For its second release, Berlin’s House-meets-Techno imprint SEVEN enlists Canadian producer Andre Zimmer, whose Wait A Minute EP delivers a tight, floor-ready mix of classic house textures, sharp percussion, and just enough modern edge to keep things fresh. Across four tracks—including a techno-leaning remix from Parisian artist Vitess—Zimmer crafts a collection that thrives on groove, bass weight, and tension-building transitions, making it a strong addition to the label’s budding catalog.  

The title track, “Wait A Minute,” sets the tone with fluttering percussion, clipped vocal samples, and a bassline that rolls in like a slow-building wave. Zimmer understands that house music’s power lies in subtlety—his arrangement lets each element breathe, giving the groove time to settle before the inevitable lift. The track’s peaks are effective without feeling heavy-handed, riding that sweet spot between deep-house hypnotism and classic, big-room energy. The bassline, in particular, does a lot of the heavy lifting, providing a warm yet propulsive undertow that makes the track hit harder with every loop. It’s the kind of song that sneaks up on a dancefloor—before you know it, you’re locked in, moving with just a little more urgency than before.  

Vitess’ remix takes “Wait A Minute” into more futuristic territory, swapping the original’s smooth flow for something a little more jagged. Arpeggiated synths shimmer over a crystalline bed of atmospheric pads, lending the track an almost extraterrestrial sheen. There’s a bit more ear candy in this version—swirling textures, unexpected filter sweeps—but in some ways, the original feels more dynamic. Still, the remix finds its own high point in its final minute, where sharper percussive elements cut through the haze, creating a driving, late-night energy that makes it particularly rewarding on headphones.  

Zimmer shifts gears on “Ice Lolly,” a full-throttle, nostalgia-drenched banger that pulls inspiration from ‘90s club music without feeling stuck in the past. Airy synths glide over a tightly coiled rhythm section, with a defined low end that anchors the track’s euphoric build. There’s a moment around the three-minute mark where everything collapses into a drum & bass breakdown, complete with a sweeping high-pass filter, before launching into a peak-time climax. It’s an adrenaline shot of a track—the kind that can single-handedly kick a set into high gear.  

“Round Two” closes things out with a more sensual, physical energy. Breathless vocal samples weave through pulsing bass and tightly wound percussion, creating a heady, hypnotic atmosphere. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t demand attention but commands it anyway, slowly pulling bodies deeper into the groove.  

At just four tracks, Wait A Minute is a streamlined, no-filler EP that prioritizes movement over experimentation. Zimmer and Vitess keep the momentum high from start to finish, making this an easy repeat listen—whether you’re warming up for the night or pushing through to sunrise.

On Almost Okay, Ann Marie Nacchio and Shay Moulder set out to reconcile the grandeur of Elton John with the industrial grit of Nine Inch Nails—a combination that, on paper, seems like a fascinating tightrope walk. In practice, the three-song EP leans heavily toward the former, favoring sweeping balladry and lush orchestration over the mechanical menace of Reznor’s world. The duo crafts a collection of songs that shine in their own right.  

“The Letter” is the most overtly Elton-indebted track, unfurling as a piano-driven ‘70s-style ballad draped in strings, guitars, and a full-band arrangement. But its true strength lies in the vocal interplay—Nacchio and Moulder’s harmonies glide through the arrangement, elevating the song’s emotional pull. 

The title track strips things back, allowing solo vocal performances to take center stage. What starts as a somber meditation steadily builds into something more uplifting, a hopeful swell that reaches its apex once the drums kick in. The orchestration is particularly well-handled, culminating in a grand finale that continuously ascends, leaving a sense of resolution hanging in the air.  

“Funny How It Goes” takes the EP’s most unexpected turn, with a cinematic sound design that creeps into post-rock territory. The production is pristine, and the song’s final moments lean into the kind of climactic, slow-burn crescendo that wouldn't feel out of place on an Explosions in the Sky record. It’s a left-field move, but one that pays off.  

