Sean Hopkins sets an uncertain question to reassuringly familiar music at the beginning of Shadows & Light. “Where do we go from here?” arrives in a setting of acoustic strumming, a steady beat, and melodic guitar work. The folk-pop framework makes an easy introduction, while the question leaves the destination open. That relationship between musical assurance and emotional hesitation gives the opener something to work with beyond its immediate catchiness.

Hopkins operates within acoustic folk and singer-songwriter traditions, using the supporting instruments to vary the dimensions of songs built around voice and guitar. The approach suits the opening verse’s small scene: someone nearby, an obscured night, a smile receiving close attention. “Standing right next to me” establishes physical proximity, but the narrator seems less certain about what that proximity means. Against the orderly movement of the accompaniment, that uncertainty becomes particularly interesting. The song knows where it’s going before its speaker does.

I like how little happens in the verse. Describing a smile as “such a gentle thing” gives an ordinary gesture unusual importance. Perhaps the narrator is looking for reassurance; perhaps he’s simply surprised by how much reassurance something so small can provide. The accessible melody makes this encounter easy to enter without requiring Hopkins to explain the relationship.

“Forever is every day, / If only a while” is the passage that deserves the closest attention. I read the final line as an almost involuntary revision. He imagines permanence, then adjusts the claim to something he can believe. Within the song’s inviting folk-pop setting, that qualification introduces a useful catch: an enjoyable moment already carries an awareness of its possible ending.

Elsewhere, the record broadens its instrumental vocabulary. “Eden’s Garden” brings piano into conversation with acoustic guitar, while “November’s Here Again” develops its spare beginning with piano, synth textures, and a fuller rhythmic presence. These additions give Hopkins several ways to sustain attention within a fairly consistent genre. The electric guitar and distortion of “Touch the Moon” extend that range further, making the closer a useful indication of how much room these songs have for a rougher texture.

​I’d welcome more of that willingness to disturb the comfortable surfaces. The familiar forms make the album approachable, though they can also make its musical decisions easy to anticipate. Still, Shadows & Light offers appealing melodies, thoughtful instrumental detail, and, in its opening verse, writing that rewards a second look. Hopkins is persuasive when a small verbal adjustment complicates an otherwise agreeable song. A smile becomes consequential; forever acquires a time limit. The music invites you in, and those details give you a reason to linger.

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Erick Oscar has spent more than three decades writing songs on acoustic guitar, accumulating a sizable catalog that reflects his interest in several musical traditions. Born in Panamá, he moved to the United States at 21 on a college scholarship and has since spent considerable time working throughout Latin America. His music reflects those experiences, moving between country, pop, ballads, bachata, reggaeton, and salsa, often alternating between English and Spanish. On Two Flags, One Heart, Oscar concentrates on country and Americana, drawing from the genres' storytelling traditions while examining his relationship with his Panamanian heritage and adopted home.

Oscar has described songwriting as a form of therapy, and his approach remains rooted in personal experience. He writes his own lyrics and uses production software to develop the arrangements and vocal performances around them. It's a process that allows him to work across different styles, although Two Flags, One Heart is considerably more consistent in its musical direction. The album's ten songs favor contemporary country-pop conventions, with accessible melodies, familiar arrangements, and an emphasis on straightforward storytelling.

The title track establishes that approach immediately. Despite its country influences, “Two Flags, One Heart” is essentially a modern pop song, built around a conventional verse-chorus structure and polished production. There's little deviation from the expected arrangement, but its accessibility is clearly part of the appeal. “I Choose to Go On Remembering You” leans further into sentimentality, with a male vocal performance that emphasizes the song's emotional subject matter. “Because I Said So” follows a similarly recognizable formula, while “Borrowed Peace” slows things down for a reflective, late-night ballad.

