Campbell Downie’s Songbook operates as both a retrospective and a reset, pulling from a four-decade catalog and reshaping it with contemporary production. Downie handles every aspect himself, writing, arranging, performing, and producing the entire record, a level of control that suggests a singular artistic identity. Yet the listening experience complicates that expectation. Instead of one continuous voice, the album moves through a series of polished pop frameworks that feel drawn from the shared vocabulary of the past decade.

“Sleeping on Your Side of the Bed” opens with orchestral synths that gesture toward cinematic scope before settling into a bright 4/4 pulse. The track leans fully into upbeat pop, the kind of frictionless, pleasant energy that would sit comfortably in a café playlist. It is immaculately constructed and immediately legible, designed to be absorbed rather than interrogated. “I Will Be Here” follows with melodies that struck me as instantly familiar, carrying the emotional clarity and uplift associated with animated film soundtracks. The song’s structure and harmonic cues feel engineered for reassurance, as if aiming for the broadest possible emotional consensus.

By the time I reached “Dear Emily,” I found myself wondering how this was made and who the different singers were. The track pivots into a country pop sensibility that suggests a different performer altogether, its tonal shift so pronounced that I briefly questioned whether the album had changed hands. That sensation continues across the record. Each song introduces what sounds like a new vocalist or persona, creating the impression of multiple singers inhabiting the same project. I kept expecting a unifying thread to emerge, but the album instead presents a sequence of discrete, radio-ready moments.

The arrangements rely heavily on orchestral-style synths and streamlined melodies that carry a persistent sense of déjà vu. Hooks resolve exactly when expected, chord progressions follow the logic of chart success, and stylistic cues point to pop’s most accessible forms. If you have listened to mainstream pop in the last ten years, you will recognize this language immediately. I am not entirely sure what is happening beneath the surface, but the cumulative effect resembles scanning radio stations where each song is polished, self-contained, and sung by a different voice.

​That fragmentation becomes the album’s defining characteristic. Rather than functioning as a cohesive statement, Songbook plays like a curated broadcast of pop archetypes. It is an intriguing listen, less for what it reveals about Downie’s past than for how it reflects the modular, interchangeable nature of contemporary pop production.

Equatorial is the digital recording project of one Robert Dilemma of Houston, Texas. I wouldn't expect a guy with that name or this cool trance music to come from Houston, but why not! Secret Gardens is the second collection by Equatorial since 2021's "Lost Horizon" and just like that album, this one features four atmospheric tracks that "although they are electronica, still possess a certain organic quality." Dilemma says the album title "relates to my considering my pieces as cultivated gardens of sounds, patterns and rhythms, the musical ideas like seeds developing & intertwining among each other in careful arrangements."

Dilemma's background is in classical and avant-garde music, punk and art rock. He records under several different names and projects, including The Soft Parts which I previously reviewed (and I also made the crack about Houston then!). Regarding that release I stated: "I often feel guilty spacing out to someone’s musical creation, but you can do that with Dilemma’s music with zero guilt!" And that's exactly how I felt playing this album. At times I'd be at full attention, while at others I'd zone out into a meditative state. Dilemma sees himself as an artist like Brian Eno; not an instrumental virtuoso but more of a sonic painter and experimenter using the DAW as his canvas. He also draws inspiration from the German electronic bands like Can and (I assume) Kraftwerk, along with IDM groups like Boards of Canada and the "jigsaw interlocking contrapuntal style of Gentle Giant." There's also a strong Asian and Middle Eastern component that I picked up on without being told. 

Dilemma introduces "Among the Shadows of the Dervishes" as "a dense turbulent IDM track suffused with Mideastern mystique. The propulsive bass riff running throughout gives a feeling of spinning with increasing intensity, until a point of breakthrough into another realm occurs." If you've ever seen a whirling dervish, you'll get the idea. This track has an otherworldly aura, and is quite hypnotic even though right on the edge of dissonance. Hearing it a third time I'm noticing a lot more detail, while the first couple times I let the music fill my background space without a critical ear. I did notice that the track stays within the same parameters for almost 11 minutes before Dilemma finally changes to a more uplifting vibe with echoes of Japanese music. 


"Chirico Street" is named after the surrealist artist Girogio de Chirico and is "a foray into hypnotic techno, pervaded with a dark sense of threat, akin perhaps to the paintings of the titular surrealist artist." This track is indeed a bit heavier on the dark atmospherics while not ignoring the power of steady beats and patterns. I noted more obvious movement much earlier in this track (stops and starts, key and pattern changes). Here's a reference nobody will get: about six minutes in, Dilemma's music began to suggest the background music for "The Untouchables" by the great Nelson Riddle. That's also around where Dilemma introduces a very humanoid-sounding patch that seems to be communicating in an alien tongue.
  

