Roscoe Tripp’s Tiny Antelopes feels like stepping into a time capsule aimed squarely at the golden years of indie rock. The Washington, DC-based band doesn’t just flirt with nostalgia. They embrace it with the earnestness of true believers. From the first few seconds, it’s clear they’ve internalized the jittery pulse of bands like Interpol and The Shins while pulling in the theatrical sprawl of early Arcade Fire. I was immediately struck by how confidently they bring that era’s palette into the present without sounding like a tribute act.

“Dik-dik, Pt. 1” wastes no time making an impression. It hits with a wall of sound that feels wide and immersive. There’s a slightly cinematic tension running through it, and just when I thought I had it figured out, the band shifted gears. The arrangement refuses to stay in one place for long, which made the whole thing feel alive and a little unpredictable.

“This Place Called Crystal” follows and might be one of the strongest tracks here. There’s something in the vocal phrasing and rhythmic tightness that reminded me of Modest Mouse, particularly their earlier years. The interplay between instruments is sharp, full of motion, and constantly evolving. It’s the kind of song where you catch something new with each listen.

“Manko” serves mostly as connective tissue but sets the stage nicely for “moUse Rat,” which immediately grabbed me with its angular bass line. It pulses with that Talking Heads style propulsion but also folds in wiry guitar parts that feel plucked from Johnny Marr’s playbook. It’s one of those tracks that made me want to hear it live.

On “Low,” the band leans into a sound that recalls the fuzzed out slacker pop haze of 90s alt-rock. I heard flashes of early Weezer here, especially in the chorus. Then “Dik-dik, Pts. 2 & 3” arrives with some of the most magnetic grooves on the album. “When the Stalks Are Low” doubles down with heavy fuzz bass, and “The Process of Living” veers into dreamy psychedelic folk terrain that wouldn’t feel out of place on an Of Montreal deep cut.

The sequencing across the album is smart. “Intro” resets the mood ahead of the closing stretch, easing into “Feels the Same,” which rips through with raw energy. “Can't Wait to See You Again” is borderline pop punk, full of urgency and youthful sweetness. It might be the catchiest thing here. The album closes with “A Trip of Your Own,” a more introspective piece that slows everything down and settles into a kind of emotional resonance that feels earned.

Tiny Antelopes is a debut with range, conviction, and a clear sense of identity. It is a record that draws from the past without being weighed down by it, capturing that live band chemistry that too often gets scrubbed out of modern recordings. I came away wanting to see where they take things next, and in the meantime, I’ll be coming back to this one.

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My reviews usually begin with some variation of “this is the debut (or latest) album by…” but it’s rare when I can say it’s a band’s last release ever! Toronto’s Broken Wolves just dropped their final album, an EP titled Crown of Fire, which they call “dark folk/alternative.” Dark it certainly is, with consistently droning, jangly guitars, dreamy synth backings and vocals somewhere between Nick Cave, The Cure and Jim Morrison. The EP is available on Bandcamp, Soundcloud and all streamers.

Broken Wolves were initially formed in 2017, then made their live debut in 2019 and their first EP in 2020, followed by a full album in 2022 titled “The Summons.” The members are Lennox Campbell-Berzins (vox/12-string guitar), Alex Gage (vox/guitar), Aniqa Qadir (vox), James Atin-Godden (bass/keyboards) and Liam Schatz (drums). The band has been compared to Alice in Chains, Nick Cave and King Crimson, playing a mixture of ‘60s folk-rock and psychedelia crossed with ‘90s alternative and grunge. They generally appeal to fans of “gothic art and the darker sonorities found in rock and popular music.” The band feels these four “tight singles” would feel at home in playlists featuring rock, folk-rock, psych, doom, alternative or shoegaze. Why they have chosen to break up, I can’t say!

“I Don’t Sleep” begins with a slow, deeply heavy drum beat. The picked electric guitar has a phasing, LoFi quality that’s both inviting and eerie. The bass plays higher than normal, adding melodic cross-currents, while swooping slide guitar and keys create a spooky, “Riders On The Storm” atmosphere. The vocals are matter-of-fact, with Campbell-Berzins’ laconic phrasing backed by Aniqa Qadir’s lovely harmonies. Halfway through, the players stomp all the fuzz boxes into the “on” position, and the power and majesty increase exponentially. There’s a couple short guitar solos that resemble spirits wailing (that’s also thanks to the vocals!).

