Mike Masser’s 5 doesn’t just nod toward the 1980s, it fully plants itself in that decade’s excess and grit. From the cover art to the vocal delivery, everything here feels like a direct transmission from the days when metal bands ruled arenas and guitar solos stretched toward infinity.

Listening, I kept thinking about how much of this EP channels the bombast and melodrama of that era, and how unapologetically it wears those influences on its sleeve. It feels less like revivalism and more like someone keeping alive a fire that never really went out.

“Wolves in the Whiskey” sets the tone immediately, all snarling riffs and guttural anger, before breaking into a dramatic build that swells into a proper crescendo. “No Sin” doubles down with a towering, anthemic approach. The rhythm is sharp and heavy, and I couldn’t help but admire the sheer scale of it. It is the kind of song that feels designed for a massive stage, spotlight sweeping over a crowd. I also found the chorus hitting harder with each repeat, as if it were engineered to echo long after the track ends.

“Silence Speaks” leans on familiarity, its vocals paired with a monotone spoken-word interlude that lands like a cinematic aside. “Abacab” brought Van Halen to mind with its swagger, and that same strange spoken-word motif reappears, threading the songs together in a way that feels both eccentric and oddly fitting. When “Run” arrives, it is a total shift. Stripped of distortion, it trades heavy riffs for acoustic strumming and raw emoting. I liked the contrast, it gave me a chance to hear Masser outside the armor, reaching for something more vulnerable.

The momentum swings back toward 80s rock with “Redline,” “Omen,” and “Twilight Zone.” Of the three, “Twilight Zone” stood out to me as the most immediate, with the energy of a single that could have dominated late-night radio. The ballad “Don’t Follow,” featuring Megan Masser, softens the edges, letting vulnerability creep into the mix, while “Morning After You” breaks from the formula entirely, offering something more atmospheric and reflective than anything else on the record. That track in particular showed me there is more range here than just homage.

​What ties 5 together is a devotion to its source material. The production is on the lo-fi side, but that actually gives the songs a rawness that works. For me, the writing felt sturdy throughout, and the retro feel was less an exercise in imitation and more a reminder of why this sound had such power in the first place. If you grew up in the 80s or just love the drama and crunch of that era’s rock, you will recognize exactly what is going on here. I did, and I found myself pulled in by the way Masser embraces it, flaws and all. This is the kind of record that makes me want to crank the volume and get lost in the haze of guitars all over again.

FHMY’s The World You Grew Up In No Longer Exists is an album I found both disorienting and absorbing. The Cairo-based artist shifts constantly between IDM, math rock, shoegaze, post rock, and emo, drawing on the shadow of bands like Swans, Slint, and American Football. The songs never settle in one place for long, and that instability becomes part of the tension. Each track moves between clarity and chaos, as if the music itself is grappling with trauma.

Nostalgia comes through in fragmented form. Anime snippets, video game sounds, and warped film dialogue flicker in and out of layered guitar arrangements, like stray memories surfacing at the wrong time. The opener, “Egyptian Football,” hit me with a groove that immediately made me think of Radiohead. The falsetto vocals add an unexpected lift, and the guitar textures spiral into something expansive and sharp. It is a confident start, and by the time the song builds to its peak, I was pulled into the record’s strange world.

“Memoriesyouwillneverfeelagain” stood out with its vocal harmonies and intricate guitar passages, brushing against prog rock without losing emotional weight. “You Can’t Live There Forever” drifts away from guitars into synths and atmosphere, its muffled samples adding to a sense of distance. “Chery! Oh Chery!” shifts again, this time into jazzy territory with tempo changes that feel both loose and technical, like a jam pulled into focus.

The album’s middle stretch leans heavier into post rock. “my blue heaven (feat. AQL)” made me think of Deafheaven, while the title track echoes Explosions in the Sky and Mogwai. Later, FHMY pushes into harsher terrain. “I Keep on Not Dying (feat. AQL)” is swallowed by sheets of white noise, while “Do You Want to See What’s Inside My Head?” collapses into something unsettling, like watching a nightmare play out in real time. “Do Humans Dream of Electric Sheep?” is mostly electronic, and the closer, “The World Is Not a Beautiful Place & I Am Afraid to Die (feat. AQL),” pares everything back to acoustic guitar and fragile vocals, ending the album on a starkly intimate note.