“Show Me The Way” and “My Heartbeat” have their moments, particularly when their melodies take precedence over the production. “One More Mile” continues the album's preference for familiar country-pop arrangements, while “It Sucks Getting Old” introduces a more conversational perspective on aging. There's something appealing about the plainspoken humor of its premise, even if the musical approach remains conventional. “On Hold” explores another recognizable emotional situation without significantly departing from the album's established sound.

​Listening to Two Flags, One Heart from beginning to end, I felt as though I were hearing a mixtape of contemporary country-pop artists from the past decade. The production, melodic structures, and arrangements are so familiar that individual songs occasionally become difficult to distinguish. There are few surprises, and experimentation is largely absent. Still, Oscar understands the conventions he's working within, and his commitment to accessible songwriting is evident throughout. Listeners looking for something unconventional probably won't find much here, but those who enjoy polished, radio-friendly country-pop should find plenty that appeals to them.

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Lady Nade has long treated music as something more useful than autobiography. The Bristol singer-songwriter began writing after the death of her grandmother, and over the years that instinct has widened into work concerned with community, grief, recovery, and the ways people make sense of themselves. Her fourth album, Identity, brings those questions closer to home. In a recent interview, Nade described the period behind the record as one of sobriety, therapy, and a deeper examination of her mental health, family patterns, and mixed Black British, Caribbean, and white British heritage. That context helps explain why Identity feels like a record built around sorting through contradictions.

The title track opens with one of the album’s strongest grooves, leaning into a distinctly ’70s combination of organ, guitar, and rhythmic shifts that occasionally brushes against classic rock. I liked how naturally Nade’s voice sits inside it, confident without overpowering the arrangement. “One of Us” follows with a brighter pulse and a genuinely strong hook, while its organ gives the song extra lift. “Rainbow” strips things back to acoustic picking and vocals before gradually filling in the space around them. Its balance of melancholy and hope gives the song the feeling of solace without forcing it.

“Waiting for a Train” is another high point. I liked the timing and the walking bass line, which keeps the song moving without making it feel rushed. “Powerless” was one of my favorites, built around an arrangement that reaches back toward ’50s pop and jazz, with a faint Louis Armstrong-era quality. “Sober” goes even further into that period. It’s straight-up infectious, drawing from doo-wop and early pop without turning into imitation, and it was probably my favorite song on the album.

From there, “Stand” returns to a looser ’70s feel, with bongos helping shape the rhythm, while “Smoke and Mirrors” heads toward late-night jazz. “Masks” pushes that mood further; I especially liked the brushed drums and the restraint of the arrangement. By the time “Bloom” closes the record with little more than guitar and vocals, the simplicity feels earned.

A lot of Identity works because the production never treats its genre shifts as separate exercises. Archie Sylvester and Michael Rendall give the album enough continuity that rock, soul, jazz, blues, and retro pop can sit beside one another without sounding stitched together. The influences are easy to hear, but Nade rarely sounds trapped by them. The songwriting is solid, the performances are consistently sharp, and some of the best moments come from the small instrumental choices happening around her voice. Identity is a very good record from an artist who knows how much history to bring into the room without letting it take over.

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Mad Painter has little interest in disguising where its loyalties lie. Led by vocalist, keyboardist and songwriter Alex Gitlin, the Boston band works almost entirely within the vocabulary of late-’60s and ’70s rock, when hard rock, prog, glam and blues routinely bled into one another. Deep Purple and Uriah Heep are obvious touchstones, particularly in Gitlin’s prominent Hammond organ, though shades of Spooky Tooth, Atomic Rooster, Mott the Hoople and early Queen are scattered throughout. On Island Poetry, the band doesn’t so much update that period as plant itself directly inside it.

That distinction matters. Recorded at Lowell Street Sound in Peabody with producer Tom Hamilton, Island Poetry favors natural dynamics, heavy riffs and performances that haven’t been polished into submission. Six of the album’s 12 tracks feature lyrics by writer Dmitry M. Epstein, while the music shifts frequently enough that Mad Painter’s record collection practically becomes another member of the band.

