics and addicts, long after he’d bid farewell to childhood dreams of pop stardom, and the ghosts and demons that accompany those dreams.

He released an album as Big Top Heartbreak, 2016’s Deadbeat Ballads, and followed it with his first album under his own name, 2019’s droll and marvellous Broke. “I was signed to a little label in Bristol, but then they went skint,” he remembers. This time, however, the disappointment didn’t shake his confidence or his resolve. “I started writing prose, like ‘flash fiction’, and I’ve begun a novel,” he says. “And I’ve started some creative writing workshops for people who’ve come out of my situation.”

Amid all this activity, the songs that became Milk City Sweethearts began to take shape. Lavene noticed the border between his prose and his songwriting beginning to become porous, and the album feels like a clutch of excellent short stories set to music. Without a label, he recorded the album at home, and assembled it in a week in his mum’s garage during lockdown’s heavy manners. It’s a warm, witty, charismatic record with a dark heart at the centre, Lavene sounding dislocated and therefore able to write his everyday stories with a left-handed brilliance and blunt honesty that keeps them so fresh, like classic Kinks, or David Bowie if he’d never had to go to space to feel otherworldly. His songs are talking blues, set to loose and minimal and excellent art-rock with a pop sensibility, the honk of Roxy sax and the guttural weird-funk of Ian Dury’s Blockheads haunting their grooves.

Have we ever needed great storytellers so badly? Voices to snap us out of our collective grey funk, to pull us out of our narrow, hemmed-in worlds and to lighten our days and enlighten us with their perspectives, Immersing us in their worldview and history. People who can make us laugh, cry, gasp or nod sagely, to see our world anew and not feel so alone. We need stories, vignettes, new windows to look out of, and narrators to help those new visions make sense.

In short, we need Scott Lavene. Born and raised in Essex, but a man of the world who has wandered far and wide, Lavene’s a storyteller who can capture all the madness, joy and frustration of life while singing about worms writhing in the ground. Lavene’s been in bands since his teens, but only really located the voice that makes his new album Milk City Sweethearts so remarkable – that combination of wry observation, humble wisdom, unguarded vulnerability and unpredictable humour – in a music workshop for alcoholics and addicts, long after he’d bid farewell to childhood dreams of pop stardom, and the ghosts and demons that accompany those dreams.

He released an album as Big Top Heartbreak, 2016’s Deadbeat Ballads, and followed it with his first album under his own name, 2019’s droll and marvellous Broke. “I was signed to a little label in Bristol, but then they went skint,” he remembers. This time, however, the disappointment didn’t shake his confidence or his resolve. “I started writing prose, like ‘flash fiction’, and I’ve begun a novel,” he says. “And I’ve started some creative writing workshops for people who’ve come out of my situation.”

Amid all this activity, the songs that became Milk City Sweethearts began to take shape. Lavene noticed the border between his prose and his songwriting beginning to become porous, and the album feels like a clutch of excellent short stories set to music. Without a label, he recorded the album at home, and assembled it in a week in his mum’s garage during lockdown’s heavy manners. It’s a warm, witty, charismatic record with a dark heart at the centre, Lavene sounding dislocated and therefore able to write his everyday stories with a left-handed brilliance and blunt honesty that keeps them so fresh, like classic Kinks, or David Bowie if he’d never had to go to space to feel otherworldly. His songs are talking blues, set to loose and minimal and excellent art-rock with a pop sensibility, the honk of Roxy sax and the guttural weird-funk of Ian Dury’s Blockheads haunting their grooves.

A guitarry hybrid of AZITA’s edgy rock / soul / R&B sound. Grooving good times, acerbic exchanges overheard in the street, shifts in community, the losses you will carry always, dark recesses late at night that echo with a wonder you've never felt before. Life.
All instruments played by AZITA; the wackest, most AZITA-harmonious sounding pop album yet.
For those who find the passage of time a one-way process of attrition, here’s good news for you. In the eight years since AZITA’s last long-player her fevered brain has barely rested and the proof is a new album of unbounded physical and mental activity, music and entertainment, entitled ‘Glen Echo’.
The worlds of the previous AZITAs have left their unmistakable essence. Her singular conception of pop music - the idiosyncratic songs, singing and playing that have graced seven acclaimed releases - is in verdant recurrence on ‘Glen Echo’, blossoming anew, cutting sharply in the spirit and image of her everevolving, always questioning style.
Writing and arranging on keyboards since the time of her solo debut, AZITA focused on guitars for this set of songs. Not simply for swagger or a fresh approach to soloing but as part of a way to elide expected singer-songwriter tropes, to democratically populate the sound-stage in equal partnership instead.
This is a key aspect of the ‘Glen Echo’ sound, one that determined another new choice - AZITA playing everything on the album herself.
Previous long-players ‘Enantiodromia’, ‘Life On the Fly’ and ‘How Will You?’ were achieved via close work with players and engineers who took the compositions from the demo to a finished form. Invariably though, something would get lost in the transmigration somewhere. With ‘Glen Echo’, AZITA comes through fully, jaggedly, most vividly, owning her intention entirely in the dialogue of singing and playing her rock and rhythm and blues.
The lyric sheet is riddled with language that circles, through the many moments of life, aspects of the passage of time, the pre-empted dreams and strangeness of the present and the way we invent an idealized past in response to the changes, guiding the narrative... where? It’s all banded together by AZITA’s wit, equal parts droll and dire, her dispassionate view of fates and outcomes for all of us here together on the planet, textured with unique, cinematic details and sudden dives into a deeply felt, utterly OG sense of soul.
In ‘Glen Echo’ are a multitude of sounds - all the moments in a life: the good time grooves, acerbic exchanges in the street, shifts in community and generosity, moments of loss you know you will carry forever, reflection upon unknown futures and pasts, the dark recesses late at night that echo with a wonder you’ve never felt before. You name it, AZITA’s got some sweet and sour theme music for it.

The modern, avant synth/dance-pop frolics of ‘Moi’ catch Steven Warwick (Heatsick) at his impish but droll best for PAN. Returning to PAN six years after his standout Re-Engineering album,
Warwick returns to similar zones of enquiry as 2016’s ‘Nadir’ - the first release under his birth name. With ‘Moi’ (which we definitely hear enunciated with a playful pucker), Warwick further emphasises the personal, playful nature of his work with 10 melodic, danceable and pop-tart arrangements accompanied by a range of vocal personas; from his naturally droll singing voice to more alien and leaned-out styles, plus a guest platitude by Turner Prize nominee, Jo Pryde.
Bubbling up with the pickled 2-step and Lolina-esque lilt of ‘Open Fire Hydrant’, Warwick clearly draws upon a UK dance music heritage - and its Afro-Caribbean and US inspirations - with the
freshest, exceptional style that percolates throughout the album, strongly informing its biggest dancefloor highlights such as the warped trancehall bumps of ‘Salvation’ and the crooked crankshaft of ‘Kaleidoscope’, along with the the brittle boned shimmy of ‘Rush’ and the hard but elegant drive of ’Silhouette.’
But they’re only half the story, which really comes together with contrasts in the fizzy downstroke of ‘Kind of Blue’, on the Black Zone Myth Chant-like psychedelic daze and blunted vocals in
‘Consolatio’, and the album’s standout ‘Danke’, which revolves around Jo Pryde’s gentle utterance of the title weft into ominous ambient clag, connoting a sort of humility that knowingly becomes
both less and more meaningful with each reiteration