Tinvís makes a striking introduction with their debut single, “Double Blind,” the first taste of their upcoming album Texnia, slated for release in the summer of 2025. The track unveils a careful, contemplative mood, balancing intimacy and melancholy with precision.

The opening moments are sparse yet deliberate—a meditative interplay between ambient pads and a soft piano line sets the stage. When the dry, understated drums and a smooth bassline emerge, the track begins to take shape, all while the close, intimate vocals draw you further into its reflective world. The vocal melodies are simple yet resonant, an emotional thread that remains unbroken as subtle new textures join the mix.

“Double Blind” thrives on its slow-burn quality. Its quiet intensity builds with each passing moment, layering elements that swell and evolve without ever becoming overwhelming. The production is notably meticulous, with every shifting detail carefully positioned to create an intricate sonic tapestry.

Tinvís cites influences like The War on Drugs and Death Cab for Cutie, and while there are faint echoes of the latter’s introspection, the band carves out a distinct identity of their own. “Double Blind” is an assured debut that signals Tinvís as a project with a promising horizon.

Richard Tyler Epperson’s latest single, “December Night,” offers a glimpse into his forthcoming album, Fragmented Night, with a raw, emotionally charged exploration of love's darker edges. The track unravels themes of emotional isolation and the gravitational pull of a relationship that is both damaging and irresistible, weaving a narrative as haunting as it is compelling.

Opening with a delicate piano line, the song is quickly engulfed by towering guitars and thunderous drums, creating a tension that mirrors the push and pull of its lyrical content. The verses retreat into a serene, almost ethereal atmosphere, showcasing Epperson’s knack for slick, refined production. When the hook crashes back in, it does so with an intensity that feels both cathartic and inevitable.

The unexpected introduction of rapped verses in the second half might seem like a gamble, but it pays off, adding an unexpected layer to the track's emotional arc. By the time the final minute hits, Epperson pushes the production into dizzying heights, closing the song on a shoegaze-tinged crescendo that feels both expansive and intimate.

​What truly sets “December Night” apart is its dynamic range—Epperson’s ability to make the quieter moments hit just as hard as the explosive ones. If this track is any indication, Fragmented Night promises to be a deeply immersive and sonically adventurous release.

Mad Painter, the Boston-based band formed in 2015, channels the raw essence of 1970s rock with their latest release, “Debt Collector.” Anchored by Alex Gitlin’s commanding vocals and keyboard work, the group—featuring Alan Hendry on drums, Kenne Highland on bass, Julie Gee and Sharon Crumrine on backing vocals and flute, and Alan Nahabedian on guitar—crafts a sound steeped in vintage blues-rock tradition. The track feels like it was plucked straight from the golden age of British and American rock, staying true to their self-proclaimed roots.

“Debt Collector” kicks off with a tight, blues-infused groove that immediately sets the tone. Gitlin’s voice is tailor-made for this era of music, effortlessly capturing its soulful grit and swagger. The hook is unfussy and infectious, exactly the kind of refrain that sticks in your head long after the track ends.

The real magic, though, unfolds in the second half. The band takes the listener on a journey through extended instrumental breaks, starting with an organ interlude that evokes the psychedelic spirit of The Doors. This seamlessly transitions into a searing guitar solo before circling back to the hook, only to dive once again into another expansive instrumental section. It’s a showcase of the band’s musicianship, a moment where they cut loose and simply rock.

What makes “Debt Collector” stand out is its purist approach. There’s no modern polish or forced innovation—just a faithful homage to the sounds of the ‘60s and ‘70s. That fidelity pays off, making this track a love letter to classic rock fans who crave authenticity over reinvention. Mad Painter isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel—they’re here to remind us why it spun so well in the first place.

It’s not often that I get to review a band from a place I’ve never heard of (Tórshavn, Faroe Islands, which I believe is part of Denmark) in a language I can’t find on my keyboard! GØ is a “cinematic contemporary jazz band” which was founded as a quartet in 2015 and released their DIY debut album GØ in 2020. This time around they’ve enlisted producer Per Ingvald Højgaard Petersen (known for Eivør, Lea Kampmann and EMP) plus a five-piece horn section for their new concept album titled Ævir, amen.