The earthy organ that opens “Circle of Hands” makes the group’s intentions clear almost immediately. Once the distorted guitars enter, the late-’60s/early-’70s references become impossible to miss. “Stand Your Ground” has the blunt force of KISS crossed with the speed and abrasion of punk, while “I Am the King” backs away from the heavier attack for something closer to Pink Floyd’s more reflective side. “Tommy Lost It All” is a solid, melancholy change of pace, and “Two Horsemen” could almost pass for some obscure cut unearthed from the back pages of ’70s rock.

Elsewhere, “Shadow of the Words” leans into the band’s theatrical instincts, while the oddly titled “Nektarized” pushes things into spacier territory. “Debt Collector” is built around the sort of classic blues-rock riff that could have appeared almost anywhere between 1969 and 1974, and “Suit of Worries” brings some of The Who’s muscularity into the mix. The album eventually closes with Mad Painter’s rendition of Uriah Heep’s “Circle of Hands,” making explicit a connection that has been hovering over the record from the start.

​If someone asked me what rock sounded like around the turn of the 1970s, I could hand them Island Poetry and say this covers a considerable amount of it. At times, the album plays almost like a mixtape from the period, with its influences displayed openly rather than disguised. I can’t say Mad Painter does much to make these songs sound modern, and I’m not convinced it particularly wants to. That limits the record somewhat, but it also explains its appeal. Island Poetry is for listeners who want classic rock without the renovation, delivered by musicians who clearly prefer the original architecture.

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Lupia is the recording project of Timothy Lupia, an indie rock songwriter based in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania. Since releasing Summer in 2015, he has drawn on experiences of growing up, moving away, and finding his footing in unfamiliar places, working with friends and collaborators across a succession of albums and EPs. Following 2019’s By Your Self, he released /ˈsʌn-ʃaɪn/, pronounced “Sunshine,” in 2021, Windowpane in 2023, and Staircase in 2025. These are the three EPs we’ll be covering here, a period of his catalog that brings his singer-songwriter background into contact with dream pop, shoegaze, and indie rock.

The credits reflect the friendships behind the project. On Sunshine, Zachary Gates contributes mixing, guitar, and additional instruments, while Jesse Barki handles mastering. Kelsey Lewis adds vocals to “Cosmic Friend,” and Cory Paternoster contributes percussion to “Rose Quartz.” Barki returns as mixer on Windowpane, with Paternoster supplying bass and percussion and Andy Clarke handling mastering. Lupia remains the songwriter, vocalist, and guitarist at the center of these recordings, with other musicians contributing to their arrangements.

Sunshine begins with “I Have not Been Found,” and the first thing I noticed, coming to Lupia’s music as a newcomer, was its lo-fi sound. The chord changes are straightforward, with strummed major and minor chords coated in distortion and reverb. Much of the song’s character comes from how those familiar shapes sound under the effects. The guitar spreads across the recording, making individual strums bleed together. Its simplicity gives the ear something to hold onto, even when the reverberation makes the details harder to distinguish.

“Space” opens with low ambient sound, gradually gathering fuzz before returning to cleanly strummed guitar. Those changes give the arrangement a sense of movement without requiring constant activity. “Cosmic Friend” follows with more aggressive strumming, although the mix feels a bit narrow but not bad. I liked the vocals when they appeared. The lyrics move between celestial imagery and the ordinary objects left behind by a relationship, including a letter in a manila envelope. A steady 4/4 beat, wordless singing, and repeating guitar chords carry the song forward with purpose.