Almost Okay finds strength in its towering arrangements and vocal chemistry. The execution is refined, the production is meticulous, and the EP manages to leave a lasting impression.

Hendrick is a 41-year-old Mother of two from Sidney, British Columbia who spends her lunch breaks on Skype with her guitar teacher Scott Cameron. Teacher and student decided to make an album together, featuring Hendrick’s songs and vocals backed by Cameron’s classically-influenced guitar arrangements. The result is the 14-track album Soft Landing. Hendrick calls it “a really refreshing combination of flamenco, blues, classical guitar and straight up pop.” For myself it’s as if Sony folksinger Mary Lou Lord happened upon a medieval troupe and began singing along (Hendrick mentions Jewel, who is also close to what I imagined!).

Hendrick had a couple creative goals with this album. She says her songs are about relationships from friendship to romance “that make us feel like we’ve found a soft place to land.” She means to explore love in “all its messy and magnificent forms.” She also wanted to explore her creative passion, which had laid dormant for too long. And finally, she wanted to push back on anybody who thinks middle-aged women are not “brimming with creative energy.” No argument here!

An interesting aspect of this project is that it was created virtually, with Hendrick writing the songs and creating scratch versions for Cameron across the country. Cameron would lay down his instruments and send an instrumental mix to Hendrick, who then added vocals. Finally the tracks would return to Cameron for final mixing.

“Give In To Me” opens the album with the amazing nylon-string guitar work of Scott Cameron, with a style that evokes mandolins and lutes. Hendrick’s lovely voice fits the backing like a glove, especially with repeated, hypnotic lines like “You’re what I couldn’t find.” There’s a slight tension within the song as to whether the narrator has finally found her “high school sweetheart” at last, or blown her one and only chance. As the song progresses, Cameron adds bass, virtual strings and finally a folk-rock band arrangement. Well under three minutes, there’s an entire universe within this song alone.

“Deep Feeling Man” begins a bit like the Mason Williams tune “Classical Gas” but quickly moves into flamenco tempo. Hendrick’s vocals are a bit lower and more earthy here, especially within the sonic “windows” Cameron creates for her. “The Fairy” is a lively pop rocker where the resemblance to the songs on Mary Lou Lord’s “Got No Shadow” is quite strong. Cameron takes on the rock mantle easily but can’t help but slip back into his classical runs! Also a cool bass-only moment at the end.

“Buried Words” finds our narrator haunted by romantic memories (or is it ghosts?) backed by a spooky virtual string quartet and organ. “Don’t Let It Rain Here” frames Hendrick’s vocals with big, full piano chords and strings. Thematically this feels like a celebration of a thriving family unit “with the kids in tow” and the wish that “the rain” doesn’t spoil the good times (though in a sudden twist, the rains do arrive). There’s a bit of Brian Wilson in the simple, evocative piano chords. “Cyclone” seems to delve deeper into the oncoming storm clouds of a relationship hinted at in the previous track. Hendrick’s vocal is slightly buried, making me wonder if she’d rather not face this reality after all? 

“Viola Visits” has an upbeat Island vibe, like Jimmy Buffett stopped by to jam. Hendrick has lots of lyrics and amazingly they almost match the music note for note. “Burning” is another upbeat folk tune (I find I’m liking these the most) and takes us on a quick but satisfying journey. “American Goldfinch (Obama Daydream)” appears to be a love song for Barack Obama! The humor and audacity are quite fetching, and Cameron comes through with another terrific, multilayered arrangement. “I’m Not Sorry” ends things on a funky, bluesy note, about the last thing I expected! It feels celebratory, as our narrator is apparently not at all sorry that a bad relationship has ended. You go girl!

There’s some albums that are just a sheer pleasure. This is one. See for yourself!

When I first read Mr. Neeley’s press release, I thought it said: “Nolan Neeley releases DIY album after hours of exploring nostalgia and grief.” That’s incorrect, but not exactly wrong! The name of this new DIY release is literally After Hours, written and recorded by Indiana-based artist Nolan Neeley. He calls it “a deeply personal and evocative collection of songs blending Americana, folk-rock, indie and singer-songwriter influences.” Those influences include Wilco, Elliott Smith and The Grateful Dead. A friend described these songs “as if Jason Isbell and The Beatles had a baby.”

