When a musical madman like Eric R. Rasmussen decides to make an album titled Carnival, I have to shiver a little. Will the two-headed dog be there? The Man With Woman Parts? But I'm a big fan of this prolific New York artist-writer, so I'm going in with eyes open! The easiest way I can describe Rasmussen is like Captain Beefheart as a solo artist, playing everything himself, releasing a Trout Mask-like album every couple weeks. That's only a slight exaggeration! 

Rasmussen makes his music (usually) by himself: a mixture of pop, punk and garage rock, with occasional detours into classical, country, folk and solo piano. He works fast: his release count stands at 47 albums and 600 songs. He creates fractured backing tracks over which he sings or pontificates absurdist lyrics and poetry. There's always a lot of deadpan humor. Rasmussen describes his lyrics as "tiny narratives about people living outside the law, failed revolutionaries, faded movie stars, scam artists, doomed lovers and dangerous obsessives." The first thing I do is read his song titles for quick laughs: "Let's Get Divorced at the Carnival," "Cough Syrup Courage" and "Falling In and Out of Love With the Drummer" are just three. 

Speaking of drummers, the biggest surprise here is that Rasmussen decided to play an actual drum kit in a Manhattan studio! Songwriters and guitarists yearning to play their own drums is an occupational hazard of the indie world; I myself have been a proudly mediocre drummer since 2006! To his credit, Rasmussen has not slowed his paramilitary beats and paradiddles even a tiny bit, and the organic beats add a new, fuller dimension to his music. He says he purposely accentuated the drums in the mix to get a more "roomy" sound. As before, Rasmussen mostly records at his Logic Pro X home studio with both live playing and MIDI scoring. 

"Let's Get Divorced at the Carnival" sounds exactly like Salon right from the start, with an insistent one-two beat, a scrambled keyboard riff and Rasmussen's deadpan, hangdog vocals. Divorce is certainly the theme, as "the locals (are) taking bets / on when this marriage ends... we are all diminished now, your attorney saw to that." Another Rasmussen trademark is to suddenly drop all instruments but the drums, or just drums and vocal, or even to stop the song entirely before restarting from scratch. His organ-like patch has a Beach Boys pop flavor. "Hey, Tricoteuse!" has a phasing bass as a centerpiece, ornamented with synth bells. I always imagine Rasmussen's melodies like those interwoven underground cables of different colors, while he skips along overhead singing. Lots of live cymbals on this one, kind of like The Shaggs (I'm sure Eric is a fan!). "Teenage Mule" brings on a cranky fuzz guitar and tooting horn-like patches, followed by some cool marimba sounds. Toward the end Rasmussen sings into your left ear, which scared the hell out of me with headphones!

Rasmussen describes "Drink Mee" as "Stonesy Weirdness" which I think refers to the vocals in a song like "Emotional Rescue" but with a jaggedly Beefheartian guitar line. "Your Last Aquamusical" feels like a pop song that died early and is desperately trying to speak from the afterlife. You wouldn't guess from the title but there's more references to breakups and divorce here (a hidden theme of the album?). "Scenes From the Crisis Economy" is a welcome, upbeat rock number with a trace of Americana crossed with New Wave. "Body Music" could have been called Scary Carnival Music!

"Cough Syrup Courage" has a great title and threatens to be a mainstream pop rocker... for about five seconds! This one's a perfect example of Rasmussen's ability to create compelling cross-melodies that connect just often enough to avoid total anarchy. "The Yankee Can't Dance" comes very much from the Trout Mask or Lick My Decals school and is thus an instant favorite for me, and of course the lyrics are obtuse but funny. "I'm going back to Pedro / He's 93 but at least he knows the steps / He could be my grandfather / But I'll give him another chance... he's the only one in town who knows how to dance!" There's also a cool cross-rhythm of backwards percussion and a weird voice loop. "Alien Baby" is like a waltz in the Ballroom of Hell, thanks to the ominous strings and woodwinds. "Bet Against the Shooter" has a cool main riff a bit like Donovan's "Jennifer Juniper" with occasional film noir sax and spooky organ. Surprisingly accessible, despite itself!

There's 15 tracks so I had to skip a few, but they're all worthy. You owe it to yourself to see what all the fuss (from me) regarding Salon de la Guerre is about!

