April of June is the mostly one-man project by P.E. of Munich, Germany, meaning P.E. plays most instruments except drums, cello and backing vocals. His newest release Counterpoint is part two of a planned four-album project. He is very much anti-AI in both music and graphics, preferring contributions from real musicians and artists. Though I personally would not describe this music as LoFi, the stark quality of the instruments and the lack of mixing polish might lead others to use that label.

P.E. describes the album's structure this way: "I opted for a more traditional approach to songwriting. Instead of a single story being told throughout the album, these songs are more their own thing, with the three instrumentals providing a kind of frame around them. I still tried to center the songs around a common theme, which is the different kinds of relationships between people. Whereas the previous album was heavily influenced by genres like post-rock and told a personal story, 'Counterpart' takes a somewhat more streamlined approach to songwriting and was inspired by a few different stories." 

My first impression of April of June is that it's heavily centered on electric guitar, with songs built from repeated patterns and lead guitar experimentation. For the songs with vocals, the backing tracks are pushed further away in the mix. Any self-important sound mixer on the internet would possibly find fault, but I see such mixing choices as exactly that: artistic choices that define the artist.

"Avarice" is the first of three instrumentals that act as a "frame" around the vocal tracks.  It begins with a single electric guitar rising from the bottom of a phase cycle, then kicks into a full-band sound with Severin Rauch on drums. From what I can tell, P.E. plays acoustic and electric guitar and fuzz melodies, creating a live alternative rock sound with the reflections of a rehearsal studio. It's a simple minor-key construction but with inventive ideas for the fuzz lead, including a spaghetti western-style explosion toward the end. In a witty conclusion, the main guitar cycles back down into the muted end of the phase cycle. 

"Cast Aside" is the first vocal track, which otherwise has a similar sonic blueprint to the opening track. P.E. plays his fuzz lead in a style I often use, where you hit single notes up and down the neck while alternating each note with an open string. The title and lyrics seem to suggest a broken relationship, though the narrator takes a bit of agency in the outcome. Vocally and musically, this track had me imagining "The Man Who Sold The World" Bowie having a teenage son who raided Dad's studio late at night to make his own track! The verse riffs recall the ensemble power of Bowie, Ronson, Visconti and Woodmansey. 

"Out of Reach" slows down the basic approach but still conveys that Bowie-meets-Morricone style. In this track our previously headstrong hero seems to have succumbed to romantic despair (or is he talking about the whole world?). This track has the vocals pushed way to the front, almost like a reference mix before the final. That said, the elements are all quite affecting. "Counterpart" is the next instrumental and is heavy with grinding fuzz guitars and wistful top melodies. The big surprise here is the stark, picked acoustic guitar (and later fuzz lead and piano) paired with winsome cello, all presented with little to no extra reverb so that you feel you're right in the room. 

"Never Gone" has the intimacy of someone playing electric guitar for you with a practice amp, then kicks back into raw Sebadoh-style rock. The chorus features a cool elliptical fuzz melody, though vocally P.E. is practically sticking is head out of your speakers! In "Sever The Ties" our narrator seems to have come full-circle in the certainty that, despite the sad specter of a breakup, his relationship will somehow be repaired and endure (though I wonder how much he really believes it). "Departure" finally bids adieu with one of the nicest arrangements of piano, fuzz guitars, cello and drums. 

April of June is certainly a mixed bag in both song and mixing styles, but I really dug it overall and you might too!

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Junk Fingers originally came out of a group of Pittsburg bands (junk parts?) with a CD called You Can’t Drink All Day Unless You Start in the Morning (so totally true!) but then went radio silent for a number of years, finally reassembling in 2022 to begin work on Audrey's Fever & Other Stories. The album is a mini-Rock Opera about a girl who had always dreamed of flying. Junk Fingers say they play rock with elements of folk and prog. I certainly pegged them at outsider music from the very first track.

Unlike conventional prog, Junk Fingers prefer shorter songs with little soloing, emphasizing melody. They strive for creative musical patterns with tight arrangements, using these with storytelling that echos Richard Brautigan's approach (I'm a fan, so that warms my heart!). Melissa Knauer is the lead vocalist, with Byron Glatz on drums, Bob Loiselle  on guitar and Evan Knauer on bass.