Neeley spent a decade in Chicago playing in the garage band Blind William Tell. Returning to Southern Indiana, he raised a family and decided to go solo. As a software developer in his day job, Neeley built himself a songwriters’ toolkit which he used to write some of these songs, along with a RhymeGuide to act as a more intelligent Thesaurus. Neeley wrote, performed, recorded and mixed the album entirely by himself. My favorite kind of band! Aside from nostalgia and grief, Neeley’s songs take inspiration from personal experiences “and an intermix of influences from books, movies and overheard conversations.” This is true of most songwriters but interesting to see it spelled out!

Neeley recorded his album using Reaper, and counts among his guitars both a Martin and a Taylor acoustic. Not too shabby! For some of his guitar effects he plugged in a Helix floor unit, even using it on some vocals. There’s 15 songs here (over an hour of music) so I’ll discuss some favorites.

“dog house” begins the album with a strummed acoustic and electric along with a loose, fuzzy slide guitar right down the center. It’s that comforting DIY sound right from the start, but not “LoFi” - it has an amiable looseness that makes you feel right at home. Neeley’s voice is good, and works great in a blues context. The hook or trick of this song is when Neeley sings the chorus “tell me what I gotta do” and then goes falsetto for the second repeat. Seems obvious at first but I’ll be damned if I didn’t start singing along in falsetto as well! “red desert highway” kicks us into rock mode, but without any drums - it’s all electric guitar, tempo and attitude. I love the reference to “riders on the storm playing on the radio” though at first I’d hoped Neeley had just stolen the phrase for himself! The vocal here sounds like one of the Helix-processed takes. The cool fuzz solo sounds like you’re listening to a pal in his bedroom.

“galena” gets sweet and folky with an arrangement similar to Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay.” Neeley double-tracks his vocals and ornaments the chords with sweet, clean lead melodies. I’m even hearing bass for the first time! If you’re looking for a more polished, traditional track, this would be it. “two hands” takes another step forward by adding simple drum beats, so we’re now hearing essentially a full band. The rhythms and playing are delightfully loose and quirky, as if the edifice could crumble at any moment but never does. Musically, “see you tonight” feels a bit like a rock version of “Little Drummer Boy.” 

“american dream” feels like an Americana cover tune (or acoustic Neil Young), with great folky rhythms and evocative, dustbowl lyrics. “roman candle” was the title of Elliott Smith’s debut album; this song certainly feels like early Smith or even Wilco, with a smart acoustic backing for the clever lyrics, overdriven bass and a short, killer lead solo. “shut my mouth” has incisive lyrics that reminded me of John Prine (“There’s a hole in my chest / Like the nest where the butterflies lie to express / This flash from the past.”) “how could I have known” creates a kind of musical claustrophobia with weirdly processed guitar and very intimate, vulnerable lyrics about heartbreak and loss. Just before the end, “everything’s fine” hails from the Elliott Smith/White Album school of acoustic rock. Neeley takes a surprisingly accomplished acoustic solo. “why’d you do it” closes the set with a goofy, hip hop-rock exercise with neat sounds and a devil-may-care attitude. It all ends abruptly with the ring of a bell. 

I have literally just scratched the surface of all that Neeley’s created here. If you’re interested in authentic songwriting in a DIY package, check this out with all haste!

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One reason I love reviewing music is that, far from being an God of Musical Knowledge, I’m actually quite ignorant about a lot of genres and trends. What I learned this week is the term “anti-folk sonic revival” of which our New England artist Tom Abbott is a proud practitioner. His fourth and newest release is titled Buried Treasure Lost Forever.