I love when a band comes up with its own genre. Flame of Life is a New York experimental rock band who play a style of music they call "Lazer." Confusingly, the band was formed by two guys named Fazer and The Bottle in 2015, releasing a demo titled "Dark World" in 2016. Having begun in Belarus, the band was forced by the Russia-Ukraine war to move to New York. More albums followed, bringing us to the new collection Magna.

The lineup for this album is Fazer (vocals/lyricist), The Bottle (acoustic guitar), The Cowboy (drums), Amsheah (electric guitar), Dead Flower (bass), Damien Nolan (keyboards) and Arxonix (DJ). Some of the songs were recorded in 2024 when the band was traveling across Colorado: "The state's deserts inspired the musicians; their wildlife is reflected in Flame of Life's music." They describe their genre as "a kind of alternative rock, but very specific. We use synth guitars a lot, (along with) electronic samples to make our music futuristic. We are heavy though. Heavy and raw." They also state that the band members are not friends: "We just play Lazer because we can't stop playing it." Musical influences include industrial vibes like Orgy and Nine Inch Nails. "Our guitarist is a big fan of grunge." Mixing and mastering was by DJ Arxonix, who (along with keys player Damien Nolan) delivers a "raw and wild sound."

The term Outsider Music gets thrown around pretty easily these days, but when you truly encounter a group that operates on their own wavelength, there's no escaping it. I'm fairly well-versed in "difficult music" but these guys have given even me a thorough working-over! Not to be reductionist, but at least to a new listener, every Flame of Life track seems to follow a similar trajectory. We start with one of the lead instruments (guitars, keyboards) playing a convoluted riff that cycles back a few times, sometimes with drums, atop which we have vocals that are so slurred and altered that I can't honestly tell if they are in English. But that's not just one song: each track is like a deck of cards with different sections that's been shuffled and randomly dealt to the Listener. If you're not watching your player, you may think three songs have played during one, and you'll have no idea where one song ends and another begins. There's something brave and noble about making music this weird, but the fact that the guys do this simply because they love it wins them lots of points with me! Given the sheer amount of sonic data, I'm only going to focus on a few tracks and hope that gives you an idea what to expect.

​"Cavaral" is a track that seems to embody the influence of the Colorado desert, with deep overtones suggesting a barren landscape and vocals that start out as echo'd moaning. Suddenly the track shifts into Zappa-like keyboard complexity, matched perfectly with The Cowboy's drums. I was able to find info online that the vocals are in Sakmalayan, which is a fictional language the band has used before. It kind of suggests someone babbling in mid-aneurism. While I was typing this, the track went through four distinct changes, like that random deck of cards I mentioned before. The song fades with a spaghetti western-like riff.


"Veavat" actually reminded me of indie legend Zan Hoffman's huge library of vocal-centric tracks, if Zan babbled instead of using English. The title apparently has something to do with cryptocurrency. The arrangement is similar to the previous track except with several times more changes, with rapid "channel surfing" between guitar and keyboard riffing and trap-like drums. I do get the feeling that some of these melodies would sound baroque if played respectfully on the piano!  "Kaeshi" is said to be a concentrated seasoning base in Japanese cuisine, and the flavors within this track are certainly radical. The changes have been ramped up and suggest a mix tape that someone has repeatedly interrupted with new sounds. It's almost a cliche to mention Captain Beefheart, but the closing piano melodies strongly resemble "Peon" from "Lick My Decals." The creative keyboard work continues in "Te Mai Ufolt" which also boasts some cool low frequencies. I can't swear to it but I think the main lyric is "I remember being inside of you."

"Seimor Afaid" (I can't help but read that as "Seymour Afraid" and so did Google) alternates opaque keyboard constructions with classically beautiful acoustic guitar. At this point I started to wonder if the guys use certain riffs in more than one song, as they're starting to sound familiar. This is an example of a track I was certain had ended about a minute too early. "Tou Amael" has a weirdly upbeat, playful vibe while essentially sticking to the script. "Seomft" has some very cool production touches and features a lot of trebly guitar and keyboard interplay, with the usual non-English babble. I was curious to see if "Disco Aleomt" was actually disco, but apparently not in this lifetime. However the variety of acoustic guitar flavors and the rapid editing make this one a late favorite of mine.