"The Aerial Life" sets the table with cyclical guitar patterns that nonetheless have the looseness and exuberance of alternative rock. Lead singer Knauer is someone I can easily compare to Maria McGee of the late, great Lone Justice. This track seems to have so much going on, I was shocked when it clocked under three minutes! Knauer's bass becomes more melodically prominent as we move along. "By the Neon Stop Sign" has both a film noir title and sound, with smoky vamps and spy-movie riffs. "Burden (Audrey's Song)" certainly has a Tull-like sound and arrangement without being too stuffy about it. 

"0 Gravity" actually has a Vince Guaraldi jazz-piano feel with Asian-sounding melodies toward the end. "What Goes Up" exuberantly moves the story forward into the actual air with a lot of Andrew Lloyd Webber dynamics, while sounding resolutely like a band having a blast. Part one concludes with "It's a Good Thing I'm Not Afraid of Heights" which pushes the guitars into glorious distortion.

Among the Other Stories: "Between Luck & Blame" is built of rich acoustic banks (possibly in a special tuning), with the full band making quite a belter for Melissa Knauer, including some fun inter-band verse-swapping; a solid track that creates a mood and never lets it go. 

"Broadway" perhaps intentionally feels like a show tune worthy of Liza Minelli, while vocally "Sunny Green (and Grey)" conjures more of the Heart sisters. Both these last tunes were under two minutes, which just seems impossible with the big moods they convey. "Heaven's Not Enough" somehow feels like prog, bedroom indie and Irish music all at once, and is quite rock opera-ready. "Higher All The Time" ends the album with a minute of literal madness.

I had no idea what to expect, but this turned out to be right up my alley and I must advise you to check it out!

ratonastickrecords.com/junk-fingers

"Figuring Out" is the debut single from John Wallace & The Notions. Singer-songwriter John Wallace is a Kilkenny, Ireland native who spent a decade playing drums but has now moved up-front with his own band, which also includes Cian Doolan (guitar), Dan Pearson (bass), Peter Flynn (keys) and Graeme Stapleton (drums). Wallace's Instagram has a bunch of videos where you can see each member doing his thing.

The band's music is described as warm, energetic and intimate, moving between indie rock and Americana with a sprinkling of soul. Influences include The War on Drugs, Dawes and the Fleet Foxes. Thematically this song deals with "trying to make sense of where you're at in life, and learning to be okay with not having all the answers... sometimes the beauty is just in 'figuring it out.' Think of it as a warm smile on an empty road." Mixing was by Nicolas Vernhes at Rare Book Room Studios in Los Angeles, with mastering by Stefan Brown at Abbey Road Studios.

Wallace wastes no time in establishing a phat, soulful groove with his vocals, shimmering guitars and keys atop a solid rhythm section, punching the song's chorus right up front. Taking the verses, Wallace reveals a rich tenor singing voice (hiding behind the drums for a decade? Wow!) in a sort of interplay with tremolo electric guitar. The harmonies on the choruses are note-perfect, though with everyone jumping in at once, the track does teeter on overload (without tipping over! I don't want the Abbey Road techs made at me!). 

Once the verse and chorus patterns are established, the song continues cycling without too much variation, with the exception of a short guitar solo after the second section and just before the big conclusion. Vibrating slabs of Hammond organ help take us home.  

In one of his videos, Wallace described a band member's playing as "doing the simple things perfectly, which is the sign of a great musician." (My own musical partner likes to "find the simple thing that sounds cool!"). But in a way this description could also apply to this new track, which is easy to follow but no less enjoyable for the journey.

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Most albums about memory try to organize the past into something clean and meaningful. Rainy Nights & Rearview Windows does not. Sue Horowitz lets these songs remain messy around the edges, the way real recollections tend to behave when they return unexpectedly. Family wounds reopen mid-conversation. Regret drifts into humor. Long drives become private confessionals. Even the quieter moments carry the sensation that something unresolved is sitting just beneath the arrangement waiting to surface.

Produced with Eric Kilburn at Wellspring Studios, the album leans into warm acoustic textures and detailed songwriting without sterilizing the emotional friction underneath. Horowitz writes with enough specificity that the songs avoid collapsing into broad reflections about endurance or healing. The details matter here. You can hear it in the pauses, the phrasing, and the way certain lines linger uncomfortably instead of resolving neatly.

