Berlin has always had a reputation for pushing electronic music into strange, unfamiliar corners, and Marc Gundermann’s debut solo EP Konsole feels very much a product of that restless energy. The record sits firmly in ambient territory, but what makes it striking is its atmosphere. These tracks radiate something haunting and genuinely unsettling, a sound world that feels closer to psychological horror than to background music. Gundermann’s background in classical composition and electronic production is obvious in the precision of the arrangements, but the precision only sharpens the sense of dread. Every detail feels intentional, yet never polished to the point of sterility. Instead, the record breathes unease, as if each note is weighted with menace.

The opening track, “SANDPIPER LODGE,” set the tone immediately. It sounded like pure horror music, the kind of piece that could live inside a game like Elden Ring. The textures felt like wind howling through abandoned corridors, pulling me into a desolate landscape that was both liminal and terrifying. At times I thought of Godspeed You! Black Emperor, with its sprawling sense of tension and dread. From there, the EP only dug deeper into its ominous terrain. “APPARITION” pushed that anxiety further, a thumping drone pulsing like machinery in an alien engine room. It made me feel uneasy in a way ambient music rarely does, less like drifting and more like being trapped.

“LOADING... INSERT MEMORY CARD... PRESS ENTER” disoriented me completely. It felt as if the track was moving in reverse, pulling sound back into silence instead of pushing it forward. The effect was vertigo-inducing, the sonic equivalent of losing your footing on a staircase. By contrast, “WOHLGEMUT” introduced a fragile thread of warmth, though it was wrapped in melancholy. I found it peaceful, but the scraping textures suggested I was inside a cocoon, sealed off from the outside world. “LOST HIGHWAY” was the track that stayed with me the most. Possibly named after the David Lynch film, it carried a balance of haunting darkness and ethereal glow, a sense of mystery that never resolved.

What makes Konsole so absorbing is its refusal to offer comfort. This EP is not dabbling in ambient music. It is fully committed to it. There are no hooks to latch onto, no melodies or  choruses to hum. The dynamics are subtle, often barely rising above a steady pulse. Yet within that restraint is a depth of mood that feels cinematic. I kept imagining these pieces as part of horror films or immersive video games, soundtracking landscapes where danger is always just out of view.

It is certainly niche, and I can imagine listeners craving resolution or melody might find it too stark. But for me, that starkness is the point. Konsole thrives in its ominous tones, in its ability to conjure spaces that are haunting, scary, and dark.

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Modern Refuge is a Connecticut indie band with a great lead guitarist, a rock goddess singer and a full hour of music in their debut album Runaway Dream. Known locally as a killer live band, their 70’s-influenced sound has opened shows for Sammy Hagar and The Circle, George Thorogood & The Destroyers, Talk, and Rozzi. They believe their music might be welcomed by fans of Jeff Buckley, Manchester Orchestra and Grace Potter.

Though Modern Refuge does not lack for enthusiasm, they are a bit tight with biographical details, including the names of the band members! I finally found them hidden in a Spotify credit list: Brian Winfield, Jim McLoughlin, Samantha Winfield and Vincent Amendola. They describe their album as “…a powerful alt-rock journey rooted in deep connection, spiritual reflection, and raw emotional honesty. It blends lush, atmospheric arrangements with the grit of lived experience: shaped by years of family bonds, friendship, and a transformative trip to the Arizona desert.” The album was produced by Tom Pisani, and the band’s photos and videos joyously provide mini-tours of the cool studio where the magic came together.

The album opens with the epic seven-minute rocker “Teething.” Right away the electric guitar dominates with a playing style that stresses overdriven harmonics (in other words, it’s loud!) while lead singer Samantha Winfield has a powerful rock voice, somehow rough and melodic at the same time. Bass and drums are also solid, with all four players nicely arranged and mixed. There’s also some Hammond organ in the middle section that really seals the 70’s deal. There’s even a third part with caveman-like chants and grunts while the guitar goes totally hog-wild.

“Wave Empire” is the first time (but not the last!) when Winfield reminded me of Stevie Nicks, and in fact the song has a Rumours-era Fleetwood Mac sound, like a more interesting version of “Dreams.” The addition of a lattice built from synths really fills this track out, though the siren sound did freak me out while I was walking! The track fades out with an excellent guitar orchestra with a Steely Dan vibe.  “Pearl” raises the songwriting and arranging sophistication by several notches: jangly rock with touches of classical and jazz. The chorus proves that several stacked tracks of Winfield’s voice is only a good thing!

