Effusion 35 is a band that was "formed in the infernal foundry of Philadelphia, PA in the last years of the 20th Century, outlasting many of the legendary venues they've played. Are they immortal? Most likely." These are their words, and as always with literate bands, I doubt I can top anything they say for themselves! But let's start easy: 2024 was their 25th anniversary as a band, and here in 2026 we have a new 6-song EP titled Take Two.

Effusion 35 was founded on creating "aggressive rock with pop sensibilities" and is described as melding the melodic style of Television and R.E.M. with the riff-heavy hooks of alternative rockers Sonic Youth, Helmet and Nirvana. For myself I heard echoes of Bob Mould's Husker Du and Sugar, which is basically the same school. The band members are founder Pat Manley (vocals/guitar), Tom DiGregorio (guitar/recording engineer) Kevin Manley (bass), Jim Napoleon (drums) and Joe Napoleon (guitar/vocals). As confusing as it is with two Napoleons, the second one (Joe) actually used to be the drummer before switching to guitar and firing off lead solos inspired by his avant-garde musical tastes. 

"Mindfuck" is the NSFW title of the opening track, but I don't think they actually say the word. The music is blasting, overmodulated rock that evokes the psychedelic garage band era, with classic rock vocals and harmonies not far from Blue Öyster Cult. It's the kind of rock where you won't find even a crack of sunlight between you and the wall of guitars and drums, though I did enjoy the lead melody lines toward the end. "Missing Time" doubles down on the LoFi "Nuggets" sound, with chiming guitars and waves of cymbal crashes. The main riffing thrust would do Nirvana proud. This time there's a bit more room in the mix for Manley's lead vocals, which feel a lot like Alice Cooper (even the siren-like guitars sound like early Alice!). 

"Calm" starts on the same chord that ended the previous track, and is so heavy you can actually sense the soundwaves fighting for air. Somehow even with the blasting wall of guitars, the vocals come in clearly like a boatmaster navigating through foggy seas. The lead guitars ascend to a new level of aggression and invention. "Bad Neighborhood" is the third song to start with the same chord (I just checked on my keyboard... it's E!) but kicks in an inventive chord scheme like R.E.M. in their noisy "Monster" era. "Round and Back" has a totally jangly, retro vibe like the rock parts of the Guess Who classic "No Time." The EP ends with a basically faithful version of the David Bowie classic "Moonage Daydream" and their joy in blasting this song reminds me how fun it was to cover Bowie in my own bands.

This is a band with a deep history of which I've only scratched the surface, and I'm sure this EP does the same with their musical output, but you gotta start somewhere! Worth checking out!

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Vice Club is a New York City hard rock band who just sent their new three-song EP titled Bottom of the Barrel, but with sadly little biographical data. Bottom of the Barrel is described by the band as "a high-octane assault on the sense" and is their second release following 2023's "Post Rock." The band says: "Vice Club isn't asking for a seat at the table; they're kicking the door down." Yes they are!

The first track is "Hotel Room" which the band calls "a 196-BPM fever dream that captures a filthy, vice-ridden night in the Lower East Side; its relentless down-picking and visceral howling designed to be a dive bar anthem." The song opens with freight-train drums, triple-time bass and howling guitar feedback, which is always a good sign! When the song proper kicks in, we've got vocals that were seemingly filtered through a vacuum cleaner hose, sitting comfortably atop killer riffs from the Dinosaur Jr. or Sebadoe school (especially "License to Confuse"). But you gotta note the speed, which is neck-snapping while not so fast you can't catch the drift. 

Tapping the breaks, the second track is "Hold Me" which slows way down and allows much of the sonic fog to pass in favor of the vocals (which are surprisingly good). The band says this song is "defined by a haunting bassline and a crushing wall of guitars. It’s an introspective look at systemic disparity and a world devoid of accountability." If this were an album you'd expect such a changeup to be the third or fourth song, but it works great here as the hardcore guitars are never far away. 

Finally we have the title track "Bottom Of The Barrel" which features the best qualities from the first two tracks: bittersweet lead melodies, crunchy chords and earnest alternative vocals (very close to Lou Barlow this time around!). I love when biting fuzz lead guitars are every bit as evocative as an orchestral string section. The arrangement surprises with a quiet, acoustic middle section that feels like another song totally, but gets quickly ditched just as you've registered the change. 

​Definitely a shorter collection, but if you have Spotify you'll probably get another track like "City Girls" that's a bit cleaner and hints at bossa nova, proving this band is capable of a wide variety of styles (I checked to make sure it was the same guys!). Go see what I mean... it's fun!