I gravitated most toward the guitar heavy songs, especially the first couple of tracks, but I also appreciated the detours into other styles. The record never lands on a singular identity, and that wandering quality is part of its character. For me, the mix of influences felt more like an ongoing experiment than a fixed statement, but that is also why it worked. The unpredictability gave me something to hold onto and question at the same time. Overall, there are some great songs. 

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Based on the title, you’ve probably guessed that Art Déco II is a sequel to an album by Thus Live Humans from Toulon, France: Art Déco I. That album was meant to be the band’s musical vision of the Art Deco movement of the early 20th century, and was based on blues rock and stoner music. After three years, this follow-up takes a sharp turn toward progressive rock, prog metal and classical, again trying to answer the Musical Question: what is Art Deco?

The band is actually a duo featuring Jérémy Payan (guitars/keyboards/bass/drums) and Lucas Serra (guitars/voice). The guys say they were influenced by art rock and 20th-century composers, and that their music is for fans of Porcupine Tree, King Crimson, Pink Floyd and Dream Theater. Payan wrote the lyrics and mixed the album. 

“Metastructural Abstraction” is a 13-minute epic opener (the final track is a bookend at 12 minutes) and to my ears starts off a bit like the underrated “St. Anger” by Metallica. These guys are not interested in minimalism, however, as the lead guitars immediately launch into Egyptian-style soloing that had my jaw heading to the floor! The tracks’s basic chords have the fluidity of early Black Sabbath but interspersed with eyeball-spinning riffs. Slower, shimmering chords introduce the vocals, which really do have an Art Deco quality (though I can’t figure out how!). By four minutes the structure has repeated a couple times and I’m actually able to anticipate and enjoy these serpentine melodies. There’s an impressive but short guitar solo, leading into a Genesis-like pattern. The track’s second half starts by deconstructing the signature melody into stark segments, as if played from the crab nebula. 

“After You’re Gone” fades in slowly with Pink Floydian magic shimmers and exoplanetary piano. Serra’s voice comes in sounding very much like Greg Lake from Lake’s King Crimson years. I kept expecting the fire-breathing guitars to return, but I like that the boys keep the mellow mood flowing. If you close your eyes you might feel yourself at an outdoor nighttime classical concert. Having said that, I had no idea the next track was titled “Night Song” which rolls out enveloping low tones that really do evoke the night. Turns out it’s an intro to a bouncy, slightly funky chorus, still just keyboards and voice until a Steve Hackett-like fuzz lead appears, then quickly recedes. The full band makes a quick appearance at the end.

“In Coherence” is a great title and is based on a fairly simple but powerful bass-string riff and power chords. The track becomes an intriguing contrast between sustained fuzz notes and elliptical riffage, and visions of orcs and alien robots easily spring to mind. The middle section features a melancholy solo, again with hints of Egyptian. “On the Rails…” is literally a single, chiming electric guitar through a chorus effect playing an opaque, descending melody. Actually it appears this track is a thematic introduction to the concluding epic “The Cold Train” as the melodies and chiming notes continue alongside Serra’s vocals. The track slowly fills out with orchestral strings and bass guitar. By now we’ve been hearing these chords for almost eight minutes and the effect is quite hypnotic, especially with an extended, tasty David Gilmour-like solo across the top. The full band finally returns around eight minutes, with riffs not quite so manic as what we began with.

This is a band with a lot of genres to choose from, and thus a multitude of possible fans. If it seems as if you might like it based on this review, you probably will!

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Usually I play a review album “raw” first, before reading any info. Thus I had no idea I’d reviewed West Virginia’s Jonathan Calhoun in 2024, with an album that was much heavier than his new, acoustic-based Lifetime on I-79. My first thoughts were that someone was trying to imitate Tom Petty and early Bob Dylan simultaneously, but revisiting that previous release, I can see where Calhoun came from and where he’s evolving to.