"Spring River in the Flower Moon Night" has the longest title but is the shortest track (just four minutes) and is called "an impressionistic IDM rendering of a traditional Chinese melody (Chun Jiang Hua Yue Ye)." The Asian flavor is certainly strongest here, with a kind of Blade Runner overlay. The final track is a 20-minute epic titled  

"The Overland Route." Though I'd love to think this is a reference to the famous Overland Blvd. in Los Angeles, it's actually meant to "give the feeling of passing through various regions within an overarching landscape. It's structured as a kind of triptych where beats sections alternate with beat-less ones, as if one comes upon a vista into which one then continues, arriving finally at an uncertain destination." That's a great description as this track, more than the others, really goes through some changes when you least expect them. It's highly cinematic, spacey and intricate all at once. The beat is very train-like.

If you like to float away with your music, Equatorial might be your ticket. Recommended!

Derby Hill is a folk-Americana artist from Detroit with a new EP titled Derby Hill. That sounds like a pseudonym and it may well be, as Spotify lists the songwriter as one Steven John Simoncic, but I'm happy to use his stage name going forward. Hill's music blends elements of folk, country, roots and rock, and his songs "delve into the struggles and triumphs of everyday life, weaving together tales of survival, loss and hope in a raw and personal manner." Hill's influences include Steve Earle, Leonard Cohen and John Prine. Recording was said to take place in "Chicago's basements and hall closets."

"Restless and Forgiven" introduces the resonator guitar, pedal steel and drawbar organ that will be the foundation for most of these songs. My immediate and enduring impression is that Hill has the same kind of gritty, honest voice as songwriter Paul Williams, while the songs themselves also recall the mastery of Williams' enduring classics like "Rainy Days and Mondays." This track is a jangly medium-tempo rocker with a mix of riffing acoustics, deep electrics, violin and a roomful of vocal harmonies. Playing these songs for the first time, it's clear that Hill has an affinity for ear worms, and that includes this track with its closing chants of "Oooh, La La!"

"Red Honey Wine" doubles down on the melancholic, pleading pedal steel with even more beautiful harmonies on the top and baroque guitar and mandolin melodies framing the track. This is an interesting song in that it feels like an extended introduction to an impending rocker, but nary a kick drum nor beat ever gets in the way of the vocals and guitars. 

"Come Back Home" has a simple shuffle beat, allowing lots of air for the lead vocal and opening piano. Here's another ear worm with a catchy chorus that name-checks The Rolling Stones. Great lyrics throughout including this couplet: "I'm a little superstitious, I've got Jesus in the kitchen / just in case we need a hand." With "Anything's Possible Here" it's even more evident that Hill's got a female co-singer who adds high parts and harmonies and smooths out any rough edges in Hill's voice. For me this track encompasses all of Hill's strengths in one package, with compelling verses and a lovely chorus built from a descending ladder of rhyming words: "You're still unstoppable / I'm still excitable / We can be heroes / 'cos anything's possible here." The final track "In a Matter of Moments" seems to take bits from each preceding song, thus sounding familiar but every bit as captivating and hypnotic as the rest. When you have song constructions this good, you start to take them for granted!

A fine EP, self-contained and consistent and definitely worth checking out!

Dino DiMuro has spent decades working just outside the industry’s center of gravity, balancing a career in Los Angeles sound design with a stubborn allegiance to the cassette underground that shaped his earliest work. That long memory informs his collaboration with Song for a Gorgeous Blonde, a discreet experimental trio from Gothenburg whose steady stream of releases on DiMurotapes pairs prolific output with a cultivated obscurity.

Björn Eklund handles keyboards and electronics, Lars Karlsson moves between guitar and bass, and Anja Blomgren supplies beats, percussion, and voice. They convene between separate lives and professions, treating the project as a rotating workshop of fragments and textures where authorship blurs and identity stays partially concealed.

“Ingrid” distills that approach into an instrumental that rewards close attention. The first time I heard it, I registered a faint new age glow, though the label never fully settles on the music. The track invites immersion through detail and the type of song you will discover more with repeated listening. Small electronic flourishes flicker at the edges, tones drift in and out of focus, and the mix leaves enough negative space for each element to breathe.