There's 17 tracks here and run between three and four minutes, with a couple five-minute "epics." As each song contains multitudes, this is an album you could play continuously at the end of the world and still have time to fry fish. If you love investigating outsider music or are just very brave, check Flame of Life out!

From Upstate New York comes indie rock artist Michael Wu, who says his music blends melodic guitar work, jangly alternative textures and clear, understated emotional resonance. Wu wears his influences proudly, including Johnny Marr, Beach Fossils, The War on Drugs, early Death Cab for Cutie and especially R.E.M. When I first received this single, the sound file was missing, so as I waited I poked around Wu's website. There I encountered both his terrific previous single "Time25" (reviewed by Jamie Funk) as well as a video cover version of my favorite R.E.M. song, "Driver 8." So I'm pumped and ready to go!

Wu does not appear to be in album mode yet, having just gone solo in 2025 and concentrating on singles. He also performed live across the Northeast with acts like Gunpoets and Maddy Walsh & The Blind Spots, while also collaborating with artists like Randy McStine and Nepali folk-rock musician Diwas Gurung. Regarding "Better Way" Wu explains:  "The song pairs a bright, guitar-forward arrangement with lyrics about confronting internal resistance and stepping out of self-imposed inertia. It’s lean, melodic and focused on clarity, both musically and emotionally."

Wu recorded this track across multiple locations, with help from Randy McStine on drums and help with shaping the guitar tones and textures. Mixing was by John Carter Ruttle at New Vine Records in Binghamton, NY, and mastered by Audio Animals in the UK. It's no surprise that the clean, forward rock energy of the track immediately put me in mind of R.E.M. with added hoots like the Stones in "Sympathy For The Devil." When the verses begin, the guitars make a pleasing switch to a phasing, jangly sound. Wu has a good alternative rock voice: not spectacular but totally capable of delivering these kinds of songs in a friendly, even humorous manner (maybe like TMBG or Weakerthans). This track has an interesting chorus that feels like additional verses, but in double time and with different vocals. Like R.E.M. there's no guitar solo, just a reprise of the opening chords, as well as using the bass like a second lead guitar instead of syncopation.

Having first heard the band playing live and raw in a video, this fully-produced track was a tiny adjustment, but the sweet guitar sounds and diverse vocal harmonies won me over. I see great things ahead!

Kyd is the kind of record that settles in quickly. Nick Evans Mowery has been releasing music at a steady rate, and this album reads less like a reinvention than a tightening of focus. I got the impression Mowery is comfortable working inside familiar structures, interested in clarity and follow through rather than disruption. The songs move with confidence and restraint, built to be absorbed without friction.

“Move On Baby” opens things up with a clean 4/4 pulse and an Americana leaning rock framework. Underneath the familiar shape, the details quietly complicate things. The synth accents and electronic percussion give the track a slightly synthetic edge that keeps it from drifting into roots rock pastiche. The hook lands easily and sticks around longer than expected.

“Lucid Dream” leans harder into radio ready rock, built on a classic verse chorus structure that knows exactly when to expand and pull back. The bass line in the verses does a lot of the work here, grounding the song and adding momentum without crowding the mix. “Kyd (Leave the Radio On)” stands out as one of the album’s high points, introducing a lighter and more playful tone. There’s a bright, conversational quality to the melody that brings to mind indie pop’s sunnier instincts while staying rooted in Mowery’s songwriting voice.

“Crush” slows things down with a softer, more sentimental approach. It plays like a classic love ballad, lush but controlled. “Edge of a Breakthrough” opens with guitar lines that briefly nod toward psychedelic rock before settling into a steady, shadowed groove. The atmosphere here is darker and more diffuse, and the consistency of the rhythm gives the track its weight.

“Kickin' the Canvas” blends electronic drums, bass, and subtle synth textures into one of the album’s more cohesive arrangements. “Market Square Girl” trades in nostalgia, while “Use It, Lose It, Gone” carries a sharper edge that recalls punk informed rock songwriting. The closing track, “Wrong,” delivers some of the strongest vocals on the record and ends the album on a reflective note that feels earned.