GØ draws inspiration from the sixties and seventies, and indeed I can only compare them to American bands Umphrey’s McGee, Material and especially Roxy-era Frank Zappa. The band’s press release describes their sound as “fusing elements of jazz, rock and cinematic influences,” and boasting a rebellious spirit in their boundary-breaking compositions. They also explore poignant Faroese cultural and political matters (such as Denmark's control over the Faroe Islands) but I cannot understand their lyrics!

The opening powerhouse “Javnaraflokkurin” made me think I was in for a live album (rapturous applause at the end) but this appears to be the only live track. As mentioned, the band shares a lot of qualities with Frank Zappa’s big band matched with the compositional complexity of early Van Dyke Parks. This track starts with a shuffling beat, haunted house piano and various percussive sounds. A cool jazzy theme takes shape from the disparate pieces, and when the horn section kicks in you really feel the connection to Frank. It’s melodically beautiful but still experimental in structure. The saxes, horns and pretty much everyone else goes into crazy jam mode for the last two minutes. “Loysing i dos” begins with amplified spoken word, followed by a piano melody very similar to the Beatles’ “Sexy Sadie.” The main body of the song features a spaghetti western-style guitar, which is an element that will reappear later. The keys create a foreign film soundtrack ambience over which a sax is allowed to “blow its nose” with an amazing build and climax.

“VinstraHogra” is based on retro-sounding analog synth sounds matched with talkbox-like guitar and bombastic vocal melodies, like the theme from an alternate universe sitcom. “Daislandsgade” features jagged math rock rhythms and insouciant chord progressions, all held together with sawing feedback and improvisational eruptions. “Ivi a Tinganesi” is a big change, sounding like a Hit from the 1950’s MOR charts, or something my parents would have enjoyed with a Bloody Mary. “A Skarv” shoots ahead into the mid-60’s with a funky electric piano workout crossed with Henry Mancini horns a la “Peter Gunn.”

“SvØvnloysi” begins with a tentative xylophone melody, followed by guitar and horns and building to a powerful, repeating motif before erupting into an amazing jazz-prog celebration full of joy and noise. The title (and final) track “Ævir, amen” sports a Twilight Zone-like melody, providing the backing for a lonesome, wailing saxophone and unsettled spirit background wisps. I’ve already made the Zappa comparison but these melodies really do sound like prime big band Mothers! Toward the end the sax steps aside for some mysterioso organ and a relatively quiet conclusion.

This music figuratively and literally comes from a different world! I was unsure what to expect but was thrilled by the chops and inspiration throughout this set. Check it out!

Dark Ghosts, the transatlantic duo of Blaine Vogt (Salem, Oregon) and Matt Dunn (Cardiff, Wales), craft a sound steeped in cinematic nostalgia on their release Red Dragon. The band draws heavily from the aesthetics of ‘70s, ‘80s, and ‘90s pop culture and movie soundtracks, and that influence pulses through their genre-hopping collection of songs.

The title track, "Red Dragon," opens with a bold fusion of synth-pop, post-punk, and rock. Anchored by pounding drums, a driving bassline, and commanding lead synths, the track instantly locks into a groove. Vogt’s vocals elevate the energy, cutting through with a clarity that feels effortless. The post-punk-inspired breakdown leads seamlessly into an explosive and earworm-worthy chorus, a standout moment of controlled chaos.

"The Host" leans into darker, more experimental territory. With percussive elements reminiscent of Nine Inch Nails and a groove that channels an evocative ‘80s nostalgia, it feels both forward-thinking and familiar. The song’s shifting dynamics keep it unpredictable, offering a glimpse of the band’s creative range.

On "Dreamland," Dark Ghosts shift gears with a high-energy synth-driven anthem. The track brims with urgency, its propulsive rhythm paired with a searing guitar solo that feels like a shot of adrenaline. "Conduit," by contrast, dips into a haunting atmosphere, with eerie pads and keys weaving a hypnotic spell. Despite its shadowy tone, the song retains a rock-forward intensity, merging the ethereal and the visceral.