There is motion here, a kinetic undercurrent that keeps the piece buoyant even as the instrumentation remains light and airy. The mood stays playful and unburdened, sidestepping grand emotional statements in favor of texture and movement. It is the kind of piece that feels a bit 3D.

The song allows subtle shifts in tone and rhythm to register as meaningful events. By the end, I found myself impressed and especially thought the sound design was well done..

The duo Crash World of Vancouver had its previous album "So The Story Goes" reviewed in Pitch Perfect in August 2022, a review I remember for the album's striking cover graphics. They were also quite gratified with the writeup and adopted this line from Michael Vincent: "Crash World exists in the yellow glow of Edison bulbs, leather couches and dark hardwood... A love letter to the past and an ode to tomorrow." No way I'm improving on that, but I'll do my best for their latest track titled Promise.

Crash World are described as "two voices and six strings" and are led by the Two Macs: Glen MacLeod (guitars/vocals) and Graham MacDonald (vocals) with assistance from producer David Jewer (bass/piano/hammond/strings) and Kelly Stodola (drums). They hope to "fuse the poetic whimsy of the ‘60s and the alluring boldness of the ’70s with a refreshing contemporary flair, sending a nostalgic message in a bottle for music lovers." Their previous full-length album received over 350,000 streams on Spotify. 

Their new single Promise is designed to be an introspective song about the self-reflections of a wounded soul. "So many people are trying to manage the challenges of mental illnesses (that) it seemed poignant to hear from the struggling individuals' perspective." Musically the song was influenced by a song called "Letter From an Unknown Girlfriend" sung by Fiona Apple, an arresting track with the ragged power of Amy Winehouse or Janis Joplin. The Promise arrangement has the energy of Nick Cave or maybe David Bowie, which would make sense as the guys had just performed the entire "Ziggy Stardust" album acoustically. Recording took place in Vancouver's Airborne Recorders and was co-produced & mixed by David Jewer using vintage gear. Mastering was by Brock McFarlane at CPS Mastering.
​
The track starts in decidedly retro fashion with a "Walrus" style Mellotron, which really evokes the cover image of roses abandoned in the rain. The Graham MacDonald vocals have an authentic grit and do recall the Apple track, as well as Bowie (especially with the acoustic guitar prominent). The capper of the pre-chorus is "Beg for redemption / Before the devil makes me pay" which evokes both Johnny Cash and that classic Irish saying "Before The Devil Knows You're Dead." Musically the track is highly sophisticated, starting simply before adding orchestral and vocal ornamentation atop a lovely and unexpected chord scheme. The first section ends with a short acoustic guitar solo before the second verse. I can't possibly keep track of all the parts peeking in and skittering out, but the mix here is a fascinating puzzle of interlocking sounds and textures. The final lines are sung dramatically over music that has suddenly shifted into a country cadence!

To sum up, this is a compelling miniature symphony that maybe ends a bit early (keep them wanting more!) but is a rich and rewarding experience while you're in it. Beyond recommended!

I’m strangely fixated on the name 2002. I tried to find some explanation for it and came up empty, so I kept circling back to the year itself, as if that might unlock something about the music. The band has apparently been active since the 90s, and Wishing Well marks their 23rd album which is very impressive. There is a patience to this record, a devotion to stillness and low-burning new age melancholy that is undeniably cinematic. 

“Overture: The Restless Heart” opens the album in a wash of orchestral synths and suspended strings. It leans fully into drama. The textures are airy and expansive, swelling in slow arcs that feel engineered for widescreen emotion. Halfway through, the piece pivots into something even more heightened, like a montage sequence from a big-budget fantasy film like Avatar. I found myself pulled in by the scale and the sense of lift. It is playful without being naïve, grand without tipping into bombast. This was easily my favorite piece on the record, partly because it reaches so far outward, feels playful and is very dynamic. It feels singular in its ambition.

“Three Wishes” draws the lens closer. The piano lines are regal and measured, surrounded by soft harmonic halos that deepen the mood. The track carries a stately sadness, as if it is bowing to something already lost. “Twilight” continues in that same tonal register. The emotional temperature remains cool and reflective, stretching time rather than pushing it forward. “The Spiral of Heaven” extends that slow drift, letting nostalgia pool in the corners of its arrangement.

When “Dream Chasers” arrives, the energy shifts. The textures brighten and quicken, shimmering with new age flourishes that give the track a sense of motion. It feels almost luminous compared to the surrounding pieces. “Moon Lore” returns to a more hushed palette, while “A Safe Harbor” barely moves at all, resting in sustained tones that emphasize quiet over climax. “On the Wings of Angels” and “Bellehaven” each introduce subtle instrumental details that reward close listening, small gestures that ripple through the calm surface.