“Cauldron” takes a similar arrangement to a slightly higher pitch, with the dynamics of the opening track compressed and refined: it has the same power but with a bit more clarity, especially in the vocals. The picked electric guitars in the middle that careen into savage riffing probably accounts for the comparisons to King Crimson. “Fool” again features a style of guitar I like playing myself, where - instead of barre or full chords - the voicings are played up and down the neck with the root note droning along, creating a sort of electric mandolin sound (using an electric 12-string helps!). This track is a compelling minor key hard rocker, with some of the best harmonies yet, and builds power with every passing section. “Crown Of Fire” opens with some impressive blues-folk riffing, and in fact the song is structured like a heavy blues lament, alternating story-telling with slide guitar choruses. 

These songs are nothing if not consistent, all fitting comfortably together, exploring slightly different aspects of the band’s sound without going too far afield. A worthy conclusion to what appears to have been a solid, inspired musical unit!

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Ben Heyworth just released a three-song EP entitled Creatures. His songs lean into stories about the people, places, and events that have shaped his life in Manchester, including the strange cornucopia of residents living around the creative hotspot of Ancoats Marina. There’s something quietly observational about his songwriting, as if he’s sketching from the corner of a room, letting the details speak for themselves.

The first song is called “Narrowboat,” a meditation on life and death along Manchester’s historic waterways. It begins with gently strummed acoustic guitar and a raw vocal take that feels like it was recorded in one breath. The instrumentation remains sparse, which works in its favor. There’s an organ or maybe just reverb-saturated harmonics that hover in the background like fog.

“Image of Roads” imagines a fictional American road trip, though it’s never quite clear if the journey is literal or metaphorical. This track feels slightly more awake. The strumming pattern has more bite, and there’s subtle percussion that sounds like it could be recorded off a kitchen table. The organ is more pronounced here, and it injects a subtle Pink Floyd atmosphere. Whispered vocals during the second verse add a sense of intimacy, like an overheard secret.

“Creature Double Feature” was my personal favorite. It asks who we become when we stare at the distortions in the mirror too long. The vocal performance is loose and conversational, almost as if Heyworth is telling you a story from across the room. Some of the lyrics reminded me of Donovan’s wandering folk sensibility, though there’s something darker beneath the surface. There’s a playful eeriness to the melody, like a childhood memory that you later realize was unsettling.

Creatures is a minimalistic but emotionally resonant EP. Heyworth knows how to make a lot out of very little. These songs don’t lean on production tricks or studio polish, and they don’t need to. I’ll be paying attention to what comes next. Take a listen.

Netherlands artist Martin Kuiper made his debut album at the age of 49, after a career in both journalism and science (with one of his studies focusing on the voices of pop singers!). His second release is an EP (part of a triptych) titled Dreaming of a Sea of Time, and though he doesn’t pick a genre, I’d call it psychedelic dreampop.

I don’t think I’ve ever compared an indie artist’s voice to Mick Jagger, but Kuiper gets that honor. His music is not rock and roll or blues, but The Rolling Stones made exactly one psychedelic album: “Their Satanic Majesties Request” (a response to the Beatles album “Sgt. Pepper”) which featured tacky acoustic piano and dreamlike textures, and that’s what these songs most reminded me of, along with the “mature” Beach Boys of the mid-70’s. 

As on his debut album, Kuiper worked with multi-instrumentalists Erik Neimeijer and Jim Zwinselman, with Jeroen Hobert on drums. The theme of dreaming permeates the songs. As Kuiper states: “Without dreams, life isn’t that interesting. A dream can be the beginning of a new path, the choice is yours.”

Not coincidentally, “Dreams” opens the album with a combination of spacey effects and earthly barroom piano: it’s an interesting mixture for an “intimate” recording that always seems on the verge of floating heavenward. Kuiper overdubs his voice with several pleasing harmonies. After just two minutes we’ve moved onto “Hanging on a Pink Moon” which has a deeper and more romantic vibe, with chiming acoustic guitars, piano and orchestral strings. Kuiper uses his able pipes in the manner of “reassuring Jagger” like “As Tears Go By” or “Angie.” Apparently the use of synths for Kuiper is fairly new and they work beautifully here, recalling the lush Beach Boys of the album “Surf’s Up” and coincidentally (?) has a laid-back feel similar to the track “Feel Flows.” This is one of the dreamiest of the dreampop arrangements, with amazing harmonies that prove Kuiper’s study of pop singers was not for nothing!

“Baby” is the longest track at four minutes, with one of the more Jagger-centric lead vocals and a more traditional rock beat. The song’s length is partly due to a Radiohead-style middle section (“Exit Music For A Film”) with wailing lead guitar atop an orchestral rock arrangement. If I had to pick a favorite, it’s this one! “Seven Days” ends the EP as it began, with Kuiper’s vocals ensconced within a cloud of piano, guitars, synth keys and smart, economic drumming; there’s a second section that departs radically from the main song and concludes the proceedings with majestic Steve Hackett-like guitar assertions. 