“Becalmed” is a solo violin performance by Kenneth Nalto, adding a short and mysterious interlude to the show, leading without pause into “Rope” that again recalls Fleetwood Mac (this time “The Chain”). Thinking of this band as a live quartet, it’s always surprising to hear how much care and skill goes into the guitar overdubs, with each track adding subtle nuances and counter-melodies. And Winfield again shows Stevie Nicks how it’s done! “Bray” is a solid ballad with beautifully phased guitars facing off against piano, with Winfield tying it all together with another assured vocal. The album closer “Gloss” is another epic construction, starting with a weird off-kilter picking scheme (I can’t imagine finding a vocal line atop these chords, but Winfield did it!). The drums are nicely roomy and solid, while the chiming guitars go down like candy. 

With so much to recommend this band, it seems churlish to point out that less might be more. Runaway Dream is a big collection with big sounds and arrangements and takes time to assimilate, and might have made for two shorter, really tight albums. But every song is beyond excellent, and I listened in awe the whole time. Go see what I mean!

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Josh Gillespie has been writing and performing for more than two decades, and his latest album Ghost Stories: Songs of Disorientation makes that history feel audible and weighty. I could hear the years of experience shaping the record, not in a nostalgic sense, but in the way each track seems to wrestle with memory, doubt, and faith across time. For me, the album does not play like a neatly polished product. It feels like a reckoning, a document from someone who has turned to music as a way of making sense of what it means to be human.

The themes are familiar, whether depression, anxiety, or uncertainty, but Gillespie sidesteps cliché. The faint religious imagery reminded me of Sufjan Stevens in the way he keeps it subtle. The opening track, “Ghost Stories,” leans into lo-fi garage textures with chorus soaked guitars, a steady beat, and a vocal melody that hangs just long enough to take hold. It is stripped down, but it works.

When I reached “King Incognito,” the fuzzed out guitar and forward momentum felt like a necessary jolt, while “A God Worth Talking To, Pt. 1” slipped into a drone heavy meditation that slowed everything to a crawl. “O Help My Unbelief (feat. This Burning Ghost)” surprised me with its acoustic simplicity, and “Overwhelm” balanced the same palette with a heavier edge. My favorite moment came with “Rewritten (feat. Anna Owens),” where orchestral swells opened into a striking vocal performance that felt like the emotional heart of the album. The duet added dimension in a way the other songs had not.

The closing stretch circles back to the 90s alt rock haze that hangs over much of the album. “Await Your Love” is straightforward but locks into a groove, carrying just enough grit to stay compelling. The overall tone is heavy and dramatic, rarely offering lightness, but I never felt that as a flaw. It seemed deliberate, a choice to stay inside the darker terrain. At times I caught echoes of 90s indie bands in the production and guitar tones, which gave the record a familiar texture without tipping into imitation.

Ghost Stories: Songs of Disorientation is strongest when it embraces its raw edges, where the tension between faith and doubt, distortion and clarity, refuses to resolve. That restlessness is what made me want to return. It does not give easy answers, but it asks the right questions.

Not too long ago we covered Singularity, the debut album from Jacqueline Cordes. At just twenty two, she has already returned with Frozen Star, a record so cinematic that I would not be surprised if she were writing full film scores in the near future. The music is sweeping, dramatic, and vivid enough to soundtrack entire worlds, and I found myself constantly surprised by the ambition that went into shaping it.

“Illusions of Amethyst” opens with piano arpeggios that carry a regal quality, soon joined by choral style vocals that swell into orchestration. The track set the tone for me, like the overture to a film that I had not yet seen. “Verdant Heart” followed with a quieter stillness, a song that had me picturing wide open fields and the kind of endless horizon that feels both comforting and humbling. With “Transience,” Cordes pivots into an electronic palette that reminded me of Jon Hopkins, and the way the synth textures collided with the rhythm gave the piece a sense of constant movement. “Entering the Dreamscape” leaned closer to Max Richter, a minimalist approach where the repetition felt hypnotic more than ornamental.

Other tracks expanded the record’s reach even further. “The Skyship of Dreams” built a sense of mystery, hovering between light and shadow. “Shadowland” tipped closer to unease, almost anxious in its darker tones. “Realm of the Red Sun” delivered one of the most dramatic moments with its swirling orchestral passages, while “Ordo ab Chao” slowed everything down into something deliberate and weighty. “Dance of the Dead” stood out for me as one of the most surprising moments, mischievous and playful in a way that cut through the solemnity. By the time I reached “Father and Daughter – End Credits,” with its mournful violins and spare piano, I realized just how much this album plays like a film from start to finish.