Anti-folk emerged in the 1980’s as a reaction to the commercialization of folk music, and utilizes a DIY ethos, unconventional songwriting and humorous or satirical lyrics. Abbott calls his music “Immersive folk-punk with gritty vocals and jovial orchestral arrangements, with hints of math rock, punk and even bossa nova.” He began as a guitarist for several alternative bands, and to these ears that sound has not been left far behind! To me Abbott’s a mixture of my two favorite Alternative bands: The Fleet Foxes (lush instrumentation) and The Weakerthans (wry vocals and cockeyed song topics). The sophistication of his arrangements point to his schooling by New England Conservatory teachers, and his influences included indie rockers Neutral Milk Hotel and singer-songwriter Andy Shauf. There’s 16 songs here (a full hour of music!) and I love them all, but here’s some highlights.

“Another Way” begins with sweetly picked acoustic guitars and Brian Wilson-like vocal trills. At the one-minute mark the full rock sound kicks in, tight and clean and propulsive. Not sure if this is a live band, a mixture of Abbott and virtual instruments, or both. Whatever, it kicks solid butt! As mentioned, Abbott’s lead and harmony vocals recall the real-guy-grit of The Weakerthans’ John K. Samson.

After a short acoustic interlude, “Nothing Lasts” unfolds with layers of brightly strummed electrics and virtual strings, musically built on a descending motif of alternating major and minor chords. Abbott’s vocals are half-spoken and create complimentary melodies to the main themes (maybe a bit like the Smashing Pumpkins). A word here about Abbott’s lyrics: he seems preoccupied with romantic love, either wanting it, celebrating it, or regretting its loss. “Nothing lasts forever but I don’t want this to end / So let’s just pretend like it won’t.” The nonstop invention within this song would be enough for six full songs by a lesser artist.

Another thing I love about this album is how the songs follow each other without even a pause for breath. “Castaway” adds a bit of Island vibe to Abbott’s basic sound. There’s a middle section where we can suddenly hear just how great Abbott is on that lead guitar, followed by a wailing, untethered sax solo. I love the concluding verse: “My only friend’s in the mirror / and he’s getting sick of me.” We get our promised bossa nova track titled “Isn’t This Where We Had Our First Date?” which has a lounge-like piano quartet supporting a lead line by a flute-like patch. Not content to stay in one spot, Abbott merges this track into a stomp-time section with twangy unison guitar lines and growling bass. 

“In Your Blood” has a solo-McCartney-type arrangement led by acoustic guitar with electric melodic lines that match the vocals, and the chorus is not safe for work! “Why Can’t I Breathe Underwater?” is a short instrumental addendum to the previous track, but noteworthy for its proggy invention. “Time (Where You Going)” is a song where I really felt the Fleet Foxes connection, both in arrangement and vocals (though Abbott is more irreverent than the Fleets). “Is This Really How It Ends?” is not the end of the album, but is a nice two-minute guitar, keyboard and sax workout (who IS that guy?). The title track “Buried Treasure Lost Forever” is the actual ending: a six-minute folk journey that seems to sum up all the lyrical themes thus far. It begins with just acoustic and voice but slowly builds, gloriously operatic but also with moments of dissonance. 

People who say there’s no good music anymore obviously don’t hear the albums that regularly come across my desk. This album was a total joy from start to finish and will be part of my playlists from here on. Investigate Tom Abbott!

Don't Blink returns with Church, an album that weaves together political and personal reflections without losing its signature melodic touch. Across its tracklist, the project moves fluidly between introspection and groove, pairing sharp lyricism with layered instrumentation. There’s a sense of urgency here, but also a deep, abiding musicality—songs that invite movement as much as contemplation.  

The album kicks off with "Over and Over," a track that immediately sets the tone with its lush, melancholy textures. The bass work is intricate, weaving through the mix as melodic guitar lines intertwine. It’s quintessential Don't Blink—warm, expansive, and emotionally weighty without being overwrought. The repetition of “it’s the power of our love” lingers, acting as both a hook and a mantra.  