​Kyd does not chase surprise. Instead, it offers accessible melodies, steady songwriting, and a clear sense of purpose. The consistency works in its favor, making the album an easy and rewarding listen for anyone drawn to well crafted, approachable rock music.

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“Fire in the Madhouse” finds Ryan Kotler leaning into a form of Americana, country and a timeless vibe. The song moves like a long drive where the scenery keeps changing but the road never really ends. I hear a classic country-rock backbone here, but it is filtered through something more restless and inward looking. The groove is steady and familiar, yet the emotional center of the song feels stoic and hopeful.

Musically, the track carries a loose, rootsy feel that brings to mind the kind of no-nonsense songwriting Creedence Clearwater Revival once thrived on. The rhythm section keeps things grounded while the guitars sit in that sweet spot between grit and warmth. Nothing is flashy. The song trusts repetition and momentum, allowing the feel to sink in gradually. There is a quiet confidence in that restraint, like Kotler knows the strength of the song is in its bones rather than in ornamentation.

Lyrically, “Fire in the Madhouse” frames modern life as a cycle of motion, obligation, and weary hope. Kotler opens with images of seasons bleeding into one another, time moving forward whether anyone is ready or not. Lines about highways, rain, and constant travel paint a picture of someone stuck in motion, chasing survival as much as purpose. The phrase “fire in the madhouse” becomes a metaphor for chaos that feels normalized, a world where exhaustion and absurdity coexist with persistence.

The song balances cynicism with faith. Kotler writes about feeling trapped, about chasing his own tail, about the grind of simply staying afloat. But the song never collapses into despair. There is an undercurrent of belief that endurance matters, that something meaningful can grow out of all this repetition and wear. When he sings about folding hands and hoping that something or someone is listening, it feels less like resignation and more like quiet defiance.

The hopeful tone is subtle and avoids feeling overly dramatic. By the end, the recurring image of rain turns from something oppressive into something nourishing, suggesting that all this movement and struggle might eventually lead to growth. “Fire in the Madhouse” does not promise resolution, but it offers continuity. It suggests that even inside the noise, the road keeps going, and that alone is reason enough to keep moving.

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The Game of Life opens with a sense of motion and unease, a record that rarely settles into one shape for long. Nico Guzzi moves freely between electronic grooves, club adjacent rhythms, and classical touches, letting those elements coexist without forcing them into a single identity. The album feels built on shift and contrast, where textures slide past one another and arrangements change direction just as they begin to feel familiar. Rather than announcing its intentions outright, the record establishes its world through sound first, inviting the listener to sit with its moving parts before trying to make sense of them.

That looseness carries into the album’s themes, which move between satire, existential tension, and the search for autonomy. Guzzi’s writing reflects a culture preoccupied with image, speed, and artificial systems, while quietly questioning what survives beneath those layers. The ideas are sketched rather than spelled out, allowing the music to shoulder much of the emotional weight. When the album leans into abstraction, the tension sharpens, and the contrasts between its elements feel most purposeful.

Up first is “Play the Game,” which ended up being the standout track for me. It blends reggae inflections with closely related styles, layering what sound like horn lines that may be digital but are used with real intent. There’s a playful, hopeful quality here, even as electronic elements creep in and subtly destabilize the groove. At moments, the track feels like it’s glitching in real time, reshaping itself without losing momentum. “Loser” shifts the mood with spoken word passages, whispers, and a rougher rock and electronic hybrid. “I’m Not Yours” pushes further into an electronic palette, with vocals that tilt the song toward a more pop oriented shape than I expected.

​“Anarchy in Nebbia a Banchi” feels broader and goofier, landing with less bite, while “Her Temptations” initially sounds like it belongs to a different artist altogether before revealing itself as one of the album’s strongest moments. The darker, mistier stretch of the record arrives with “Follow Me Now,” and “Mama” has flashes that linger. “The One” and “The End of Euphoria” each have their moments as well.

By the end, I found myself wanting to hear Guzzi go further in the direction he hints at throughout the record. The album’s most compelling stretches are its more experimental and abstract passages, where the instrumentation is allowed to lead. The ideas here are fun, and the instrumental foundation is consistently strong. The Game of Life feels like an artist circling his strengths, occasionally brushing against something sharper and more distinctive along the way.

