The music of Karen Salicath Jamali of New York City comes with an amazing backstory. Originally a professional artist, sculptor and photographer, Jamali sustained a head injury in 2012 that caused a near-death experience, after which she began to play the piano spontaneously, without any previous skills. She began recording the music from her dreams in 2015, releasing eight albums and over 2500 compositions along with performing eight solo shows at Carnegie Hall. Her newest album is called Dreams of Angels.

Jamali explains that this album is “all about the energy from different Angels. It was recorded very early in the morning exactly as I received it. I have not changed anything; it is raw, unrefined music, never practiced before.⁠” She calls her music “an energetic embrace of love in sound.” There’s 16 Angels represented here so I’ll discuss the ones who spoke to me personally.

“ArchAngel Metraton (The Angel of Life)” opens the album with a composition dedicated to Metraton, said to be the highest, most powerful angel. Jamali plays an acoustic piano with an encompassing reverb and room echo, allowing one to really float away with the sound of her cascading keys. The tone here is surprisingly tentative and even bittersweet for such a powerful angel. I’ll just note here that the improvisational method Jamali is using feels fully composed, with a note-perfect conclusion. “Angel Gabriel (The Angel of Water)” symbolizes life, emotions, change, flexibility and feminine energy. My limited classical background recognizes this track as a kind of “Moonlight Sonata.” The melodic themes are strong, evocative and again slightly wounded, hesitant.

"Angel Gabriel's Heart" has a strong current of classical romanticism, with a prominent and compelling theme. "Angel Uriel (The Angel of Truths)” begins gently, as if the child you once were is calling across a sunny field. This Angel’s name means "The Light of God" and this track does seem to illuminate more brightly as it goes along. Next up, “Angel Israfill” embodies the divine connection between music and the cosmos, so I was excited to hear what that sounded like. Interestingly I’m getting bits of old American folk music, as imagined on piano. “Angel Jophiel (The Angel of Beauty)” guides us to see the world through divine love and wisdom, and the music again recalls the lyrical themes and complexity of Beethoven.

"Angel Michael (The Angel of Courage)”carries a light sword and can “cut through darkness.” This music is so beautiful it reminds me of a specific symphony theme, but when I played a fragment of the tune into my Find A Song app, it pulled up this track! "Angel Sandalphon (The Angel of Gentleness)" is said to have - yes - a gentle energy, and the music is confident but also self-effacing, like a child with wisdom well beyond their years. "White Angel" has an interesting backstory: it’s based on an angel sculpture Jamali made for a bronze casting company to comfort people who’ve lost loved ones. This music came from Jamali’s thoughts about this statue. The melodies really do evoke a great distance between loved ones, and the sadness that implies. "Angel Jeramiel (The Angel of Dreams)" closes the set with a musical rumination on the angel of visions and dreams. My personal vision was of a welcoming classroom reflecting the sheer love of learning and knowledge. But that’s me!

It is tricky to describe improvisational piano music (how would you describe the music of the late George Winston, for instance?) but the effect is between a medieval drawing room and a seat at a musical without words. I found myself entranced, and you might too!

The phrase double album was very much a thing when I was a kid. That term seems to have totally disappeared but if I will, The Tales of Morpheus by The New Citizen Kane would certainly be considered a double album. Spanning 21 tracks and clocking in at an hour and fifteen minutes, it’s a sprawling body of work that revels in excess. But rather than feeling bloated or unwieldy, it moves with the energy of a long, electrified night—an album built for movement, conversation, and late hours stretching into early mornings.  

From the outset, The Tales of Morpheus carries the DNA of a party record. The beats are steady and propulsive, the melodies immediate, and the atmosphere effortlessly buoyant. It’s dance music with an unpretentious core, leaning into pure fun in the same way Daft Punk once did—less about cerebral complexity, more about instinctive, physical reaction. These songs don’t beg for analysis; they ask you to move. The foundation is a sleek blend of crisp 4/4 percussion, pulsing basslines, and shimmering synths, while the vocals—bathed in auto-tune—glide across the mix like neon reflections on wet pavement.  

At its core, the album thrives on momentum, but that doesn’t mean it lacks depth. “Could Have Been” stands out as a rare moment of introspection, its wistful tone laced with the regret of roads not taken. On the opposite end of the spectrum, “Killer Charisma” is all exhilaration, a shot of pure adrenaline that stands as one of the album’s best moments. Other highlights include the pulsating groove of “Stupid Blue,” the euphoric escapism of “Forget The World,” and the mythic allure of “Adonis & Aphrodite.”  