Overall this is a surprisingly short but compelling collection. Honestly I wouldn’t have minded an extra minute or two of each song but what we have here is quite good, and left me wanting more. Extra recommended!

TerraTara is the awesome name for an indie folk artist who splits her time between British Columbia and Oregon, with an emphasis on vocals and mandolin. TerraTara has released one album and a few singles since 2010, and her latest music is a single titled Reunite, which she terms “a call for unity (and) an invitation for us to come together under the moon and stars for a shared purpose.” Her style is ranges from Eastern European to Middle Eastern to Folk to Reggae. 

The players on the single include TerraTara (vocals/guitar), Catherine McGrath (mandolin), Adrian D'Aguilar (stand-up bass) and Neil Symonette (drum kit). This track is described as featuring “warm, organic instrumentation with a universal message with hopeful lyrics, beckoning listeners to a realm of unity and togetherness.” TerraTara decided to release this song in light of recent global events to help spread positivity and connection through the power of music. 

What’s immediately striking about TerraTara’s sound is its organic feel, with few if any electric elements. Mandolin is one of my favorite instruments, and though TerraTara sings and plays guitar on this track, the mandolin is nicely managed by Catherine McGrath. The tempo and vibe of the track somewhat recalls Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” TerraTara harmonizes with herself throughout the track, and her voice has an earthy, authentic quality while easily riding atop her sweet melodies. The track even creates a kind of “swing” effect with the repeated refrain of “reunite, reunite, reunite.” 

The lyrics hint at the themes of great folk protest songs of the past (“We walk on, on this road to freedom”). The rhythm section of standup bass and drum kit provide solid backing. Musically the track is almost a loop (which is where the resemblance to “The Chain” comes in) but creates a hypnotic effect with its many repeats and small variations, making the conclusion all the more powerful.

A really nice track from an artist I’ve just discovered. Give it a spin and then get busy reuniting!

Yema is a young artist from Edmonton who recently released I feel it too, a debut that taps into the increasingly open emotional undercurrents of bedroom pop. I’ve been writing about music for over twenty five years, and while artists have always explored pain and recovery, it’s only in the past decade or so that the language around trauma has become this direct. That shift is noticeable throughout this EP, which feels diaristic but also skillfully composed.

The production carries the unmistakable texture of lo fi indie pop: hazy synths, minimal percussion, and layered vocals that feel like they’re beaming out of a small apartment at 2 a.m. The opener, “Treading,” leans hard into synth pop, all glimmer and shimmer. There’s an immediate catchiness that gives the song its footing, even while the lyrics gently tug in a more reflective direction.

“Synchronicity” dives deeper. It’s coated in reverb and features darker, more brooding synths that reminded me of early Beach House. The contrast between brightness and melancholy makes it more interesting on repeat listens, and the dynamics are handled with care. It feels weightless but grounded, which is not easy to pull off.

“4 hearts” is probably the highlight. It’s the best written track and also the most vocally expressive. There’s a sweetness to it that borders on doo wop, a faint echo of 1950s pop that sneaks in beneath the surface. Lines like “When we’re far away, I think about you all the time” carry a directness that might seem naïve in less capable hands, but here it works. The chorus lodges itself in your head without trying too hard.

“Sheets” changes the pace, scaling everything back into something more fragile and intimate. It’s melancholic and subdued, but the writing is sharp and the delivery never overreaches. “You are an Angel” closes things out with more momentum, leaning into a grittier indie rock sound that expands the EP’s palette at just the right time.

I feel it too doesn’t try to shock or overwhelm. Yema has a clear aesthetic and a good sense of mood. I wouldn’t mind hearing a bit more clarity in the production next time, but what’s here already resonates. This EP feels like the beginning of something worth paying attention to.

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“Ad Astra,” the latest single and visual piece from Logica Abstracta, is a music video and also a bit of a meditative experience in audio-visual form. The artist describes it as a tribute to classic science fiction, constructed with minimal digital interference. No 3D. No A.I. Just shadow theatre, physical models, and a deliberately analog aesthetic that feels refreshingly tactile in a landscape dominated by sleek digital gloss.

The video opens with a wash of ambient sci-fi tones that immediately put me in a headspace somewhere between a deep space documentary and an obscure experimental short film from the 1970s. The visuals are simple in some ways with shapes, silhouettes, starscapes but the restraint is part of the appeal. It reminded me how much atmosphere can be built with intention rather than excess.

Musically, “Ad Astra” is more about sensation than structure. There’s no hook, no verse, no chorus. Just shifting layers of tone and reverb that stretch out like the cosmos itself. It doesn’t beg for your attention. It floats alongside the imagery, unspooling slowly and inviting you to drift with it. The relationship between the audio and visuals is so tight that one doesn’t feel complete without the other.