"Push Me, Pull You" leans into its rhythm, built on a tightly wound groove that feels effortless but refined. The vocal melodies lock in beautifully, and the organ work is particularly well-executed, adding warmth without overshadowing the song’s structure. "Be Careful What You Wish For" shifts gears into something funkier, with standout basslines that propel the song forward. It’s the kind of track that refuses to sit still—infectious, danceable, and brimming with personality.  

"The Truth of You" pulls the album into more dissonant, synth-heavy territory, experimenting with texture in a way that adds a darker undercurrent to the record. "The Turnaround" is a wild ride, its jangly guitars and dynamic shifts creating something uniquely Don't Blink—playful yet precise, with bass work that once again steals the spotlight.  

As the album progresses, there’s plenty to dig into. "Caught in the Backslide" leans into a catchier, more immediate structure, while "And A Bird Can Sing" expands outward with a dreamlike, almost cinematic quality. The delay-drenched vocals add a hazy, surreal dimension, making it one of the album’s more atmospheric moments.  

The title track, "Church," arrives with an introspective weight. Don't Blink describes his songwriting process as his own personal form of church, stating, "It’s not a building, it’s not a house of gold—really, I’m talking about a state of mind.” The sentiment feels embedded in the song’s DNA, making it one of the album’s more defining statements. Closing track "Grey Skies" ties everything together, reflecting on the past while grounding itself in the present. It’s a fitting end, melancholic but not without resolve.  

With Church, Don't Blink delivers an album that feels both familiar and expansive, refining his signature sound while pushing into new territory. Fans of his previous work will find plenty to love, while newcomers may find this to be the perfect entry point. It’s an album that rewards close listening—thoughtfully constructed, deeply felt, and well worth the time.

Under the moniker Worldview, Oxford-based songwriter, performer, and producer Oliver Shaw stitches together rock, pop, folk, and dance into a stylistically diverse, melody-driven collection. Everything Is Temporary leans into themes of impermanence—loss, nostalgia, and shifting fortunes—while refusing to be pinned down to a single sound. Across eleven tracks, Shaw moves fluidly between textures and moods, balancing introspection with bursts of playfulness and groove-heavy energy.  

The album kicks off with “Can't Come Back from That,” an immersive opener where piano, bass, and guitar move independently yet lock together seamlessly. There’s a psychedelic undertow to the arrangement, with orchestral swells lending a dreamlike atmosphere. At moments, it recalls the expansive storytelling of Dark Side of the Moon-era Pink Floyd, though it never fully settles into the past.  

“Chance Is Gone (Gatsby)” pivots sharply into an ‘80s synth-pop world, complete with arpeggiated synths and a propulsive groove that feels like it was tailor-made for a long-lost *Studio 54* setlist. Then, in another stylistic shift, “We Walk Among You” strips things back to a soft piano ballad, its delicate electronic percussion and sweeping strings pushing it into cinematic territory. The song builds gradually, its emotional weight carried by confident, expressive vocals.  

“In the Shop” is one of the album’s most undeniable highlights. There’s an effortless, playful energy here, a buoyancy that feels both whimsical and grounded. Even if the lyrics hint at something more complex, the spirit of the song remains unapologetically hopeful. “The Exceptions” leans into a 70s jazz sensibility, while “An Incantation” dials into something more brooding and pensive, showcasing Shaw’s ability to shift moods without losing his melodic center.  

“This House” carries a mid-energy rock momentum, blending ‘70s and ‘90s influences into something that feels comfortably familiar yet refreshingly personal. “A Force of Nature” returns to the piano ballad format, while “Simpler Times” leans into rustic, organic textures, giving the latter half of the album a more grounded, reflective tone. Closer “Here Until You’re Not” ties it all together with a hook that lingers long after the song ends.  

Everything Is Temporary thrives on its willingness to explore. Shaw isn’t interested in forcing cohesion, and that works to his advantage—each track carves out its own space, contributing to the album’s overarching theme of transience. What it lacks in strict sonic unity, it makes up for in variation and sheer melodic instinct. It’s an album that never stays in one place for too long, but that’s exactly the point.