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Do or DIY documents an active creative process, with tracks that emphasize experimentation, repetition, and tonal control. The EP feels intentional in its refusal to clarify itself. Ideas are introduced and allowed to sit without explanation, and the music rarely signals how it wants to be interpreted. I hear a project that places trust in atmosphere and pacing, letting sound design and rhythm establish meaning on their own terms.

​The title track, “Do or DIY,” sets this approach immediately. The focus stays on texture and percussion, with sounds appearing briefly and dissolving before they settle into anything familiar. The ambience is dark and subdued, built from scattered noises that feel transient and loosely connected that reminded me of Burial. Melody never becomes a priority here. The track moves forward through subtle shifts in density and timing, creating tension without release. I found myself paying more attention to how long elements stayed present than to what they actually were.

“A19_a1” continues in a similar mode, leaning into synthetic effects and abrupt sonic gestures. The track feels constructed from functional sound cues, with layers entering and exiting without hierarchy. There is a sense of motion throughout, but it is not guided by progression or development. I did not hear a central idea being expanded so much as a space being maintained. That consistency gives the track focus, even as it avoids traditional structure.

On “Killer (for harmony),” glitch effects and fragmented beats cycle in and out, briefly suggesting form before dissolving again. The track feels modular, as if its components could be rearranged without changing its identity. “Cabin Fever” stands out for its heavier emphasis on rhythm. The mechanical groove gives the EP its most physical moment, grounding the surrounding abstraction without disrupting the overall tone.

Across the EP, the cohesion is strong. Every track occupies the same dark, restrained emotional register, and the atmosphere never wavers. The music succeeds most when it commits fully to that consistency. I did find myself wanting a few more melodic moments, not as hooks but as points of recognition.

As it stands, Do or DIY functions effectively as an environment and a statement of intent. It suggests an artist refining their language and testing its limits, and it leaves me interested in how that language might sharpen with time. This is a very solid release. 

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Pole Position is a modest, unflashy record that knows exactly what it wants to be. Mick J Clark leans into classic songwriting forms, centering the album on love songs that feel familiar without feeling careless. Nothing here is chasing the current moment or bending toward radio trends. Instead, I hear a record rooted in an older pop sensibility, one that values clarity, melody, and emotional steadiness over novelty. The album has a retro pull to it, the kind of sound that feels lived in rather than engineered for charts, and that sense of restraint ends up being one of its strengths.

​“There’s Nothing Anybody Can Do” sets the tone with warmth and patience. I hear a strong 70s influence in the soft textures and gradual dynamic shifts. The song never overreaches, but it subtly swells and recedes in a way that keeps it engaging. “My Friend Evonne” picks up the pace slightly, bringing in a more kinetic energy while maintaining that same inviting atmosphere. It is a straightforward love song, and Clark sounds comfortable and natural on the mic. “Just Gimmie Some Lovin” shifts the palette again, leaning into an 80s feel driven by bright guitar work that reminded me of bands like The Cars. “Honey You’re a Fool to Cry” pulls things back inward, landing as a reflective ballad with a gentle sense of melancholy.

Later tracks continue to explore these classic pop contours. “Why Oh Why” is immediately catchy, while “What Are We Together For” carries a smooth, Steely Dan-inspired ease, especially in the way the male and female vocal harmonies interlock. “Everybody Needs a Place to Hide” stood out to me for its dreamy tone and tasteful guitar lines, and “Walking Down 5th Avenue” adds a lighter, more playful moment to the sequence. The closer, “This Is Where My Heart Belongs,” introduces flamenco and Latin touches, ending the album on an airy, cool note that feels intentionally unhurried.

This is a well-constructed album that stays true to its aesthetic. Listeners drawn to timeless songwriting and classic pop frameworks will likely find a lot to appreciate here, from the careful arrangements to Clark’s steady vocal delivery. It is not trying to reinvent the wheel or  anything like that, but it does not need to. Sometimes commitment to craft and tone is enough. Take a listen!

Do not adjust your television set (or your glasses!). THE SHVKES (pronounced "Shakes") from Denver, Colorado not only misspell their name on purpose, but make sure to wildly shake it around in the band's videos... but the new spelling really works!