Despite its length, The Tales of Morpheus never drags. It knows exactly what it wants to be: a soundtrack for nights spent under neon lights, where reality blurs and the world feels limitless. The hooks stick, the production lands, and by the time the final track fades out, the only logical move is to press play again.

Coma Beach is an experimental rock-punk-alternative band from Germany. Whatever feels musically artificial and preprogrammed is the exact opposite of these guys. You hear the sounds of real guitars and drums in a room, with sympathetic echoes to every chord and squonk. The vocals are punk classic, going back to the groundwork laid by the revered Mr. Rotten. The band has eight releases to their name, and the latest is called Passion/Bliss, an allusion to the classic Beckett play “Waiting for Godot.”

Based on the liner notes and press release (thanks guys!) this album seems like something of an Odds & Sods collection, with many “singles” having already been released in longer album versions. Turns out this is the third EP celebrating the 30th Anniversary of the band’s debut album “The Scapegoat’s Agony.” That would explain the raw, organic rock feel of these tracks. Influences include The Sex Pistols, Ramones, Hüsker Dü, Joy Division, The Cure, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Guns N' Roses and Bad Religion. Aside from Becket, the band has been schooled by the works of Shakespeare and Douglas Adams. The cover image looks like an AI version of Max Von Sydow. 

We open with “Passion (Single Version)” which was written by Captain A. Fear and U. Terror. There’s an overarching story that moves each track along, though I can’t tell if this was an imaginative touch added later. We’re first greeted by strummed electric guitar that really strains to hit the chords, with a matching disconsolate vocal (“the unnamed antihero turns his attention to his complete and utter lack of emotional well-being”). There’s a mournful cello underlining the bleak lyrics (“I’m going out the door / Where the axe of death passes me its hand”). The anticipatory tension finally breaks with the entrance of drums and wailing lead guitar, but we’re not done yet: In the third section we kick into fast punk-rock time. “You support the guilt!” Full disclosure: I thought they were singing “you support the Guild!” which made me think this was a political screed. Works both ways!


“Bliss (Single Version)” begins with a warbling picked electric guitar from the Cobain “In Utero” school, along with that classic Nirvana soft/loud dynamic. At this point our antihero has “quite literally lost his mind” which is represented by a rapidly increasing tempo and a Daltrey-like echo into nothingness. I love the punk drive of this track, and the double-tracked lead vocals. “Astray (Fallen Angel)” is another shortened Radio Edit of a classic track, and features an absolutely terrifying cover image. Musically this track moves freely between fast tempos and laid-back Armageddon Rock. I’m hearing lots of religious tropes including a few random Commandments, which makes sense as our hero now thinks he’s Christ. 

“Nothing Right (Original Version - Radio Edit)” apparently dates back to the band’s second demo tape. It’s slightly muddier than the previous songs but the singalong, OI-like chorus of “Tell me the meaning of my life… tell me the meaning of my death!” will have fists pumping and moshers moshing. Seriously this has every bit the energy of a classic early Who single. The final track is appropriately called “The Final Door (Radio Edit)” and was originally a hidden track from the band’s debut release (though this version is shorter). It’s a two minute, very fast rundown of all the torments our hero’s enemies can expect in the Afterlife (at least there IS one!). It’s a fairly simple, unchanging track but a nice and compact end to the festivities. 

This turned out to be a great introduction to a band that’s been cranking away for decades, and it’s never too late to tune in. Recommended!

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Olivia Reid’s latest single, “All in Time,” drifts in like the first snowfall of the season—gentle, deliberate, and laced with a quiet kind of gravity. A hushed blend of indie-folk and soft pop, the track moves with the unhurried rhythm of winter itself, embracing stillness rather than resisting it.

Reid describes it as an exploration of life’s natural cycles, a reminder that dormancy is just as essential as movement. “I wrote this song about the winter, struggling to let myself feel calm in the darker hibernal months of the year,” she explains. That sentiment pulses through every note, making “All in Time” feel like a cathartic form of therapy.  

The track opens with a soft acoustic guitar figure, its simplicity acting as a foundation for the atmospheric swells that follow. The percussion, an organic mix of footsteps and rhythmic textures, blurs the line between sound design and songcraft, grounding the ethereal quality of Reid’s voice.

​Her vocals arrive almost instantly—delicate yet commanding—enveloped in a reverb-drenched glow that gives them an almost spectral presence. There’s an innate warmth in her delivery, a lilt that makes even the song’s quietest moments feel magnetic. The outro is a particular highlight, dissolving into a mantra-like refrain as she repeats the phrase “All in Time,” allowing the song to fade like breath on a cold windowpane.  