“Keep the Light On, Cordelia” featuring Sloan Wainwright opens with a rich and inviting mix that immediately pulled me in. The arrangement balances folk rock, Americana, and jam-band looseness without becoming unfocused. “Inheritance” featuring Jim Terry shifts into more intimate territory and introduces some of the album’s heavier emotional themes with understated control.

“Burn” carries traces of ‘90s alternative rock in both tone and structure, while “Regret” strips things down into something quieter and more haunting. “Driving in a Rainstorm” taps into a western-country atmosphere that fits naturally within the album’s recurring themes of movement and reflection.

As the record continued, “Long Goodbye” and “Freedom Fly” featuring Anne Marie Menta and Sloan Wainwright emerged as highlights for me. The sequencing works because Horowitz understands when to pull inward and when to let the songs breathe outward with more energy and motion. That balance gives the album its emotional shape.

Not every track landed equally for me, but the strongest moments here are exceptional. Rainy Nights & Rearview Windows succeeds because it sounds deeply alive and human without trying to announce its importance. These songs carry warmth, scars, uncertainty, and resilience that mimic the human condition.

By the late ‘90s and early 2000s, alternative rock had already started turning inward. The grandiosity remained intact, but the emotional center became colder, more detached, almost claustrophobic. Bands stretched riffs into massive shapes while vocals drifted through them like exhausted thoughts echoing inside empty industrial spaces. Tár understand that language well on Dancing On The Event Horizon. The EP does not attempt to modernize those influences or dismantle them for irony. Instead, it treats that era’s sound like an emotional environment worth stepping back into completely.

Following Chasing Shadows… Losing Ground, the band continues exploring collapse, memory, and emotional erosion through thick guitar tones and dense atmospheric production. Reverb hangs heavily over nearly every section while the riffs remain rooted in physical weight. There is very little interest in subtlety here. The songs move with the force of traditional alternative and stoner rock structures while letting mood carry much of the emotional impact.

“A Course For Home” opens the EP with an immediate attachment to ‘90s alternative rock. I could hear shades of Tool almost instantly, though Tár avoid the more intricate rhythmic detours associated with that band. The song stays grounded in direct grooves, straightforward 4/4 patterns, and familiar harmonic movement. “Black Lights” continues in a similar direction. The drumming has enough dynamic variation to keep the momentum alive, and the guitar tones land exactly where they need to, even if the overall structure remains fairly conventional.

“Neon Blood” raises the intensity level considerably and leans even harder into the influence of bands like A Perfect Circle and Tool. The guitars swell into towering walls of distortion while the vocals remain suspended somewhere inside the haze. By the time “Anatomy Of Letting Go” arrives, the EP fully embraces the sensation of uncovering a forgotten alternative rock radio single from twenty-five years ago.

I’ve been listening to music rooted in this sound since its peak in the ‘90s, and Dancing On The Event Horizon never really tries to reinvent that formula. The appeal comes from how sincerely the band commits to it. Rather than chasing reinvention or experimentation, Tár focus on preserving the emotional weight, atmosphere, and physicality that made this style resonate in the first place. In that sense, the EP works less as revivalism and more as preservation.

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Mattock sound like a band assembled from years of accumulated club smoke, basement rehearsals, and regional scenes that no longer carry the same cultural gravity they once did. You can hear traces of early 2000s indie rock, punk, Americana, and strange art-rock detours throughout Daughters, but the record never comes across like an exercise in revivalism. Casey Brandt’s history playing places like CBGB and The Continental with Satirius Johnson collides naturally with Jason Fletcher’s roots in the DMV underground, and the result is an album that values physical performance over precision editing. The songs breathe, speed up slightly when they need to, and occasionally feel on the verge of unraveling in ways that actually improve the material.

“Holy Boat” opens the album with a tight groove and a mix that immediately caught my attention. The drums cut cleanly through the center while the bass and vocals remain sharply defined without sounding overly polished. Mattock do not reinvent the fundamentals of rock songwriting here, but the band understand how to lock into momentum and let a groove carry the weight. “Daughter” pushes into stranger territory. The vocalist occasionally reminded me of Les Claypool, and the track carries flashes of Primus and even Swans, though without leaning into technical excess. There is a loose muscularity to the performance that works in its favor.