Even the smaller details lingered with me. Tracks like “Existence” and “Reflections of Solitude” drifted into meditative calm and melancholy, showing that Cordes knows how to balance grandeur with restraint. What puzzled me most was the sheer scale of the instrumentation. There is no clear credit for who is performing these parts, but some of the arrangements sounded like a full orchestra, each line executed with precision. That mystery only added to the allure of the record, as if it appeared fully formed out of some imagined world.

Another thing that stood out was the brevity of the songs. Most last only two or three minutes, which is unusually concise for music that draws so heavily from classical traditions. The choice makes Frozen Star feel like a series of vivid scenes spliced together, rather than one continuous piece, which gave the listening experience a unique rhythm.
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Listening to Frozen Star felt like sitting through an entire film without ever seeing a single frame. It is immersive, dramatic, and strangely transportive, the kind of record that can pull you into its world whether you are ready or not.

Eric Randolph Rasmussen is a New York outsider musician who releases as many albums a month as I get up nightly to pee (though to much better effect!). That’s an exaggeration, but this is my fifth review of Rasmussen’s musical persona Salon de la Guerre and there’s many Pitch Perfect reviews of his 43 albums besides mine! Though always recognizable as himself, Rasmussen does change things up with each release and that's no exception with Betrayed. This time around he was going for “a work of pop and rock songs about personal and political anxiety… mostly very upbeat, despite the dark themes.” He also has a female singer on several tracks, and points to The New Pornographers as a possible influence.

Rasmussen says his genres include rock, punk, pop, folk, country and classical. What I always imagine is that a band or collective are playing away when Rasmussen happens to wander in, grabs the microphone and recites his homegrown poetry regardless of what else is happening. This album was recorded from May to July 2025 (I’m writing this in early August!) at Rasmussen’s New York City home studio, which always amazes me given the resulting sound! 

The opening track “Incident at the Deer Creek Spelling Bee” reminds me that Rasmussen’s titles are always clever or funny, matching the lyrics within. This one has an aggressive synth melody, carnival organ, pumping bass and rollicking drums. Rasmussen’s vocals are right up front, and though it may be due to my fandom, his voice always brings a smile to my face. There’s a string section in the middle that, combined with the piano, gives this track a distinct Rolling Stones “Satanic Majesties” psychedelic vibe. “Latin Quarter Restaurant” features new lead vocalist Christina E., and Rasmussen honors her with an energetic jangle pop track. Still twisted, but with a more commercial sheen.

“Sign Stealing” gets weird again, darkly downtempo with an Asian vibe (is that a Koto?) creeping around the edges. I love the hypnotic chant of “Catch the ball / Don’t drop the ball!” Christina E. reappears in the middle, singing both solo and in harmony with Rasmussen. Love it!  “Mash Notes at Quantico” has some amazing intertwined synth melodies. The next track featuring Christina E. is “My Last Film Credit” which is another great idea with matching music: “The crew was waiting for my tears but I couldn’t hit those heights… intimacy coordinators all gave up on me.” This is my favorite vocal duet thus far, and the mentions of I.M.D.B. (the Internet Movie Database) are also very funny.

“Baby Hid My Keys” is a sort of Beefheart-Asian hybrid. “Witness to a Soul” has a dark film noir energy. “A Spirit Denatured” again features Christina E. and skirts right on the edge of alternative rock, though (of course) off-kilter. The keyboard bass sound is amazing and Rasmussen gives it plenty of sonic room. The male and female vocals are almost perfectly aligned. “J’s Diagnosis” is a mini-epic at over five minutes and truly embodies the spirit of rock experimentation. Unhinged and wonderful! There’s a couple more Christina E. collabs before the concluding  “Your Rose Period” which is a more traditional rock track with driving strings and slashing guitar, while Rasmussen (naturally!) never breaks a vocal sweat!

Though my personal favorite Salon album is still the Trout Mask-like “Standing Close To Power” I always enjoy all of Rasmussen’s work, and anyone with a taste for an outsider aesthetic will love it too.

Legacy of Marble, the new album from Noctæra, carries a gravity that rarely loosens its grip. It reminded me of the kind of reverent atmosphere Zola Jesus often conjures, but at times it felt even more mythological, like something pulled from an ancient ritual. There is little levity here, and I think that is very intentional. The record leans into mysticism, creating a space where the songs feel like they are circling something larger than themselves.