Closing with "Lost in the Grey," the band delivers a soaring arena ballad. The track is steeped in emotional resonance, the kind of song that conjures visions of lighters held high and collective catharsis.

"Red Dragon" is a triumph of stylistic diversity and polished production. Dark Ghosts seamlessly blend genres and eras, creating a release that feels as cinematic as it does dynamic. It’s a record that revels in its influences while carving out a space entirely its own.

Sonomancer, the electronic music artist known for weaving ambient and downtempo elements with cinematic introspection, delves into liminal spaces with the evocative "Before Dawn." The track, a meditation on fragmented hope and the quiet tension of the hours just before sunrise, balances resilience and solitude in a richly textured sonic narrative.

“Before Dawn” opens with dissonant piano chords floating over low sub-bass pads, immediately establishing an eerie yet reflective tone. The delicate interplay of the piano’s haunting melody and subtly layered electronic percussion conjures comparisons to early Aphex Twin, blending mechanical precision with emotional weight. Vocal harmonies, ethereal and spectral, drift through the mix, adding another layer of unease and beauty.

The standout moment arrives in the breakdown, where the atmosphere intensifies, spiraling into a dense, almost claustrophobic swell that recalls the shadowy, introspective work of Burial. It’s a wormhole of sound that feels both disorienting and immersive, pulling the listener deeper into the track’s reflective core.

Around the two-minute mark, the composition unravels, leaving an organ to guide the song through a moment of stark minimalism before the piano re-emerges, weaving its way back into the arrangement. The subtle key change near the track's conclusion adds a quiet sense of resolution, leaving the listener suspended between light and shadow.

“Before Dawn” is a meticulously constructed piece that thrives on its interplay between haunting unease and delicate beauty. Fans of atmospheric electronic music will find much to appreciate in Sonomancer’s ability to evoke the intangible through sound.

Danish artist Nils Lassen, celebrated for his work as one half of the dreampop duo BlackieBlueBird, steps into new territory with "Close Those Ocean Eyes," a celestial preview of his forthcoming solo album. Lassen’s sonic exploration here feels both intimate and boundless, a reflection of his two-decade evolution as a musician.

The track opens with Lassen’s ethereal vocal mantra, “Close Those Ocean Eyes,” cloaked in cavernous reverb, setting the stage for an atmosphere steeped in cosmic melancholy. As the drums settle in and the verse unfolds, the song invokes a striking blend of Pink Floyd’s expansive psychedelia and Brian Eno’s meditative textures. The arrangement leans heavily into vast, reverb-soaked soundscapes, with the guitars shimmering like distant stars and Lassen’s voice hovering like a ghostly narrator in a dream.

The chorus, where the track ascends to a higher plane, is its gravitational center. It doesn’t simply evoke the awe of cosmic immensity—it embodies it. Lassen resists the urge to overreach, staying rooted in a contemplative, cerebral headspace that reverently nods to Pink Floyd’s ability to channel wonder without excess.

"Close Those Ocean Eyes" is a lush, introspective offering that understands its purpose and delivers on it. While it doesn’t chart new territory in its influences, it’s a meticulously crafted song that knows the weight of its sonic ambitions and achieves a singular moment of transcendence.

I was delighted to receive the new album from Hipster Pug titled Signal From The Universe. Though I’m unfamiliar with band leader Tom, I immediately recognized his releasing label as Monochrome Motif Records, an eclectic indie specializing in highly creative artists, stellar sound quality and distinctive graphic designs. So I knew I was in good hands!

Hipster Pug has been around since 2018 and began with Lo-Fi, downtempo tracks. However, after two years Tom wanted to make his own “more personal album, with a story in music form” and that became his 2020 ambient-neoclassical album “Neon Noir.” In 2022 he released his first EP with Monochrome, and has been working on this follow-up album since last year. “While that album was darker in tone,” Tom says, “this is a way more positive album and I hope a bit happier overall.” His unexpected inspiration came from director Wes Anderson: “His movies (have) a 3-part structure where separate stories turn into a complete story; I thought if it works for movies, it might work for this album as well.” In all honesty I would not be able to tell the different sections apart, but in that way this album is nicely consistent.