Calhoun had been writing and playing guitar for over 20 years when he finally released his first solo album “These Empty Arms” during the pandemic. His influences have included Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, U2, Smashing Pumpkins and Bryan Adams. Calhoun decided to go more acoustic and stripped-down with this collection, “with more of a focus on storytelling and music that serves those types of songs.” He was inspired by Petty’s “Wildflowers,” Bruce’s “Nebraska” and Jason Isbell’s “Foxes in the Snow” along with Neil Young, Lucinda Williams and (natch) Bob Dylan. 

Calhoun was also inspired by his new Taylor acoustic guitar (I’d be too! Lucky!!) and it helped him achieve his more intimate, straightforward approach. He sang and played everything in his Charleston Logic Pro home studio, with percussion created with programmed loops and live overdubs.

As I mentioned, the album opener “Once I Had a Dream” can’t help put you in mind of Bob Dylan borrowing Tom Petty’s voice. It’s folky and jangly, with the Taylor guitar ringing sweet. Calhoun loves lyrics more than anyone except maybe Dylan, and each of his songs is less of a singalong and more like mini-novels set to music.  The title track “Lifetime on I-79” is described by Calhoun as “essentially my own epitaph.” Calhoun has now added harmonica to his sound, and this song has a bit more energy and forward drive, perhaps due to its autobiographical nature. Musically the changes are very subtle, with basically the same chords altered with suspensions here and there. 

“2 Much 2 Love” re-introduces electric guitar along with Calhoun’s spare percussion, with his vocals processed through what sounds like a vacuum tube. The chorus vocals are borderline (but not quite) Rap. In “Sunnyside Blues” we actually go back to early rock and roll, which makes sense for a song about Calhoun’s college days. “Sleep it off and back for another round / Don’t let the Sunnyside Blues bring you down!” I daresay Calhoun channels a bit of Mike Love here, with classic rock licks on the electric. “A Heart to Call Home” is a shorter track with Chinese-sounding melodies behind lyrics dedicated to a future love affair “that just takes one night, and I won’t be alone / until then I’m searching for hearts to call home.”

“Ontario” is a pretty moving track from someone who doesn’t actually come from or live in Ontario, Canada. However, this tale of a remembered love rings universal, and besides, we have an Ontario right here in Los Angeles too! This track appears to be influenced by the raw dynamics of Neil Young with Crazy Horse. “People Are the Problem” is a lively ditty about current events that’s hard to argue with (or event think about!). He closes out the set with a clean, lively rocker “Fine Day” that sparkles with a pop sheen behind Calhoun’s classic “does he have a cold?” vocals.

Though this album was much different than his previous, Calhoun has again proved his songwriting bonafides with his familiar, yet unique sound. Check him out!

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Jeffrey “Saxophone Tall” Newton is a Los Angeles-based artist with a new home-produced album titled Hip-Hop Be-Bop. And just from his name and the title, most of my work as a reviewer is done! Well, not quite: Newton describes his songs as blending “classic (and adulterated) Hip-Hop rhythms and forms with Jazz improvisation (lotsa Be-Bop!), but also with African polyrhythms, South American Tango, Gospel and 1960’s and 1970’s Pop.”

Newton has a deep and varied musical background, and the info sheet he sent me is three times as long as this review! Suffice to say his sax and keyboard chops were honestly earned. What’s really unusual is that someone of Newton’s musical caliber decided to make what’s essentially a bedroom home-taper style album, a genre which is not usually known for its world-class Jazz musicianship! I also detect a lot of Zappa-influence (especially the sax-heavy “Uncle Meat” era), which also reinforces this project as very much coming from Los Angeles.

How did Newton do it? First, by playing a virtual jazz orchestra all by himself: “4 different saxophones, cornet, bass clarinet, conch shell, electric guitar, 3 different basses, 4 different keyboards, drums and percussion.” He created Miles Davis-like song sketches, then recorded using his own technique developed over the years that “replicates the spontaneity and interaction of a live Jazz ensemble (I have played in many). No looping involved here!” Newton recorded in his Hollywood studio (I might have driven past it while listening!) and did not use any compression or EQ manipulation.