By the time “Savitri’s Dream” closes the album, I realized I had been constructing images in my head the entire time. The record operates through mood first and structure second. It builds environments more than hooks. I kept thinking less about individual melodies and more about the spaces they create. Whatever 2002 means, here it signals immersion.

By day, Hidden Shores moves through the fluorescent stillness of an elementary school classroom. By night, the Belgian project turns inward, swapping worksheets for sequencers and soft-lit screens. That dual existence is not just a detail for the press bio. It explains the music. Hidden Shores operates in the space where human fragility meets digital experimentation, where acoustic instruments sit beside algorithmic decisions without either one apologizing for the other.

Mighty Oak presents that tension in its most polished form so far. The record leans on warm guitar strums and piano figures that feel tactile and grounded, but it frames them with spacious, carefully layered production. Electronic accents hover at the edges, widening the songs without swallowing them. The album aims for immersion without spectacle, intimacy without minimalism. On paper, it reads like a thesis about coexistence between craft and code.

“Hopeful Horizon” opens the album with bright percussion and buoyant melodies that nod toward Rusted Root, only here the pulse is steadier, digitally reinforced. I immediately caught the hook. It lands with such ease that it almost feels pre-familiar, like something designed to bypass hesitation. The optimism is direct and unguarded. “Just Be A Kid” follows with glossy textures and processed rhythms, circling themes of childhood and growing up with a nostalgic tilt that feels partly remembered and partly reconstructed.

“Volcano” scales things down, pulling closer to the voice, while “Calm In My Storm” moves with the clean efficiency of pop songwriting 101. “Shadows Unfold” shifts the palette entirely, as if another project briefly entered the room. “Echoes Of Tomorrow” pushes into arena-sized rock gestures but keeps the edges smooth. “Out In My Head” flirts with country phrasing, and “Price Of A Soul” carries a sharper intensity that I found compelling. By the midpoint, the album has touched multiple genres, cinematic sweeps, and even a performance delivered in another language.

I cannot say this sounds like a singular artist in the traditional sense. That fragmentation might be the point. The record moves like someone scanning radio stations late at night, each song presenting a slightly altered persona. There is a different vocal character nearly every time, each polished to a high-gloss finish. As an engineer myself, I hear the compression, the layered processing, the immaculate sheen. The production is deliberate and dense, built for clarity and impact.

​Mighty Oak documents a moment in music where identity itself feels modular. A few years ago, this scale of stylistic pivot would have required a full band, a studio budget, and time. Now it can exist inside a laptop. Hidden Shores embraces that reality head-on, even if it means the album feels more like a constellation of possibilities than a single rooted trunk.

In March 2025, inside the worn brick shell of Williamsburg Music Center, Lawrence Udeigwe decided to leave the guardrails behind. No overdubs. No surgical edits. No attempt to sand down what happened in real time. Live in Williamsburg documents UDEiGWE and his band exactly as they sounded that night, preserving breath between phrases, the decay of piano notes, and those almost imperceptible tempo shifts that happen when musicians are actually looking at each other. You can hear the room. You can hear the decisions being made on the spot and that's something I appreciate more than ever.

The set revisits earlier songs and folds in a handful of covers. The arrangements are stripped to their core and built around groove, leaving space where a studio album might stack harmonies or polish transitions. That negative space becomes part of the rhythm. It pulls you closer.

“Reflection” opens the night with a genuine sense of welcome. I loved the chill atmosphere right away. The track contains soulful vocals gliding over a restrained pocket. It's a great opener that I'm sure the crowd appreciated. “Mr Sabi” follows with a flash of funk, tight horn arrangements, and a dynamic vocal performance that stretches without straining. The bass and drums lock in with remarkable control, creating a foundation that feels elastic and grounded at the same time.

“What’s Going On” brings a burst of liveliness, pushing the energy forward, while “Falling” moves quickly and cleanly, its slick momentum carried by sharp rhythmic interplay. Throughout the middle stretch, the band operates with quiet confidence. “Footprints” drifts toward improvisation without losing its center, settling into grooves that feel discovered in real time. “Come My Way” eases into a smoother terrain that I found genuinely calming, and “Easy Busy” and “Wait” continue to highlight the ensemble’s discipline and feel.