“Rose Quartz” has strong, catchy vocals set against jangling guitar chords. As the arrangement gets fuzzier, phase effects and overlapping sounds begin to obscure the singing. The production creates an unsettled quality, though it also makes an appealing vocal harder to follow by masking certain frequencies. 
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The improvement in fidelity on Windowpane becomes apparent during “I Won’t Complain.” Its opening acoustic guitar sounds strikingly thin, with little weight in the lower register, leaving the dramatic vocal exposed. When the song opens into a louder passage, the change has real force. There is more definition to the recording, and the contrast between the spare opening and the fuller arrangement feels purposeful. The song makes effective use of its short running time, establishing an intimate setting before expanding it.

“Laughable” has a hazy guitar-pop quality that brought Mac DeMarco to mind, while the buried vocals pull it toward shoegaze. It is brief enough to leave an impression without settling into an extended groove. The singing remains deeply embedded in the arrangement, continuing the EP’s interest in treating the voice as part of the surrounding texture. That approach suits the atmosphere, although it can make the vocal melody feel farther away than necessary.

“Small of My Back” is one of the highlights across all three releases but also left me questioning why the artist made such a decision. Its groove reminded me of Alex G, and the vocals are arguably my favorites across all three EPs. The delivery is intimate and nearly whispered, but there is considerable drama in the phrasing. I liked how much feeling came through at that low volume. The melancholy is convincing, and the rhythm gives the song enough momentum to keep its subdued performance from becoming static. Amazing stuff!

I enjoyed the first two minutes enough but was perplexed by the end. The arrangement builds toward a crescendo, then cuts off abruptly. The anticlimax may be intentional but it felt like I was being tricked. I would encourage the artist to release a version with the crescendo payoff which is what the song was leading to.  Even with that reservation, the combination of the groove and the singing kept bringing me back. It is a song whose strengths survive an ending I would have preferred to unfold differently.

Staircase is the most professionally produced of the three EPs. The earlier recordings’ home laptop aesthetic has largely receded, and the fuller sound brought to mind the Shins and of Montreal. “Grown” has a strong 4/4 groove, and I liked the synth pads supporting it. I particularly liked the first vocal sound, while another, more heavily processed part introduces an effect resembling Auto-Tune. “Under the Stairs” also uses pads effectively, with vocals near the beginning eventually giving way to an instrumental passage.

“Clouds” took longer to connect with me. I couldn’t make out the words and initially wanted a more natural vocal treatment. After several listens, the effects made more sense, although I still wanted to hear the lyrics. “Guilt” is probably my standout: distorted guitar, drums, and bass have distinct places in the mix, allowing the dynamic changes and instrumental details to register. The vocals still get submerged, but the arrangement offers plenty to follow. This is an exceptional song from beginning to end. “Grown Again” closes with acoustic strumming and sad, pensive singing.

What I thought  was cool was to hear the development in production across these releases. I generally thought each EP worked best from beginning to end, allowing its quieter performances and denser arrangements to establish a pace. There are high points throughout, especially when a strong groove supports Lupia’s singing. Overall, I really enjoyed all three EPs. Take a listen for yourself and see what you think. I’m looking forward to hearing where he goes next.

timothylupia.com/lupia-music

Passing down a tradition means accepting that someone else will decide what to do with it. That problem sits at the center of Massimo Donelli and Paolo Rossi’s Adorati Spiriti, a concept album about an elderly Cheyenne man, Chayton, sharing his beliefs and knowledge with the younger Tokala. Chayton hopes those values can remain useful in a life he will never experience. Across nine songs and 43 minutes, Donelli and Rossi give that conversation an elaborate, conspicuously polished musical treatment.

“Nelle orme il canto” establishes the album’s appetite for crowded arrangements. Heavy percussion gives way to pop, with further changes arriving over a firmly maintained 4/4 pulse. Everything sounds carefully placed, down to timing that approaches a metronome’s consistency. There’s plenty happening, though the production keeps even the busiest passages tightly controlled. “Il cerchio che unisce” continues that approach, using conspicuous effects and an oversized pop presentation. Its smoother stretches offer some relief from all the activity without losing the meticulous finish.