I grew up obsessed with Carl Sagan’s Cosmos, and watching this brought some of that quiet, existential awe back to me. In its own understated way, Logica Abstracta is tending to the same flame, keeping alive that human fascination with what’s beyond us. “Ad Astra” doesn’t just pay homage to the past. It feels like a transmission from a parallel artistic universe still believing in wonder.

Sophia St. Helen’s latest single “Radio Silence” struck me right away. It’s a beautifully rendered track that carries both emotional weight and a sense of quiet determination. Written and performed by Sophia, with essential contributions from Dimitris Stasinos, Vasilis Alexopoulos, and Vasilis Nissopoulos, the song feels like the result of careful attention to both craft and mood.

The opening moments are stripped down with voice, guitar, and piano drawing you in with a sense of intimacy. When her voice enters, the tone shifts slightly, carrying a hopeful undercurrent that pushes through the melancholy. The song moves between these reflective moments and swells that build emotional momentum without feeling forced.

The production is pristine. Every instrument feels thoughtfully placed, allowing the vocal to float through the mix with clarity. Sophia has one of those voices that can feel like a conversation in one line and then climb to something transcendent the next. She navigates those shifts with precision and grace.

There’s a timeless quality to the songwriting. It doesn’t chase trends and instead leans into the strength of melody and feeling. “Radio Silence” feels like the kind of song you return to when you need something grounding. I’ll definitely be keeping an ear out for what she does next.

J. Michael & The Heavy Burden sound like a band built for the stage. The Ann Arbor and Detroit-based group has carved out a loyal following with their Alt-Americana blend of roots rock, and if their latest single “Hard Lesson” is any indication, the upcoming album Where We Belong might be the band’s most fully realized work yet.

“Hard Lesson” opens with a warped slide guitar that immediately sets the tone. I was pulled in right away. The harmonica enters not long after, adding a raw and unvarnished texture that makes the whole thing feel like it was tracked in one take on a back porch. The lead vocal is gritty and lived in, the kind of voice that makes lyrics about whiskey and heartbreak feel earned. And if you listen closely, there’s a gentle undercurrent of harmony vocals that round things out without smoothing the edges too much.

What I appreciated most is how the song doesn't try to build into something it’s not. Instead of layering endlessly, it stays close to the bones and leans into performance. It plays like a snapshot of a moment rather than a polished studio product. I could picture them playing this one late in a set, sweat on the brow, crowd swaying along.

There’s something refreshingly uncalculated about it. “Hard Lesson” hits with a lived-in charm, sounding like the kind of track that could become a sleeper favorite in the band’s catalog. I’m looking forward to hearing how the rest of the album shapes up.

jmheavyburden.com

Yves Pilon’s Ambient\_005 moves with a quiet persistence, more interested in atmosphere than progression. The Montreal-based artist has spent years crafting sound into experience, working with field recordings, tonal shifts, and subtle collages that resist narrative. This fifth release continues that approach, inviting the listener into a space where time feels suspended and structure is constantly slipping away.

“September” opens the album with soft layers of drone and ambient haze. The tonal palette is cool and neutral, evoking an emotional detachment that reminded me of early Boards of Canada. The piece feels distant, like watching a landscape through fogged glass.

“Signals” stretches over thirty-five minutes and operates almost entirely in abstraction. The piece experiments with shifting forms of white noise and gradual tonal changes. At moments, there’s a sense of calm, but it always feels slightly off-center, as if something is being hidden. It reminded me of Oneohtrix Point Never’s more textural work, where the disorientation is intentional and precise.

“Something Under You” brings a sense of motion, evoking a liquid space or underground passage. The textures feel slick and shifting, almost like a liminal tunnel with no clear exit. “The Next Dream” builds on that mood, introducing unease through subtle dissonance. It feels like a slow drift toward an unknown destination, with just enough tension to keep you aware.

“The Silence in Your Heart” leans into the ominous. Long reverbs stretch the space wide, suggesting something large and unseen moving quietly in the distance. “Theme \_C9\_R9” adds a rhythmic element with a low pulse, anchoring the drifting textures with a quiet throb that feels organic rather than mechanical.

“Moments\_02” closes the album with one of its most intense compositions. It’s dense and atonal, with multiple layers pressing against each other. The track evokes a kind of pressure, like air moving through a narrow chamber, and at times it sounds like the entire piece is exhaling slowly. It feels cinematic without aiming for drama, content to exist in its own shadowed space.

Ambient\_005 doesn’t chase resolution or clarity. It’s a collection of pieces that resist easy classification, ideal for listeners who appreciate ambient music on the more abstract and exploratory end of the spectrum. It made me feel like I was passing through abandoned places that still held the memory of something important, even if I couldn't quite name it.