THE SHVKES are a kind of 4-piece supergroup made up of other touring bands: LEGS the Band, The Ephinjis and Space Madness. The band says they arrived "...as a modern answer to those early Deftones, Korn and System of a Down CDs you listened to under the blanket. We write our music as a love letter to our 13 year old selves." I couldn't find an official band roster but here's the names I found on Instagram: Henry (guitar?), Skyler Bleu Rubin, Christian and John Mark. The new assemblage went on tour through multiple states last year and have played venues like the Lion's Lair in Denver, Kirby's in Wichita and Skate Bar in Kansas City.


"Amanita" wastes no time in cranking the volume and fuzz. The lead singer has a classic rock voice, a bit in the higher range. Referring back to the band's concept, there's a section in this song where the music literally shakes and distorts (around 0:55) for half a minute. That's commitment! Overall this is minor key metal with a spooky Sabbath-like feel. The lead guitarist has a couple solo spots and he's quite good!

"& a Thousand More" slows down for more of an Alternative Rock arrangement. The vocals really do lean toward the high end (though not quite Geddy), with a sincerity and delicacy you don't expect with this kind of music. The emphasis on the hard, grinding beat and the virtual rock chorus really sucked me in! If the first track was about speed, it's all about the vocals shining here. 

"Push Pin Eyes" goes even further down the spooky hole, with lyrics about dolls' eyes as compared to a living companion ("You're always staring me down with those push pin eyes!"). This is another slow grinder with whispery, reverb-y vocals, but most kudos go to the cool idea behind the song (Courtney got close with "Doll Parts"). The riffage here is as sharp as a glacier's jagged edge. 

"Sleep Paralysis" fittingly ends the EP, but you won't be getting any sleep with this track playing! The guitars sound like they're processed through a cloud of bees, with the output smashed to saturation. That said, there's still room for the lead vocalist and he sings like he has all the time and space in the world. As we go along I'm definitely getting a "bad dream" vibe, and I know from experience that sleep paralysis is no fun! The singing turns to Metallica-like throat shedding and the drummer gets a few chances to tumble across all his skins. The "SHAVKES Distortion" even makes a return appearance!

Cool band idea, blistering rock. What more do you need?

Iyla Elise is an Americana, country and blues singer-songwriter from a small town near Chesapeake Bay. She's here with a new single called "Ain't Linear". Elise is no stranger to Pitch Perfect, with reviews of several previous tracks in the archives along with an interview. Among her influences are John Denver, Billy Joel, Vince Gill, Norah Jones, Chris Stapleton and Stevie Wonder. 

As with many of us, Elise began her musical journey taking piano lessons and choir at a young age, but unlike most of us she was then classically trained through high school. At age 14 Elise began playing around with her mother's Casio sitting on the floor, using a notebook to write songs. She also grew up hearing both her parents (and extended family) playing their own instruments (guitar/sax/drums) along with their music collection on cassette! Elise has spend the last decade recording with co-producer Tim Ryan in Charlottesville, and in 2023 her track "Outlier" was named a finalist  in the 25th Great American Song Contest.

Expounding on her goals in music, Elise says: "All of my favorite artists have their own version of soul. That’s an element I want to come through in every song I write. I hope the authenticity of my songs allows people to feel it for themselves and connect the songs to whatever they’re going through in life, whether it be an amazing moment or a tough one. Music is one of life’s greatest wonders; it’s like magic."

The new single makes clear from note one that this is a Pro production, with a crack studio band vamping along on a blues-country riff with a clarity like my favorite 60's pop records. The music is a syncopated strut atop which Elise roams freely. Maybe it seems hyperbolic to throw around the name Linda Ronstadt, but Elise's crystal tone and seemingly unlimited range make the comparison valid! Not to mention the country-rock crossover, as the second verses change the sound to a more keys-based Leon Russell vibe. The song's meaning is maybe contained in this cool lyric: "If I could take you back now, I would never." But by the end, that sentiment appears to soften right along with the increased guitar harmonies and weeping Hammond organ.

So there it is, a nice piece of country pop with all elements shiny and new. I sneaked a peak at other Elise singles and clearly this isn't her first rodeo! If you're partial to that certain kind of country-rock that makes you feel good, check her out!

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