The opening “Prologue” is a mostly keyboard-based instrumental that reminded me of the expansive openings of the Yes albums “Close To The Edge” and “Relayer.” Already there’s layers of amazing sounds, some possibly reversed. I can definitely see where the term “neoclassical” comes from! Tom says he wanted every part to have a different, distinct sound and thus part one is “more experimental and a bit darker.” The prologue behind us, “Act 1 The Signal” is a track that represents change. It immediately becomes a bit more challenging, with distorted radio transmission sounds playing atop a pulsing synth pattern and wild drum kit beats. Definitely chaotic but totally intriguing! 

“Signal From The Universe” slows way down, though as befits the title there’s all sorts of garbled radio hash. Like the previous track these sounds are scattered atop drums and synths, though the main sounds are like a symphony of old telephones ringing in space. “The Maze” has string-like patches that suggest Brian Eno’s classical experiments. As it progresses, the music could almost be from a movie soundtrack. “Yugen” was like a Sunday service on Mars, with churchly organ interwoven with space-like samples. Extremely cool! “Follow Your Own Path” concludes Act 1 with an uptempo excursion featuring a lead instrument that resembles Zamfir’s pan flute music.

Tom says part two is more ambient. “Act 2 Cave Of Memories” is about “letting go of the past and looking forward to what you would like.” The opening section is a swirling miasma of flute-like textures that sounds awesome in headphones!  “Des Vu” has sounds that could be harps along with the lowest keys on the piano.

“The Cave Of Memories” has been created and mastered to sound like it’s coming from a cave, albeit one with strange wind chimes or tinkling glass. “Lights Part II” is a sequel to the “Neon Noir” album track, but has a much different, more expansive arrangement. The overlapping melodies are the audio equivalent of those time lapse movies of flowers opening in the sun. Trigger alert: it gets very loud before gently fading down and away. 

The final section “Act 3 New Beginnings” is described as “a mix of Neoclassical, Ambient and a bit of Experimental.” After an Eno-like intro, “The Path Of New Beginnings” takes us on a spooky 7-minute sojourn with a bed of lush synths accompanied by what sounds like clinking soda bottles. Later the samples very much approximate an orchestral string section with sweeping, sawing melodies. At four minutes we switch to a lovely chiming keyboard theme with ghostly voices swirling behind it, with the final section revealing a Phantom Of The Opera grandeur. “Inner Beauty (awake)” is a total surprise in that a virtual Boy’s Choir introduces a blast of minimalist classical music with galloping horse percussion. I found this track to be the most magical of all. The final two tracks are heavily classical and quite epic.

There’s much more than I could fully describe here, but I highly recommend this amazing work and the eclectic label it comes from!

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I guess it’s been long enough that there can be two bands with “Fifth Dimension” in their names. Waiting In The Fifth Dimension is the solo project of Salt Lake City experimental musician Zac Wilkinson. His debut album is the self-titled Waiting In The Fifth Dimension. Though just 21 minutes long, this is a conceptual story like Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal” in which a broken love affair is described backwards, starting at the end and ending at the beginning.

Wilkinson describes this narrative as being “deeply rooted in a past relationship that left the artist shattered, highlighting themes of love, loss and introspection.” Wilkinson sings and plays all parts, as well as mixing and mastering. He counts as influences Matt Martians and Tyler the Creator. His album cover (and apparent band icon) is a disturbingly altered picture of an eager or crazed young man.

“meeting you was a mistake” is the opening track and a great title, and appears to be something of an indie hit with 11,000 plays on Spotify. It really does feel like the final track on an album, and not the first! A lonely drum machine lopes along, joined by an electric guitar strumming single, opaque chords. Wilkinson’s vocals are double-tracked and just above a whisper, even when singing soprano. A minimalist, striking start! “why” again features bare-bones drum machine, this time backing up low-pitched synth tones. My note on this song was “sounds like Brian Wilson singing on the floor” and it really could be a lost linking track from an alternate-universe “SMiLE.”