“Faster, Higher, Stronger!” has a title that evokes Daft Punk’s “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger” but really sounds nothing like it. The feeling is of a sax trio loosening up onstage, blowing the dust out of their bells and having a good time atop a rollicking piano melody (and some sneaky synth). “Subway To The Olympics” (love the L.A. titles!) has the grace and swagger of a Burt Bacharach instrumental, which makes sense as Newton’s next project is a tribute to Bacharach. It’s a relatively simple and clean arrangement of electric piano, brass and drums. “Hip Boppin’ In Hollywood” sounds like both the 1966 Donna Loren Hit “Call Me” (is Newton old enough to remember that?) and the funky keyboard interstitials in the movie “Napoleon Dynamite.”

The title “Saint Alphonzo’s Amazing Magic Sidewalk Prayer Breakfast” is a direct Zappa reference, but the music is more an extended horn improv on a jazz theme. Here, especially, Newton really does create the illusion of a combo trading licks. In fact this track and the whole album is bringing back memories of the amazing LA Jazz station KGRB.

“Glass Tango In Los Angeles” showcases Newton’s stellar keyboard technique, and he’s got a really nice-sounding digital piano to show off! It’s a Jazz-classical hybrid and one of my fave songs. “Do You See The Light” is a track I couldn’t wait to mention, as its spirit seems to flow directly from Zappa’s “Prelude to King Kong” from “Uncle Meat” with its gaggle of snorking saxes and god knows what else!

“3000 Flutes” does not exactly live up to its name, but it definitely explores the relation between the Greco-Chinese pan flute and its keyboard counterpart (a sample or a patch? I can’t tell!). “My Shell, Djembe ’n Cello” is another title that tells most of the story, and I was ready for this one as a close musical friend has pretty much dedicated his current musical life to the Djembe drum. I definitely hear a cello, and I won’t doubt that Newton is also jamming on a conch shell or something similar.

Like his bio, a full discussion of Newton’s album could run three times longer, but hopefully I’ve piqued your interest because this is a very different approach to Jazz and totally worth several listens!​

jeffreynewtonjazz.com

The Person in the Mirror marks the fifth studio album from New York singer, songwriter, and producer Kennedy, and his first for Rexius Records. It is a record rooted in the warmth of guitars, piano, and synth textures, but it does not shy away from crisp, modern percussion. More than anything, it feels like an attempt to soundtrack the process of growing up in real time. Written entirely and mostly self-produced in his home studio, the album locates intimacy in personal confession while scaling those emotions into widescreen pop gestures.

At its core sits “Eighteen,” one of the most direct and affecting songs here. It leans on nostalgia without being cloying, capturing both the ache of passing time and the grace of acceptance. When I hear it, I am reminded of that strange blur between adolescence and adulthood where everything feels raw and unshaped. Kennedy writes it in a way that feels especially tailored to people coming of age, yet the hook and polished production give it a broader pop appeal.

Elsewhere, Kennedy shifts styles while maintaining a consistent tone of vulnerability. “What Do I Know?” echoes Death Cab for Cutie but tilts toward pop punk gloss, layering fuzzy guitars over programmed drums. “Insane” strips things back into an emotive ballad, its soft guitar lines cushioning lyrics of devotion. “Been There Too” opens up with explosive energy, while “Autopsy” takes the opposite approach, slowing to a reflective hush that feels more like a late-night monologue than a song.

“When I Was Young” teeters on melodrama, but Kennedy sells it by leaning into fragility. His delivery is fragile to the point where every syllable seems ready to collapse under its own weight. That same energy carries into “Rear View,” though the guitars kick in harder, turning it into more of a rocker with straightforward lyrics about love and loss. “Break” is designed with pop radio in mind, the kind of single that does not complicate itself. Then “The Story of My Life” attempts the album’s most epic gesture, reaching for grandeur with layers of production and a swelling chorus.

​Listening through, what I kept coming back to was how much this album feels like Kennedy confronting himself. His pain and experiences become the core material, and while the songs often stick to familiar major and minor chord progressions in 4/4 time, the weight comes from how he frames those clichés as lived reality. It is undeniably pop, and in some ways it sounds like many records that have already come and gone. But when I let myself hear it as an unfiltered statement from a young artist grappling with the mess of emotion, The Person in the Mirror lands with a kind of earnest power. If you are looking for emotive, often dramatic pop that wears its heart openly, this album makes a strong case for Kennedy’s voice.