The track lingers like the last traces of daylight in winter—faint but persistent, casting long shadows that feel as comforting as they are fleeting.

Melbourne duo My Alibi—Charles and Will—trace their roots back to Ballarat, where they soaked up music from an early age. Will, a drummer turned producer, and Charles, a fingerstyle guitarist-turned-vocalist, forged their musical partnership in 2020, shaping a sound that’s both intimate and expansive. Their songwriting, steeped in the narrative-heavy tradition of Ed Sheeran and Dean Lewis, balances raw emotional introspection with pop-minded accessibility. Whether busking on Melbourne’s streets or commanding a stage, they channel a natural chemistry that makes their music feel effortless.  

Their latest track, "Keep Me on Delivered," is a glistening meditation on modern connection wrapped in a melody so immediate, it practically levitates. The production leans into an airy, shimmering aesthetic, its weightlessness mirroring the song’s infectious optimism. Charles’ vocals thread the needle between excitement and melancholy—buoyant yet reflective, polished yet raw.

​It’s the kind of track that doesn’t just invite repeat listens; it practically demands them. At its core, "Keep Me on Delivered" is a testament to My Alibi’s knack for crafting songs that feel like both personal confessions and communal anthems—music that lingers long after the last note fades.  

The song’s hook is one of its strongest assets, an earworm that sneaks up on you and refuses to let go. There’s a cinematic quality to the way the melody unfurls, like the opening scene of a coming-of-age film bathed in golden-hour light. My Alibi doesn’t overcomplicate things—they let their earnestness take the lead, allowing the song’s emotional core to shine through. It’s a promising glimpse into what the duo is capable of, proving that sometimes the simplest ingredients—honest lyrics, tight production, and a great melody—are all you need to make something that sticks.

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​Del’Noire channels introspection and catharsis on "Tyler Down," a moody electronic track shaped by the weight of trauma and resilience. Inspired by *13 Reasons Why*—specifically, the character Tyler Down, a victim of relentless bullying and abuse—the song serves as both a reflection and a reckoning.

​Though fictional, Tyler’s story mirrors a grim reality that plays out across schools, offices, social media feeds, and even the highest levels of power. For Del’Noire, it’s a call to empathy, an echo of that age-old question: what’s so funny about peace, love, and understanding?  

Musically, "Tyler Down" leans into atmospheric textures, opening with soft, misty pads and a steady 4/4 pulse. Arpeggiated piano rolls drift in, adding an almost meditative quality before a thicker bassline and a more pronounced rhythm take hold. There’s an unmistakable spiritual undercurrent to the groove—somewhere between new-age serenity and deep-house hypnosis.  

Midway through, the track strips back, dipping into a moment of weightless suspension before launching into a classic techno build. It’s an understated ascent, never overpowering, but one that subtly reinforces the song’s emotional core.  

Del’Noire keeps things airy and restrained, crafting a track that floats rather than pounds. It’s the kind of electronic music that feels like exhaling—a quiet release, but a release nonetheless.

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Auld White Label’s Tangents EP kicks off with "Chapter 1," a lead single that feels like it’s navigating a dimly lit corridor between the avant-garde and the dancefloor. The Lanarkshire four-piece leans into texture-heavy production, embracing disorienting vocal delays, sweeping panning effects, and a haze of atmospheric flourishes that recall the unsettling murk of early Liars. It’s a track that operates on its own warped logic—what starts as a spectral drift soon finds its footing in a pulsing, rhythmic groove.  

As the beat locks in, feedback coils and synths contort into unpredictable shapes, folding in on themselves like an Escher drawing set to a 4/4 hi-hat. Ghostly vocal elements hover in the periphery, adding an eerie, weightless quality before the inevitable release. The build isn’t just satisfying—it’s necessary, a counterbalance to the song’s unpredictable sonic detours. There’s an underlying sense of propulsion here, something that evokes the controlled chaos of Battles at their most hypnotic.  

Then, at the three-minute mark, "Chapter 1" mutates again, dipping into a synth-pop inflection while still clutching onto its more jagged impulses. The dissonant synths refuse to be smoothed out, stubbornly lingering like a phantom melody just out of reach. Vocals dissolve into the mix, more texture than narrative, adding to the track’s abstracted, shape-shifting nature.  