“Ovunque” settles into a familiar warmth. The arrangement is lush, immediately approachable, and a little sexy, comfortable enough with its appeal to let the song breathe. “Danza su danza” brings back the intensity. I liked the slap bass and synths, particularly the way they contribute to the rush of information. The timing is almost too perfect for a rock band: every part arrives precisely on cue, leaving little sense of musicians pushing or pulling against one another.

“Mitena (nata sotto la Luna nuova)” takes the density further. At moments, the arrangement suggests an ensemble large enough to make counting its members impractical. That’s an exaggeration, but the quantity of instrumental detail is striking. The song remains catchy through the congestion, which matters more than the sheer number of parts. “Splendore” follows with a softer, emotive ballad whose accessible melody gives the album a welcome change of pace.

The upbeat title track lifts the energy again before “Il Tramite” opens with a vocal sound resembling throat singing and moves into another steady 4/4 groove. “Now Go” closes with a more straightforward pop approach, providing an uncomplicated finish to an album that often favors accumulation.

​There’s an impressive amount of arrangement work here, and the stylistic variety gives attentive listeners plenty to follow. I can’t say it ever sounds like a live recording; its precision and polish remain audible throughout. For listeners who enjoy killer grooves, dense instrumentation, and modern pop production, Adorati Spiriti offers plenty to spend time with.

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I've been exploring the creative use of "beats" in my music, which refers to both drum tracks and the circular melodies upon which songs are built. Thus, I've started to appreciate creatively designed arrangements in electro pop, and the debut album LOST IN SPACE by CIRCA 99 is a masterclass in this type of music!

CIRCA 99 is the project name for Jake Hankins of New Jersey, and his goal is to "blur electronic music, alternative pop and psychedelia, moving between dance music and introspection." Not surprisingly, Hankins personally creates and records every note himself, along with mixing and mastering. Hankins' influences span "Tame Impala's layered psychedelia, the groove-driven energy of Daft Punk and Justice, Nile Rodgers' rhythmic guitar work and Brian Eno's textural experimentation." Conceptual themes include uncertainty, relationships, personal growth and cyclical patterns.

Hankins says the recording process was unconventional: "Writing, production and mixing were deeply intertwined, with songs constantly reshaped through layering, resampling and sound design, allowing each track to develop its own unique identity." The intent was for listeners to approach the collection as a complete work. Let's do it!

The first thing I noticed is that Hankins creates many titles that evoke other things: we have "Lost In Space" (TV show), "Breathless" and "Eyes Wide Shut" (movies), "No Time" (Monkees) and our first track, "SATELLITES IN LOVE," which is close to a Lou Reed title. It fades in on a space funk wave, with classic electro-pop-style vocals (compressed and slightly phased). Hankins' voice is melodic and approachable, but the backings really pop with a constant level of subtle invention.

"HINDSIGHT" is flagged as one of the standout songs and is described as "capturing the album's dynamic range, balancing synth-heavy pop foundations with reflective, emotionally resonant storytelling." This sounds like a Hit to me, and the backings are less busy but have a deeper impact (especially the church-organ-from-space sound). Cool funky bass track too! "BREATHLESS" increases the strutting-bass component combined with cascading waterfalls of dream-poppy harmony vocals.

It would be interesting to know if the next track was actually inspired by the movie, but "EYES WIDE SHUT" does have an icy Kubrickian vibe behind a dramatic vocal tweaked with tiny bits of pitch correction (or else it's just perfect!). "FALL INTO ME" evokes a futuristic cocktail bar, the kind that's all glass and white walls with the darkness of space visible outside. "ENERGY" has one of those really interesting beats I was referring to, almost industrial with drums that sound metallic. The term "Wall of Sound" would also qualify here, with a nonstop flow of spacey pads and beeps.