The opener, “Legacy of Marble,” makes its intentions clear. The vocals are pushed right to the front, delivered with a dramatic intensity that borders on cinematic. I could hear the Eastern influence immediately, and it worked as a compelling introduction to the world the album builds. “Trouble Ballade” shifted the energy into something more kinetic. The pounding drums and moments where Eastern tonalities collided with heavy metal felt like a war cry to me, urgent and raw.

“Dors en Corps” stayed dramatic but added a surprising catchiness. The string arrangements gave the song weight while the vocal lines lingered in my head. “Planning Sentimental” pulled me in with its beat and synth textures, though the voice remained the focal point. Then came “Kept Me Bound,” which caught me off guard by sounding closer to a straight ahead rock track. That unpredictability carried over into “Synaptic Rebellion,” where a male vocalist changed the whole character of the band. In those moments, I heard shades of Tool. By the time “What the Flowers See” arrived with yet another voice, the album had splintered into something much harder to pin down.

​Later tracks like “A Path in Your Wake” leaned into pop sensibilities, while “Le Dernier Souper” circled back to the heavier, more dramatic palette introduced earlier. The closer, “Pas le Bruit du Vent,” left me with a strong impression, tying together some of the weightier ideas while maintaining that sense of mystery.

​About halfway through, I realized this album had become something much less uniform than I expected. At times, it almost sounded like an entirely different project, shifting vocalists and moods so drastically that it resisted any easy classification. Still, I kept being struck by the sheer range of the vocal performances. Whoever was behind the mic, they managed to hit notes that felt unreal in their intensity. This is not an easy album to categorize, but I found it intriguing. For me, it is the kind of record that asks you to sit with it and see where it takes you.

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Producer ONiGS teams up again with Mishell Ivon on their new single “iNViSiBLE,” a pop rock electro funk hybrid that pulls inspiration from Michael Jackson, Prince, and Daft Punk. The track wastes no time laying down its intentions: a punchy beat, wiry guitar licks, and neon lit synths that give the whole thing a futuristic sheen. Ivon’s vocal performance sits at the center, commanding but playful, the kind of delivery that can fill a club or light up a late night living room.

I found myself pulled into its disco funk undercurrent almost immediately. There is a clear 70s influence in the groove, a strut that reminds me of classic soul but repurposed with a sharper, more electronic polish. At times, I thought of LCD Soundsystem, though this felt more laser cut, more intent on leaning into its synthetic edges. The beat runs in a straightforward 4/4, but it is the details, the flickering synth flourishes and the clipped rhythm guitar, that make it hard to sit still.

What stood out most to me was the way the vocals channeled that old school soul without ever sounding like an imitation. They soar across the track, weaving in and out of the groove, pushing the song into something that feels both nostalgic and forward looking. I could easily imagine this blasting in a club, but it carries enough personality to soundtrack a casual night in too. For me, it is a song that almost demands you give in, grab your shoes, and move.

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“Akashic Walker,” the new single from Dez Rocket, feels like a love song beamed in from some other dimension. It is based on an original story he wrote called Senya and Diama: A Cosmic Love Story, and it also marks the first time Rocket has stepped into the territory of writing a love song.

The track opens with clean, strummed chords and vocals that seem to hover just above the surface. The melodies lean toward comfort but carry a shade of melancholy that lingers. Subtle atmospheric pads drift in, and soon the beat locks into place with a snare that snaps almost like rapid fire percussion. I noticed how the bass carved its own path in the mix, giving the track more weight. By the time the second chorus arrives, the song expands dramatically, layers swirling around each other until it feels almost cinematic.

To me, the song comes across as romantic in the truest sense, yearning, heartfelt, and steeped in a kind of sincerity that cannot be faked. It does not need to reinvent itself to be effective; instead, it builds carefully until it feels like it is reaching outward, searching for something bigger. I found it moving, and I think it is a solid song worth sitting with. The more I listened, the more the layers revealed themselves, from subtle harmonies to fleeting moments of texture that give the track its emotional pull. It feels like a glimpse into Rocket’s imagination, where intimacy and cosmic wonder blur into one.