It’s a song that thrives on contradictions—experimental yet danceable, disorienting yet deeply rhythmic. Recommended

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​Awaiting Abigail taps into a deep well of ‘90s hard rock nostalgia, the kind that feels less like a throwback and more like a band picking up where the era left off. Everything about them—their sound, their name, even their aesthetic—feels ripped from a time when alternative metal still had a pulse on mainstream culture. Their latest track, "Bad Mind," only reinforces that energy, delivering a sharp, riff-heavy punch that could slot seamlessly into an old Headbanger’s Ball lineup.  

The song wastes no time, launching into a riff that carries the muscular weight of early Metallica, built for headbanging and adrenaline surges. The vocals ride that momentum effortlessly—commanding yet melodic, with a balance of grit and grace. There’s a natural ebb and flow to the band’s dynamics, moving fluidly between verses and that juggernaut of a main riff. When the solo kicks in, the ‘90s influence becomes even more pronounced, not just in the playing but in the thick, midrange-heavy guitar tone that could’ve been lifted from an old Alice in Chains or Soundgarden record.  

Lyrically, "Bad Mind" wades into the familiar waters of mental health and self-liberation, a theme that has become almost a prerequisite in modern rock. But Awaiting Abigail approaches it with enough conviction to make it feel personal rather than performative.  

For anyone who grew up in the ‘90s, "Bad Mind" will feel like a flashback to when this style of rock ruled MTV and late-night radio. But it’s not just nostalgia bait—the band plays with the kind of conviction that makes their sound feel vital rather than recycled. Whether you're revisiting the past or discovering this era’s influence for the first time, Awaiting Abigail makes a strong case for why this sound still hits.

Garfield Mayor’s latest single, "Any Tips? (Jimmy James)", feels like flipping through the pages of a well-worn ‘90s alt-rock songbook—warm, unforced, and instantly familiar. Built on a foundation of mostly straightforward major and minor chords in 4/4 time, it swooshes in with acoustic guitar and vocals, setting an inviting, singer-songwriter tone before elevating into a 90’s alternative vibe. 

Drums, bass, and soft washes of electric piano or pads fill out the mix and I felt like song was really warm. The frequencies felt so inviting on my ears. At times, it brushes up against the windswept Americana of The War on Drugs, carrying a hazy, road-worn nostalgia.  

Just past the two-minute mark, the song tightens its grip. A guitar solo unfolds, one part smooth, bluesy phrasing, the other a classic ‘70s wah-soaked counterpoint, injecting a quiet urgency before the hook returns. Mayor leans in harder, his voice swelling with raw emotion, giving the song its most potent moment. It’s a shift that doesn’t feel forced but rather a natural progression, a subtle escalation that rewards patient listening.  

"Any Tips? (Jimmy James)" is a great tune and for those of a certain age should feel nostalgic. Its strength lies in its understated confidence, the way it moves without hesitation and settles into its own sense of familiarity.

​The melodies stick on first listen, the dynamic shifts creeping in just enough to keep things engaging. Overall, I think this song will resonate with a large demographic. Recommended.

Pascal Grandjean’s latest album Karma Beyond Death is an ambitious swing at the big questions—the kind of existential pondering that has fueled music long before it was merely entertainment. He frames his work as a fusion of popular sensibilities with deeper philosophical inquiry, a mission that’s as old as music itself. From tribal chants to 19th-century classical compositions, artists have long sought to distill the human experience into melody and form. Grandjean isn’t reinventing the wheel here, but there’s something compelling about his approach.  

Right from the jump, his latest release radiates theatricality and cosmic scale. “Paradise” sets the tone with harp, sweeping synthetic strings, and a grandeur that feels engineered for a stage production about the universe’s creation. The album rarely strays from that high-drama aesthetic, consistently reaching for epic peaks. Tracks like “Dying Hard” and “Way to Hell” lean into ’80s rock balladry—big, impassioned, and just proggy enough to catch the attention of Dream Theater fans. Even the quieter moments, like the piano-driven “Totally Calm,” are anything but restrained, pushing for emotional catharsis with the intensity of a final act monologue.  

It’s an album that doesn’t just flirt with grandeur—it barrels into it headfirst. Nearly every track feels like it’s grasping to encapsulate the entirety of human existence, which can be exhilarating but also intense. A touch of the everyday—something small, unremarkable, yet intimate—might have made the more bombastic moments hit even harder. Still, when Grandjean locks into his arena-sized rock opera mode, the results are undeniably fun and epic. The soaring, theatrical anthems stand out, tapping into a nostalgic, over-the-top energy that’s hard to resist.  

For those drawn to the high-stakes dramatics of ’80s prog and rock opera, this one’s worth a spin. It’s a maximalist ride, and Grandjean fully commits in a way that’s deeply satisfying.