“Actaeon” moves faster and cuts harder, driven by strong guitar work and restless forward motion, while “Daedalus” leans into a bluesier rock structure that eventually opens into one of the album’s strongest descending passages. “Lil’ Busted Fox” carries a loose jam-band energy that mostly lands because the band never overplay their hand. “Invitation” keeps the record grounded before “Reptilian” suddenly accelerates into punk tempos with flashes of prog-rock melody tucked inside the chaos. “Ghosts of the Confederacy” has some strong moments as well, but “Boring Life” is the track that stayed with me most. The closer settles into a series of grooves and melodic turns that underline the album’s central strength: these songs sound played rather than assembled.
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The record reminded me at times of older Modest Mouse or Built to Spill albums because of how committed it is to capturing the feeling of musicians occupying the same physical space. You can hear room tone, human timing, and the friction between instruments pushing against each other. In an era where so much rock music is flattened into software perfection, Daughters benefits from still sounding like actual people in a room chasing a feeling together.

mattockband.com

A lot of bands try to turn uncertainty into something cinematic, but Blueprint Tokyo sound grounded in the smaller realities that come after the dramatic moments have already passed. Dark New Days does not frame perseverance as triumph. The Oklahoma City group focus on the uneasy stretch where people continue moving through relationships, memories, and disappointments without fully knowing whether their decisions were correct in the first place. That emotional ambiguity gives the EP its pulse. Even when the hooks brighten or the tempos push forward, there is tension sitting underneath the momentum.

Following their 2025 debut Neon Circuits and the Mission of Hope, the band return with a six-song EP that tightens their songwriting without sanding down its emotional edges. “Orange Tiger” opens with a brief preamble before the band lock into a direct, driving rock structure. The song stays committed to its momentum, gradually building intensity through familiar major and minor chord movements instead of trying to force unnecessary detours. Blueprint Tokyo understand the appeal of straightforward rock songwriting and rarely overcomplicate their material.

“Here’s Your Story” continues with another forward-moving groove built around steady bass lines, rhythm guitar, and understated atmosphere. “Just Repeat Myself” leans further into melodic pop instincts and ends up being one of the stronger hooks on the EP. “Change My Mind” carries an emotional weight that feels genuine without becoming melodramatic, while “Art of Betrayal” introduces a sleeker sheen that reminded me a bit of Phoenix at points. By the time “Nite Valerie” closes the record, the band settle into a more lush and reflective mood that works well as a final comedown.

​What I appreciated most about Dark New Days was its clarity of purpose. The songs are structured cleanly, the performances feel committed, and the production never distracts from the emotional core of the material. Blueprint Tokyo are not trying to reinvent indie rock here. They are trying to communicate something honest through well-crafted songs, and for the most part, they succeed.

Hallucinophonics are a mystery, I'm not sure if this is an individual, a band or something else. There are no visible members in the videos, no clear credits, and “Frozen Meridian” arrives with the strange feeling that the people behind it are intentionally obscured. Perhaps they just want to remain anonymous.

That mystery started shaping the way I heard the song itself. The production hangs in this heavy cloud of reverb where guitars, vocals, and percussion melt into each other in a space that feels symbiotic. 

“Frozen Meridian” opens with simple guitar picking and atmospheric pads that initially suggest something meditative, but the vocals really had a rock/pop delivery that sounded so familiar to me but couldn't think of the individual. It was almost like a combination of hard rock singers from popular songs I have heard in passing. I think some people will appreciate that because of the familiarity.

I was surprised by how direct and clearly delivered the singing is. The voice sits high in the mix while waves of hall reverb spread across nearly every instrument. Even when the song moves into a harder rock section, the production keeps everything blurred around the edges, creating a strange tension between the grounded structure of the song and the murky quality of the recording itself.

As an engineer myself for over twenty years, I kept trying to decode what I was hearing from a technical standpoint. The recording does not sound traditionally miked in the way most rock songs do, and the frequency balance behaves strangely at times, almost as if the instruments were assembled in novel way and morphing in real time. I would say the use of compression and limiting is also unusual in technical ways I won't go into. 

I won’t pretend to know exactly how it was made, but it left me with more questions than conclusions. Hallucinophonics reference bands like Pink Floyd and Sigur Rós, though I honestly did not hear much resemblance beyond the shared fascination with scale and atmosphere. On that note make up your mind for yourself and take a listen. There's a lot to appreciate here. 