“i see you in my dreams” reuses the drum beats from the first track, with a two-chord motif on the synth. Wilkinson seems to prefer using his higher voice, which in another context could be taking the lead on soul music records. Not much development here, but there is an interesting minimal guitar solo. “i don’t know why” is a bit of a departure as Wilkinson steps a little back from the mic and sings in a more naturalistic voice. We (or at least I) can certainly relate to the line “I don’t know why you won’t be mine.” The next track “are you scared” kicks in without a pause (I love that!) and if a previous track reminded me of Brian Wilson, this one could be his brother Dennis.

“her (interlude)” is a kind of spooky, short linking track that feels a bit like John Lennon’s guitar picking along with narrative voices that can’t be understood; but it makes for a great opener to “do you want to fall in love” which pointedly comes after (or before) the narrator “spends the night” with his new love. The drums have a paramilitary feel, with a return to those warbling electric guitar chords. 

“spend the night” has over two thousand plays (making Wilkinson eligible for a few pennies at the end of the year) and interestingly it’s one of the more sophisticated tracks, with two distinct sections, jazz electric piano tones and very human-sounding vocals. The concluding (beginning) track “when will we be friends” has the cleanest guitar recording yet, with jazzy 7ths that play backup to haunted percussion and young-and-hopeful-sounding vocals. The abrupt ending feels perfect.

I am always up for musical experimentation, and Wilkinson took an interesting idea and made something compelling with it. I won’t say he’s exactly where he should be, but this short collection shows he’s well on his way!

Sami Fitz’s debut album, Some Hills Were Once Islands, is a sprawling, introspective mosaic that threads ambient drones, folk sensibilities, and experimental textures into a meditation on grief, hope, and resilience. The London-based British-American artist carves out an evocative space where loss isn’t a static state but a fluid force, shifting between love, renewal, and a tender acknowledgment of life’s quiet beauty.

The opener, “Changes,” sets the tone with a dynamic mix of country-tinged vocals, exploratory percussion, and an emotive, cinematic build that swells into a lush, expansive outro. It’s a bold introduction, immediately drawing attention to Fitz’s ability to balance intimacy with grandeur. On “Home,” arpeggiated synths and airy pads imbue the track with an introspective yet hopeful energy, reinforcing the album’s penchant for transitions into climactic, almost orchestral sequences.

“Time” unfolds with a dynamic arrangement that feels carefully sculpted yet effortlessly organic. The track opens with gentle, introspective piano chords paired with Sami Fitz’s tender, emotive vocals, which find an ideal balance between fragility and power. The instrumentation builds gradually, as subtle orchestral swells emerge in the background, creating a sense of expansive depth. There’s a natural grace to the progression, like watching a rose slowly bloom in real time, each petal revealing itself with deliberate beauty. The swelling strings and layered textures elevate the track’s emotional resonance, making it feel both intimate and grand, a hallmark of Fitz’s approach throughout the album.

“Öskjuhlíð” offers a Sigur Rós-esque interlude, a moment of stillness amid the album’s sweeping emotional arcs. The meditative “Blue” lingers in a tranquil space that I found quite beautiful and serene, while “Think of You” shifts the tone with a melodic, infectious warmth that stands as one of the record’s most accessible moments. “Wait” pairs cinematic guitar work with a whimsical undercurrent, while “Hope” mirrors its title with another dramatic, hopeful crescendo.

“Leverton Street” injects a sense of buoyancy, a rare straight-ahead moment of joy on the album, before the closer, “So Sweetly,” ushers listeners out on a haunting, dreamlike note. It’s a grand finale, steeped in lush production and a melancholic air that lingers long after the final note.

​What’s striking across Some Hills Were Once Islands is the breadth of its sonic palette. Each track is its own ecosystem, brimming with intricate production and diverse instrumentation, yet the album maintains a striking coherence. Fitz’s emotive vocals anchor the collection, weaving through its layered arrangements with both fragility and strength. The album feels like both a deeply personal statement and an invitation to explore the nuances of its lush soundscapes, rewarding listeners with new revelations each time. It’s an exceptional debut, one that establishes Fitz as a daring and deeply emotive voice in modern experimental folk.