“Waiting in Vain” leans into space, allowing notes to breathe and dissolve before the next phrase arrives. The closer, “Do,” features intricate, almost acrobatic bass work not too far from bass legend Victor Wooten.

​Capturing a fully live performance without sacrificing clarity is a risk. Here, the risk pays off. This album holds onto the magic of that room and trusts the listener to step inside it. Recommended.

Pyrotechnicolor is shaped by patience and long attention. Mary Jennings wrote these six songs across nearly a decade, and that stretch of time registers in the way the material carries itself. Nothing sounds rushed or provisional. The songs appear deliberate, revised and reconsidered until they settle into place as a unified statement. I hear a writer who waited until the work could stand on its own terms rather than forcing cohesion early.

Fire operates as both image and organizing principle. It runs through the EP’s sound design and its emotional logic, shifting from contained heat to full ignition. The writing tracks social strain alongside personal rupture. That overlap raises the stakes without pushing the record into diaristic territory. The songs stay outward facing, supported by controlled production choices and collaborations that reinforce clarity rather.
The title track, “Pyrotechnicolor,” opens the EP with a widescreen sense of scale. Its cinematic sweep brought to mind the visual maximalism of Avatar, with vocals that lean closer to pop than I expected. It plays like end credits after a epic movie, carried by layered percussion and carefully staged dynamic shifts. The sound design stands out most here, especially during a lighter, playful passage that echoes the melodic sensibility of The Postal Service.

“Phoenix on Fire” sustains that sense of scale while moving toward empowerment. Heavy hall reverb and open space give the song a ceremonial quality, and at moments its intensity recalls the dramatic pop contours of Zola Jesus. “Smolders” pivots inward which was a nice change in scope.

It is more restrained and intimate, built around a classic pop ballad structure that prioritizes vocal presence over spectacle. “Drown in the Desert” follows with strong internal shifts that keep the arrangement in motion, while “Take a Number” introduces immediate drama through its opening line before expanding into broad, high impact passages. The closer, “Burn,” escalates steadily, letting tension accumulate rather than rushing toward resolution.

Across the EP, Jennings leans into familiar pop ballad frameworks while elevating them through thoughtful sound design. There are moments where I sensed the songs pressing toward stranger territory, in the orbit of artists like Björk, but the material ultimately stays grounded and accessible. That restraint works in the record’s favor. The passion behind these songs is unmistakable, and Pyrotechnicolor reads as a confident foundation rather than a final word. I am curious to hear where Jennings takes this balance next.

Class 2 Rapids settles in as a record shaped by patience and accumulation. Robbie Rapids pulls together fourteen songs written and recorded across roughly two years, and I could sense that span of time in how the album lets ideas expand rather than compressing them into a single posture. The sequencing is careful without calling attention to itself. Shifts in tone arrive naturally, and nothing disrupts the album’s internal logic.

The songs grow out of classic rock instincts, but they rarely stay put. Pop, folk, alternative country, and even metal textures surface when the writing asks for them, then recede just as easily. I never got the sense that Rapids was chasing a fixed identity. Each track commits fully to its own structure and mood, and the album trusts momentum over branding.

“Hang Loose” opens the record with a straight 4/4 drive, fuzzy chords, and a hook that lands immediately. Its late 60s rock foundation carries a faint 80s sheen, and the performance reminded me of the muscular clarity associated with Boston without leaning into excess. The recording approach sounds deliberately old school, and I liked the sense that this was a group of musicians playing together in real time.

“Dance with Me” leans harder into 80s aesthetics, particularly through its reverb heavy atmosphere. “Black Roses” moves in a heavier direction, flirting with a ballad metal tone, while “I Believe in You” offers warmth and a gentle sense of optimism that plays against nostalgia rather than indulging it.

As the album progresses, the stylistic range widens. Several tracks draw openly from familiar rock structures, but they come across as playful instead of dutiful. “Mystery of Life” stood out to me for its Americana inflection, while “Street Shuffle” immediately caught my attention with its melodic confidence. Its hook hit on first listen, and the song’s jangling energy brought to mind The Smiths without sounding derivative. “Bill the Kid” pivots sharply, abandoning rock altogether in favor of a banjo led folk singalong. “RITUAL” closes this stretch with an airy, emotionally open 80s ballad approach.

Class 2 Rapids moves freely across styles without settling into a single genre. Rather than smoothing those transitions, the album sharpens them, letting each mode stand clearly on its own. There is strong songwriting throughout no matter the genre they inhabit. It is a varied and confident release that has quite a bit to offer.

Become A Fan