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Molto Non Troppo operates at the edge of pop with a deliberate sense of imbalance. Lincoln Mendell’s Los Angeles project treats genre as raw material, pulling from art pop, psychedelia, funk, prog, and more to shape songs that remain fluid and unpredictable. The name, translating roughly to “very not too much,” signals a wry, measured sensibility. A warm 70s glow runs throughout the EP, surfacing in the organ tones, rubbery bass lines, analog textures, and unhurried grooves that anchor the record’s atmosphere. 
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The debut EP The Futile System assembles a nimble cast of players, including drummer Niko Karassik, bassist Gage Getz, guitarist Matt Cohen, backing vocalists Eva Luna Smith and BriAnne Nicole, and modular synth textures from Presstones. A loose conceptual thread winds through the record, touching on futility, absurdity, and the strange comedy embedded in daily existence. The mood is lightly melancholic but never heavy. It reads as a wry shrug rather than a lament, a recognition that meaning is slippery and that the search itself might be the only constant. The lyrics and arrangements invite both analysis and instinct, offering enough detail to reward close listening while still landing with immediate, physical appeal.

“The Top of the Ladder” opens with a distinctly 70s palette that I appreciated right away. Organ swells around a rubbery bass line, and the drum processing gives the groove a tactile punch. The funk is understated at first but gathers momentum as the track unfolds, settling into a pocket that feels both relaxed and deliberate. “Maybe Next Time” leans further into that era’s glow. The groove is sturdy, and the guitar work carries a bright, singing tone that brought Brian May to mind without slipping into imitation.

“Eyes of a Blue Dog” pivots toward jazz, foregrounding the most intricate playing on the EP. The band navigates quick turns and harmonic feints with impressive control, yet the track never drifts into sterile virtuosity. “Dancing Bears” returns to the 70s atmosphere with a headphone-friendly density. Small details flicker at the edges of the mix, rewarding attention without overwhelming the core melody. “Ships” closes the EP on a lush note, pairing sweeping textures with hooks that linger long after the final chord. There is a melodic sensibility here that nods to classic pop craftsmanship while remaining unmistakably Mendell’s own.

​I found The Futile System to be a strong introduction. The production, songwriting, and ensemble interplay align with clear intent, and the record balances intellect with groove in a way that feels rare. I am eager to hear where Molto Non Troppo drifts next.

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Hidden Shores is a Belgian project created by an elementary school teacher who trades the structure of the classroom for electronic production after hours. The concept is clear and ambitious. It aims to explore the space where human emotion meets digital innovation, pairing reverence for traditional songwriting with curiosity about AI driven tools. On Neon Silence, that mission is front and center. The EP leans into atmospheric pop textures and cinematic scope while remaining rooted in familiar melodic frameworks.

The title track, “Neon Silence,” unfolds through shimmering arpeggios and bright digital horns. The production is sleek and meticulously balanced. The vocals sound strikingly familiar, though it is difficult to pinpoint exactly why. There is a polish here that aligns comfortably with contemporary pop standards.

“Rows Of Houses” is not a reinterpretation or loose adaptation. It is the song “Street Spirit” by Radiohead, using the same lyrics and melodies. The absence of credit to the original stands out immediately. This version features two digital singers, one presenting as male and the other as female, delivering the material with a dramatic, high gloss intensity. If I were not already familiar with Radiohead, I might not have recognized it. The arrangement frames the song in a more theatrical, pan European pop style, which creates a very different emotional texture from the stark minimalism of the original.

“Where The Light Still Reaches (Radio Edit)” gestures toward an emotive ballad, yet the percussion keeps it firmly anchored in current pop production. The drums are crisp and contemporary, lending forward momentum to a melody that might otherwise drift into sentimentality. “Stay Right Here” pulls back and achieves a more intimate tone, allowing the arrangement to breathe.

Across the EP, the tracks share a commitment to polish more than a unified stylistic identity. The vocalists resemble composite versions of well known singers. As a recording engineer, I hear music that is constructed rather than performed in real time. The mixes are clean and technically precise, demonstrating a clear command of modern production tools.

​Listening to Neon Silence raises broader questions about technology and authorship. I grew up recording to analog tape, where limitations shaped the final result. Today, the tools allow anyone to build glossy pop songs with relative ease. Whether that accessibility ultimately strengthens or dilutes musical culture is something we are still collectively deciding. Hidden Shores places that conversation squarely in view.

Don Sullivan keeps absolute control over Grounded, recording in his Lynden, Washington home studio under the name Displaced Stranger and handling everything from composition to final mix. The result is a debut shaped by a single set of instincts, where restraint becomes an aesthetic rather than a limitation. The arrangements favor open space. Acoustic guitars are allowed to ring, rhythms settle into unhurried patterns, and the production resists ornamental polish in favor of something more direct.

The album opens abruptly with the full-band presence of “Pipe Dreams,” a track that settles into an easy, coffee shop intimacy built on strummed acoustic guitar, light lead lines, and unforced vocals. It is pleasant in a deliberate way, establishing a tonal baseline the record rarely abandons. “Lost Monarch” follows with nearly identical contours. The chord patterns, guitar tones, and overall softness mirror the opener so closely that the two tracks feel like variations on a single template.