"NO TIME" is a faster track, especially compared to the others, and seems to embody impatience even within its banks of keys; if it had guitars, it would be disco rock! "GOOD NIGHT" concludes the set with sincere, even intimate vocals as the sweeping banks of synths tuck you in for a well-deserved rest. The patterns have a real '80s flavor and tonality, which always works for me.

​So, the standout elements here are Hankins' vocals and the creativity of his backing tracks. Am I missing anything? Check it out!

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wantedmissingfound is a cleverly named musical project, particularly when paired with the title of its debut EP, Putting Down the Dog.
Turns out the title is to be taken literally! The artist notes say the album "is a deeply personal solo release shaped by five years of instability, declining health and strained family relationships. The project began with the loss of the artist’s dog, an event that became the starting point for a much larger period of upheaval. 'Putting Down the Dog' attempts to capture both the despair and occasional joy that can exist while everything around you seems to be falling apart."

Calling an album "trippy" has fallen out of favor, which is unfortunate because this collection definitely took me several somewheres! The video game-like keys, the stark yet unexpected melodies and the artistic use of noise and space all gave me auditory whiplash. Listening to the music is one of the few times I've noticed distortion having a tonality like playing a keyboard! I can't think of many artists who combine these elements in quite this manner (which is why I won't list any). Minimalist, LoFi, ambient-experimental and even synth pop are all represented here.

"Nature is Law" is the opening instrumental and a great example of the "tuned distortion" I was referring to. It starts with roiling clouds of video game-like noise, then slides into a surprisingly fulsome melody backed by aggressive drum beats. My visual image is that somehow a full company of firetrucks was able to jam among themselves with sirens and horns while bouncing along the boulevard. There's a final surprise as the track ends with quietly picked acoustic guitar.

"Low" is the featured track on Bandcamp, so I've heard it more than the others, and it's one of the best songs (so, good call!). You may recall the David Bowie album by the same name, and the distance between David's German experimental period and this music ain't far. The lyrics are basic and short: "I've been feeling low / My healing's been too slow," over which Hynes purposely creates a happy-sounding keyboard riff, like a bunch of kids on Playskool toys.

"I Drive My Car" has a thick orchestral quality, like the banks of keys are standing in for a full string section. The vocals have been processed to sound alien and are just variations on the title. I think I get where they are going here: when you're truly depressed, sometimes you do things just to do them, while making yourself aware that you are doing them. "Last Year" gets to the heart of the matter, sadly reflecting on having to "put down the dog / Crying at the vet / Didn't even happen yet." It's got an interesting chamber arrangement and heartbroken yet matter-of-fact vocals, and runs well under two minutes.

"Unknown Blood" is another jagged, chugging electronic interlude whose melodies seem to get stronger by the end. "The Whale" is similar but puts the lead melody up front, with a sound like a beached serpent crying out for lost family. The unexpected use of silence at the end is quite effective. "Coming of Age" features slowly building cycles of what sound like ethereal washing machines.

"Creature's Lullaby" shakes off all the machine-like rhythms of the previous tracks for a stark, intimate lullaby that could be taken as a farewell to an animal companion or an attempt at self-hypnosis. The instrumentation is totally minimal, with just a bass melody, some light keys and a constant halo of phasing noise.

​As someone who is even now facing the loss of a pet friend, I nonetheless found this EP to be interesting and uplifting (and a little sad), and can heartily recommend it.

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Wade Easy writes in bursts, finishing records quickly before sometimes stepping away from music for months. That helps explain the Morgantown, West Virginia songwriter’s crowded release schedule: Honey Venom arrives one day short of the anniversary of his debut, Sleeping With the Sun On, with May’s Sea of Night between them. Three albums in a year is a lot to absorb from someone still introducing himself, but Easy has already established a recognizable approach: loose rhythms, blurred guitars and vocals that can make a straightforward love song sound faintly unnerving.

Self-recorded in Morgantown and mastered by Carl Saff, Honey Venom gives that approach a heavier treatment. Psychedelic rock, Americana and garage rock provide the basic vocabulary, while the songs keep returning to desire and devotion. 