London, Ontario’s Westminster Park is a husband and wife team who look a bit like Richard and Linda Thompson, but they are actually Steven and Colleen Murphy. They’ve got an upcoming album titled “Round Trip” but this is a review of a teaser single titled A Pair on a Pier. Their sound is said be “sophisticated, combining pop accessibility with experimental arrangements while exploring themes of relationships, self-care, loss, hopefulness, politics and romance.”

​The group has previously released six full length albums, reaching the Polaris Prize Long List. I had to look that up, and it’s a cool thing: “An award annually given to the best full-length Canadian album based on artistic merit.” They’ve also enjoyed airplay on campus stations and CBC Radio and television.

This single is a fond look back at a romantic week for the couple, “soaking in the fresh ocean air in Halifax, Nova Scotia” and was timed to coincide with the couple’s 21st wedding anniversary. It was recorded at the group’s home studio earlier this year, with editing and mixing by Brandon General and mastering by Ben Srokosz of OOAK Productions in Catham, Ontario. The album will be available ONLY by digital download or on vinyl, as the group does not wish to stuff euros in the pockets of the streamers! 

The track opens up with a Parisian feel, with charming accordion by Brian Baillergeon. Steve Murphy sings and plays nylon and acoustic guitar, electric guitar and keys, with Colleen Murphy on vocals and harmonies. The rhythm section is comprised of Josh Macnamara (bass) and Ian Gifford (drums). The melody immediately reminded me of a Beatles-era track titled “Don’t Let The Sun Catch You Crying” by Gerry and The Pacemakers, with an overall feel like “How Can I Be Sure” by the Rascals (which also featured accordion). Steve Murphy sings in an earnest tenor, with Colleen adding lovely high harmonies… not so different from Richard and Linda Thompson!

Colleen takes a vocal solo for the second verse, and her accent is hard to place but it is quite charming (possibly Canadian?). I like that the music feels organic, not locked down to a click track or overbearing beats. I can easily see this song playing in a foreign film from the late ‘60s. 

This track was a bit frustrating because I can see the other songs on the Bandcamp page, but they are greyed out until the records ship! Until then you can preorder the album and enjoy this song in the meantime.

Michellar’s “Never Say Sorry” feels like a snapshot of emotional clarity framed in soft edges. Emerging from San Francisco’s shifting creative currents, it lands with the weight of both a personal reckoning and a creative breakthrough, arriving on the one-year mark of Michellar’s move into fully produced music. I can hear the confidence of someone who has found their own footing; there is no sense of chasing trends here, just an unfiltered reflection that has been allowed to breathe.

The song’s arc is rooted in the push and pull of love, walking away only to realize what was lost, and holding onto the quiet hope that some bonds will find their way back. It is a sentiment that is easy to oversell, but Michelle keeps it understated, letting moments of longing and release drift through the mix without being forced.

It opens with the full band in motion, the kind of soft rock sway that feels immediately familiar but not stale. When the vocals arrive, there is a calm, almost weightless quality to them, carrying a hook that moves with quiet joy. The melodies stick without leaning too hard on repetition, and the airy synth textures give the track a subtle lift. By the time it settles into its groove, I am aware that everything here is in its right place, the arrangement, the warmth, the way each instrument leaves just enough space.

It is a song that is easy to like for its polish, but I kept returning to it for its sincerity. There is a lot to appreciate here, and every listen feels like another pass through a familiar memory, a little softer around the edges each time.

michellar.com

Olivier Laurent’s Solin Anj is unique and fairly nostalgic album that old school fans of the genre will appreciate. He frames the album as a companion to his illustrated children’s book of the same name, and that choice alone signals the scope of his vision. The record imagines the voice of a child about to be born, a perspective that redefines parenthood as an act of radical openness. 