That template extends across much of the album. A warm, subdued melancholy hangs over these songs, calling to mind the slow-burning emotional palette of Red House Painters. “Golden Hour” and “Breathing” continue the same approach, favoring gentle repetition and tonal consistency over dramatic shifts. “Cottage by the Sea” introduces a coastal wistfulness that briefly widens the frame, while “Van Duzen” stands out for its percussion, which adds a subtle sense of motion beneath the otherwise steady surface. “Wild Rose” closes the album with the same measured calm that defines its beginning, reinforcing the project’s commitment to cohesion.

At times, I find myself wanting sharper peaks or a more pronounced dynamic range, moments where the calm might fracture into something less predictable. Instead, Sullivan commits to a unified mood, building depth through consistency rather than contrast. The songwriting is sturdy, and the sonic world he constructs remains intact from first note to last and it really does sound good.

Listening as an engineer, I notice the tracks present as relatively loud, with a degree of limiting that feels unusual for predominantly acoustic material. On YouTube Music and other streaming platforms, at least, this was evident. I am not sure I would have made the same choice, but it gives the album a distinct presence, a subtle tension between organic instrumentation and modern mastering sensibilities.

​Grounded rests comfortably alongside artists like Iron and Wine, The Tallest Man on Earth, and Fleet Foxes, offering a cohesive set of songs that privilege tone and atmosphere over reinvention. For listeners drawn to introspective folk shaped with care and consistency, Sullivan’s debut provides a steady, contemplative listen.

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Sonatine — A Refined Portrait of Early Modernism reads like the title of a survey course I might have taken in college, the kind that promised context, rigor, and a listening exam at the end of the semester. The name comes from pianist Rina Kharrasova, a figure who, at first glance, barely seems to exist online. After hearing the opening movement, I went looking for her and found almost nothing, which briefly made me question whether I was encountering an elaborate fiction. A few credible traces later, the mystery gave way to a simpler conclusion. Kharrasova is real, and her playing is formidable.

“Sonatine, M. 40: I. Modéré” establishes the terms immediately. The performance is so technically assured that I stop thinking in terms of difficulty and start hearing architecture instead. The phrasing is controlled without sounding rigid, each passage placed with deliberation. I have written about virtuoso piano before, and the response to it often splits cleanly in two.

​Some listeners surrender to the precision and velocity, while others remain unmoved by what they perceive as abstraction. I find myself squarely in the first camp here, drawn in by the clarity of touch and the sense that every note has been weighed before it lands.

The remaining movements, “Sonatine, M. 40: II. Mouvement De Menuet” and its concluding counterpart, continue this display of control. Cascades of notes arrive in quick succession, yet nothing blurs. The timing is exact but never mechanical, fluid in a way that suggests deep internalization rather than rote execution. I struggle to describe the effect without resorting to cliché, because the impact is less about spectacle than about coherence. The lines connect. The dynamics breathe.

Kharrasova emerges as a serious interpreter with a command that belies her relative obscurity. At such an early stage in her career, it is impossible to predict where her trajectory will lead, but the foundation is unmistakable. For listeners who respond to piano music where technique and poise serve a larger expressive logic, Sonatine offers a compelling entry point.

Hidden Shores returns with Fractal Heart, a project positioned at the uneasy junction of human sentiment and machine logic. The album presents itself as a reverent nod to traditional musicianship while openly embracing AI as both collaborator and conduit. What emerges is a polished sequence of genre exercises that mirror the contours of contemporary pop, refracted through algorithmic precision. The songs do not so much blur stylistic boundaries as stack them, one recognizable form after another, like presets scrolling past on a digital workstation.

“Shadow-Girl Rising” leans hard into the familiar emo-pop archetype, its melancholy posture and melodic arcs arriving exactly where I expect them to. It is engineered for recognition rather than surprise and sounds great. “Dance Through the Night” pivots toward radio-ready dance pop, its sheen so immaculate it borders on anonymous, the kind of track that feels pre-licensed for retail playlists. “The Price of Power” shifts again, introducing a resonant, artificially deep vocal that carries the weight of a power ballad, while “Light After Darkness” drifts into a gauzy, new-age register, all celestial pads and beatific calm.

As the twenty-two tracks unfold, a pattern crystallizes. This does not register as the output of a singular artistic voice. The vocal timbres change from song to song, each one echoing a different mainstream template, familiar yet slightly displaced. I keep recognizing shades of voices I have heard before, as if the album were assembled from cultural memory rather than lived experience.

There is an unavoidable conversation forming around music like this. I have spent more than three decades playing in bands, negotiating the friction between limitation and expression, and Fractal Heart operates according to a different set of rules. It challenges my assumptions about authorship, effort, and the emotional contract between artist and listener. The craft here lies in curation and synthesis rather than performance.

None of this negates the album’s appeal. Fractal Heart delivers streamlined versions of the most dominant radio styles of the past few decades, and it does so with undeniable efficiency. The hooks land. The production gleams. Yet novelty is not the point. The record caters to recognition, offering listeners a concentrated dose of what they already know they like. For many, that familiarity will be the feature, not the flaw.

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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!