“Ey Mama” opens with a groove that reminded me of the White Stripes at a slower, more deliberate pace. The bass drum sounds enormous. Easy’s voice has the pinched, amplified quality of an SM57 fed through an amp, and his theatrical delivery brought Trent Reznor to mind. There’s something slightly excessive about the performance, especially against such a basic rhythm, but that excess gives the opener its character.

“Tomato” eases off the guitar distortion and fills out the arrangement without changing the underlying method very much. Another plain 4/4 beat supports whispered vocals delivered with considerable drama. Heard together, the opening songs establish both the appeal and the limitation of Easy’s approach: he gets plenty from a simple groove, though the vocal mannerisms can become familiar quickly.

“Hot Honey” made me picture a long walk across the desert, its largely instrumental arrangement giving the album a useful break from those whispers. “Pirate of Sand” brings back the gloom with an Alice in Chains feel, while “Reverie” pares things down and leaves more room for quieter details. I found “Strange” among the strongest tracks; it reminded me of the Jesus and Mary Chain.

​“Low,” “Venom” and “Raw” hold up the later stretch, and “Stung” closes as another highlight. The album is cohesive and works very well when listening from beginning to end. Easy’s strongest moments come when a small change in texture or emphasis gives these simple arrangements enough distinction to make me want to return.

Kieran E Scott has spent much of his life moving between photography and music, two interests that began around the same time when he was a child in New Zealand. His brother Paul went on to play in the 1980s band Pop Mechanix, while Scott briefly played guitar with Jordan Luck before leaving Aotearoa for the UK to study photography. Decades later, he returned to songwriting under the name Agneu, a variation on his mother’s maiden name, Agnew. Air and Twigs grew from a decision in August 2025 to start writing songs from memories, photographs and stories rather than working primarily with abstract instrumental music. Scott describes the eight-song album as a series of musical vignettes arranged around a loose narrative sequence. 

​That background helps explain why Air and Twigs often seems more interested in maintaining a particular perspective than constantly changing direction. “How Bright’s the Moon” establishes much of the album’s vocabulary quickly: strummed major and minor chords, a steady 4/4 rhythm, bass, pads and plenty of reverb. The arrangement stays relatively consistent, eventually making room for a conventional guitar solo rather than a dramatic structural shift.

​“Afterlife” pares things back into a melancholy acoustic ballad, while “Sundays for Dreaming” has one of the album’s stronger grooves. I especially liked the combination of bass and pads here; there is almost a disco quality underneath the otherwise subdued production. The title track follows the record’s established approach before opening into something considerably larger, introducing percussion and textures that give the second half a more global, cinematic character.

“The Reason Birds Fly” is another standout. Lucy Mackintosh takes the lead vocal, accompanied by picked guitar before the arrangement expands around her. Scott recorded the album in Ponsonby, Tāmaki Makaurau, with Steve Melville handling drums, percussion, engineering and mixing, and William Bowden mastering the record. Kieran E Scott The additional voices and instrumentation help make these broader sections some of the most effective moments on Air and Twigs. “Calling Out Your Name,” meanwhile, stays closer to straightforward rock, gradually becoming brighter and more hopeful as it progresses.

The songs clearly belong together, and the production gives all eight tracks a recognizable identity. At the same time, Agneu rarely moves far outside the vocabulary established early on. Similar effects, spacious arrangements and heavily treated guitars recur throughout, and there were occasions when the amount of reverb was a little excessive for my taste.

Still, the fundamentals are strong. The grooves hold up, the arrangements are carefully constructed, and the record becomes more interesting when Agneu allows the songs to expand beyond their acoustic-rock foundations. Air and Twigsis a cohesive debut for the project, with enough strong moments to suggest that Scott’s transition from observing stories through a camera to telling them through songs was worth making.