A lot of independent electronic music now arrives wrapped in promises of innovation before you even press play. Algorithms generate textures, presets flatten individuality, and producers often seem more concerned with appearing futuristic than developing an actual musical identity. MOMARZ takes a noticeably different route on The Theory. Working entirely from a home studio in Boston with GarageBand and a small collection of keyboards, the producer leans heavily into direct, hands-on construction. You can hear the simplicity of that process immediately. The tracks are not overloaded with hyper-detailed sound design or maximalist arrangements. Instead, the music focuses on repetition, melody, rhythm, and atmosphere.

“Party Moves” opens the release with a structure that avoids standard dance formulas. The beat does not settle into an obvious club-ready pattern, and the instrumentation remains relatively static throughout the track. MOMARZ seems more interested in locking into a hypnotic loop than building dramatic crescendos. “Beyond Sight” follows a similar approach, centering itself around a single digital lead that gradually carries the song forward through subtle shifts rather than major transformations.

“The Theory” increases the momentum slightly and introduces a bit more urgency to the sequencing while “MO MOXY” experiments with chopped and spliced sounds that interrupt the otherwise straightforward flow of the record. “Turn It All The Way Up” ended up being one of the stronger tracks because it embraces abstraction more fully. The fragmented structure and more unpredictable textures give the song a tension missing from some of the earlier material. “FANTASTICO!” also contains flashes of that experimentation and suggests MOMARZ becomes more compelling whenever the music drifts away from restraint and toward instability.

At points, I was reminded of Aphex Twin, particularly in the off-kilter sequencing and interest in repetition, although MOMARZ approaches those ideas from a far more minimal and stripped-down perspective. The compositions do not aim for the same level of rhythmic complexity but there is still something appealing about hearing electronic music that sounds handmade in such a literal sense. The rough edges become part of the personality.

More than anything, this feels like the beginning of a creative process rather than a fully realized endpoint. MOMARZ already has a recognizable instinct for mood and repetition, especially when blending piano-rooted ideas into electronic frameworks. As the arrangements become more layered and the sound design evolves, the project could develop into something genuinely distinctive.

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art pop don’t treat experimentation as the entire point of housecAt. Even with the occasional reversed effects, warped transitions, and manipulated vocals, the album stays rooted in strong pop songwriting. The Austin duo of Max Grossenbacher and Miles Grossenbacher seem more interested in chasing emotional release through electronic textures than simply sounding strange for the sake of it. When the album reaches its high points, especially on songs like “the party’s never over (and I feel alive right now…)” and “we r rebels,” it taps into the same kind of ecstatic indie-pop rush that made bands like MGMT so immediately magnetic in the first place. The record constantly shifts between playful experimentation and genuine melodic payoff, which is ultimately what gives these songs their staying power.

“sunrise 4 suckers” acts as a brief introduction, built from reversed effects and warped textures that create the sensation of traveling through a wormhole before “the party’s never over (and I feel alive right now…)” arrives and immediately locks into something much more direct. The song starts with lo-fi piano and vocals before opening into shimmering electronic pop. I’m not always the biggest fan of vocal effects, but they genuinely work here because they amplify the emotional tone instead of distracting from it. By the end, the song bursts outward with this exaggerated sense of optimism that feels earned rather than forced. It’s one of the album’s strongest tracks.

“in my blue house” keeps the momentum going with layered electronic instrumentation and a structure that gradually expands toward a huge finish. “a house on fire” works within the same aesthetic even if it didn’t hit me as immediately, while “but the sad kitty don’t dance” pushes further into experimentation. The reversed elements make the song sound partially disassembled, almost like hearing fragments of pop music reconstructed backwards. It’s less melodic than some of the surrounding material but still interesting because of how far it stretches the album’s palette.

“we r rebels” is another major highlight and probably the clearest example of what the duo do best. The brighter hooks and upward energy occasionally brought MGMT to mind during their most immediate moments. “a waiting room (kibbles N bits remix)” might be the most emotive song on the album, balancing synthetic textures with something unexpectedly vulnerable underneath. Then there’s “but i don’t know how to try…,” which leans into a cartoonish aesthetic through pitched-up vocals and elastic instrumentation without losing the emotional core holding the album together.
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I really enjoyed this album. It sounds genuinely original without sacrificing accessibility, and that balance is harder to pull off than a lot of experimental pop records make it seem. Not every risk lands equally, but when these songs connect, they connect hard. A few of them are exceptional.

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