Tara Beier’s Mourning Doves of Joshua Tree feels like the kind of album where personal grief turns into something luminous. Written after the loss of her grandmother and shaped by time spent in the desert, it circles themes of mourning, renewal, and the uncanny presence of doves, which in some traditions represent loved ones who never fully leave. That sense of lingering spirit runs through the whole record, and while the lyrical weight is heavy, the music itself often feels buoyant. Beier pulls from alternative folk and Americana, but she is not afraid to blur the edges, pulling in shades of post punk, southern gothic, and straight up rock.

The opener, “Desert Soul,” immediately grabbed me. There is something about the vocal delivery that gave me Blondie flashbacks, and the reverb soaked guitars tilt the whole thing toward post punk. It is sharp, dynamic, and unexpectedly catchy. “Lost Brother” pushes into darker territory with grooves that sink in right away and production choices that feel strange but smart. The hook is undeniable. When “Rainbow” arrives, the guitars shimmer, and the song feels wrapped in a soft glow. It is one of the most memorable tracks here, a moment that carries real warmth.

“I Close the Door” leans into a southern gothic mood, which happens to be one of my favorite directions a song can take. The atmosphere is darker and more brooding, and Beier’s delivery heightens it. “Rocketdyne” works in a different way, built on tight grooves and a chorus that sticks without overreaching. Both tracks show her range, the ability to go shadowy without losing accessibility.

Later, the record stretches further into Americana with “Lost in Death Valley,” a song that reminded me of Big Thief in its quiet weight. “Mourning Dove” feels brighter, with guitars that practically sparkle around a melodic vocal line. “Shooting Star” cuts closer to straightforward rock, while “Wild Rejoice” fuses southern gothic moodiness with rock momentum.

What stands out to me is how cohesive Mourning Doves of Joshua Tree feels even while it shifts styles. The flow never breaks, and the variations keep it from falling into sameness. The songwriting is strong front to back, the performances land, and the production balances clarity with atmosphere. I walked away feeling like this was not just a personal catharsis for Beier but also her most complete artistic statement so far. For me, it is one of those records that earns repeat listens and easily sits among the year’s best.

Jenny Maybee is a jazz pianist, vocalist and composer from the amazing town of San Francisco, California. Her new album of original songs is titled Only Love, and it aims to push well beyond jazz into genres like R&B, country, blues, funk, pop, rock and modern improvisation. Though she doesn’t name them, to my ears Maybee has been influenced by the great torch singers like Peggy Lee, Diana Krall and even Susan Tedeschi. 

Maybee arranged all the music on this album (and shows a skill for it like a young Nelson Riddle) and teamed up with Grammy-winning producer Isha “The Mad Scientist” Erskine, along with Ariane Cap (bass), Nick Carico (drums) and Larry Batiste (backing vocals). Their intent was to “create a soundscape that is lush and intimate, yet expansive and daring, inviting listeners into a world where melody and groove coexist with layered sonic artistry.”

The opening track “No Resistance” was intended to cross classical, rock, and jazz. This is where I harken back to Peggy Lee (“Is That All There Is”) or The Threepenny Opera, while the mini-movie depicts a pocket Harlequin Romance novel. Maybee has a powerful and expressive singing voice, and the arrangement is just as varied and complex as promised, jumping between flutes, orchestral strings and electric guitar with ease. “Run” evokes a smoky jazz club with its standup bass, acoustic piano and sharp percussion. Maybee’s vocals (lead and backing) are smooth and sensual here, with a funky, romantic vibe. “On my Way” takes a left turn into slide-guitar blues, which is where I caught a glimpse of Susan Tedeschi or Bonnie Raitt. 

“Love Let Me In” is delicate and tender love song, with a new loveliness to Maybee’s voice, along with a soulful, gospel-like authority to the backing voices. “Like The Sun” has a sharp, snappy beat holding down the bottom while Maybee’s vocals soar. “Call Me” is a title for many previous songs (Blondie among them); Maybee’s version is along the lines of “Call me devil, call me queen / Call me anything you please…” and is another soulful song that might contain less love than burning desire: “Call my name / Let the fun begin!” The next track, a funky disco workout called “Eat The Ash” actually starts with the words “call me” which was a fun connection. The funk gets even deeper with “I Am Love” which Maybee tops with a New Wave-style vocal. The set ends with 

“Only Love” which the team calls “a minimalist free-jazz improvisation of Jenny's lyrics.” If that’s the case, it’s quite a feat and a powerful performance!

It was great hearing brand new tracks that recall many of my jazzy favorites. Maybee is a unique and original voice in this genre and worthy of searching out!