Laurent draws on the lineage of Digable Planets, Mos Def, and Phonte, but what stands out most is his restraint. His verses move with an unhurried calm, his words are direct, and his flow has the easy smoothness of the ’90s soul rap era. Beneath that calm surface, though, I can feel the turbulence of the emotions driving it. Each track seems to channel a different mood, from the clarity of resolve to the rawness of doubt, and the sequencing feels like its own miniature life cycle.

“For A Long Time Pt. 2” is where that arc begins. The beat has an almost folk-like quality, layered over hip hop drums, and the hook carries a faint reggae tint that makes it instantly stick. The rapping here is silky, grounded in that classic soul inflected flow. The title track, “Solin Anj,” turns the palette toward R&B with smooth keys and a pocket that feels both understated and polished. Nothing is rushed, and the track breathes in a way that makes its natural ease feel earned.

The standout moment for me is “Out of Spite” featuring Kaeson Skrilla. The Tribe Called Quest influence is front and center. The blend of electric piano and crisp drums could have lived in the ’90s, yet it doesn’t sound retro. It feels like a continuation of that spirit. “I Like It” with Mister Yoos reaches for a more contemporary space. The production leans into reverb heavy atmosphere, and the hook is magnetic, the kind of chorus that keeps looping in your head long after the track ends. “If You Ask Me” flips the vibe into something looser and more playful, a party ready moment that reminded me of The Avalanches’ sample heavy joy.

The later tracks take darker turns. “Konpliman” with Mister Yoos is eerie, even haunting in stretches, while the closer “Sold Out” balances a slow burn beat with a rapid fire flow. By the end, the record circles back to its central tension: the coexistence of vulnerability and persistence.

What I love most about Solin Anj is how it balances nostalgia with subtle innovation. The 1990s influence is undeniable, but the production choices and emotional framing give it a contemporary lift. Every song feels connected, yet distinct enough to stand on its own. As a hip hop album, it isn’t just a nod to the past. It is a reminder of how restraint, empathy, and clarity can shape something quietly powerful. For anyone who loves hip hop’s roots but wants to hear them refracted through the lens of today, this record delivers.

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Danny Hammons’ debut Take The Long Road Home feels like the kind of record you stumble onto in a small town bar or on a dimly lit street corner where someone has been playing all night, pouring out stories until their voice cracks. There is a restlessness baked into these songs, but also a tenderness that makes them feel lived in. Hammons comes out of Birmingham, Alabama, where he first honed his craft with the folk rock group Peasants! before breaking out on his own.

What he delivers is a set of songs that recall the grit of Woody Guthrie, the melancholia of Elliott Smith, and the raw urgency of Bright Eyes without ever sounding like direct imitation. Sidewalk Child plays like a diary of nights in motion, connected by the pull of highways, the weight of homesickness, and the brief solace of fleeting encounters.

The opener “June Song” is a short instrumental built around xylophone tones that set a gentle and inviting entry point. It leads seamlessly into “Shooting Stars,” where acoustic textures and banjo lines frame Hammons’ existential reflections. When he sings about being “lost in the cosmic sea,” the lyric lands with quiet force, elevating what could have been a simple folk tune into something much heavier.

“Back To Colorado” flips the mood toward brightness, its banjo led groove carrying a sense of joy that feels earned after the weight of what comes before. It is a song that put a smile on my face, the kind of track that captures the warmth of a place and a moment in time.

"Sidewalk Child" moves back into darker territory, carrying a melancholy that feels approachable, almost like reconnecting with an old friend who knows you better than you know yourself. Hammons leans into that familiarity with understated confidence, letting the sadness flow without overplaying it.

Elsewhere, “Hourglass” suggests the sharp wit of Purple Mountains blended with the melodic drift of Wilco, proving Hammons is unafraid to pull from different corners of American songwriting. “Oceanside” carries a cinematic flair, its melody tinged with a hint of spaghetti western that expands the record’s range. By the time “Hearts and Minds” closes things out, Hammons has cycled through joy, grief, and flashes of anger, pushing the record to a more dynamic finish.

Take The Long Road Home leaves the impression of a songwriter with a clear vision. Every track feels deliberate, every lyric steeped in reflection, and every melody shaped by experience. As a first step into his solo career, it is a record that rewards close listening and suggests even greater things ahead.

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