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Antoine Guigan delivers a deeply introspective performance on "Seventeen," a piano-driven ballad that wrestles with the ache of loving someone so much that you wish you could rewrite their past. There’s an almost cinematic weight to the song, as if each note is a plea to undo old wounds, to rewrite history in the name of love. The arrangement is stark yet forceful—hammered piano chords ring out with a sense of urgency, underscoring lyrics steeped in longing and regret.  

Guigan’s baritone is the song’s anchor, rich and resonant, carrying a depth that recalls the storytelling prowess of Nick Cave, Tom Waits, and Leonard Cohen. It’s less about theatrics and more about presence—his voice doesn’t just tell the story, it embodies it. Every phrase lands with the gravity of someone who has sat with these emotions for a long time, making peace with their weight but never quite letting them go.  

There’s also something undeniably French about the song’s atmosphere. Whether intentional or not, it evokes a certain poetic melancholy, a kind of storytelling that feels at home in dimly lit cafés or late-night city streets. The song exists in that delicate space between nostalgia and pain, where memory is both a comfort and a burden.  

At its core, "Seventeen" is a meditation on yearning—on the impossible desire to fix what’s already happened. It lingers on the question of whether love can heal the past, but never fully answers it. Perhaps that’s the point. Whether Guigan offers a resolution in a future song remains to be seen, but for now, "Seventeen" leaves listeners suspended in the kind of sorrow that’s impossible to shake.

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Olivia Booth delivers a sharp, no-nonsense rocker with "VICTIM," a track that cuts straight to the core of manipulation and false narratives. Backed by Kian Mulenga (drums), Josh Owen (bass), and Ed Whittaker (guitar), Booth unpacks the frustration of being misrepresented—of watching someone twist reality in their favor while the real harm goes unseen. It’s a theme that feels increasingly relevant, especially in an era where perception often outweighs truth.  

Musically, "VICTIM" sticks to the essentials—driving 4/4 rhythms, pulsating drums, and reverb-drenched guitars that build a sense of urgency. The track doesn’t overcomplicate itself, instead relying on its energy and Booth’s vocal presence to carry it forward. Her voice is the focal point, shifting from controlled intensity to moments of raw emotion, making it clear she’s got the range to command attention.  

The song’s themes will likely resonate most with younger listeners, especially those still navigating the complexities of trust and betrayal. As you get older, you (hopefully) figure out who’s worth keeping around, but Booth captures that in-the-moment emotional turmoil with authenticity. "VICTIM" doesn’t overstay its welcome—it gets in, makes its point, and leaves. It’s a solid, well-executed track that highlights Booth’s vocal strength and lyrical conviction.

Gianfranco Malorgio has built an impressive musical résumé over the years, but his latest single, "Phoenix," speaks for itself—no backstory required. A sprawling, cinematic piece, the track balances grandeur with a sense of unease, blending rich instrumentation into something that feels both haunting and triumphant.  

The organ sets the tone early, draping the song in an eerie, almost gothic atmosphere. There’s a lingering tension in its overtones, giving the track a weightiness that never quite dissipates. But rather than staying trapped in the darkness, the song steadily pushes forward, propelled by a driving rhythm section that injects a sense of movement and urgency. The drums, in particular, create a subtle contrast—grounded and steady yet determined, adding an undercurrent of resilience beneath the ghostly melodies.  

Then comes the final minute, where "Phoenix" fully spreads its wings. Twin lead guitars take over, weaving around each other in a way that recalls the sprawling, emotive solos of Pink Floyd. It’s a cathartic moment, where all the tension that’s been building is finally released in a wave of soaring guitar lines. The interplay between them feels almost symphonic, shifting the song’s weight from ominous to euphoric in its closing moments.  

Before hearing this, I wasn’t familiar with Malorgio’s work, but "Phoenix" makes a strong case for diving deeper into his catalog. The track is an immersive experience. If you’re in the mood for something expansive, evocative, and deeply layered, this is one worth exploring.