Ask Carol’s AC II Desert Sky operates on atmosphere more than anything else, building a world that drifts between dream pop, desert rock, and ambient haze. “Desert” opens the album, and it is a fitting name for the track. I really love how dreamy and atmospheric this song is. The vocals shift from intimate to distant, as if they are being pulled across a wide landscape. The hook is solid, but the real focus is the mood. That same hazy sensibility carries into “Wind In My Hair,” where reverb becomes the backbone of the arrangement. The vocals sound great, and the surrounding textures blur into reverb drenched pads that act more like scenery than instrumentation.

“Cold July” scales everything down to acoustic guitar and voice, a stripped down moment that lets the songwriting stand on its own. “Are You Leaving Us Here…” pushes the opposite direction. It is pure ambience and tone, closer to film sound design than a traditional song. The album regains momentum with “Writing On The Wall,” a standout built on striking guitar lines and a subtle southern gothic undertone.

“Ohio” is the most fully realized piece here. I loved the vocals and the expansive quality of the arrangement. “Seasons” brings the focus back to something more intimate, while “Desert Sky” circles back to the opener’s terrain with a shifted perspective.

Several songs on this album reach a genuinely exceptional level. The mixing is impressive, and the performances are consistently strong. Reverb is central to the entire record, and the band uses it in a way that supports the emotional tone rather than smothering it. Some of the shorter tracks play like vignettes. They add cohesion, but they function more as transitions to the more song structured tracks.
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Overall, this is a great album. The songwriting is top notch, and the overall atmosphere creates a cool, chill environment that was very inviting to my ears.

Trashy Annie returns with Let It Kill You, a second album that pushes their rough edged identity into sharper focus. Annie calls the record a chance to claim every version of herself, and I can hear that in the way the band moves from reckless to reflective without losing its core. What emerges is a portrait of a group shaped by the road, rallies, bike festivals, cramped clubs, now trying to bottle the chaos and camaraderie of those nights into a studio record.

“Some Strange” opens the album with a no nonsense rock pulse. The band leans into 4/4 time, familiar chord changes, and plenty of attitude, pulling from the same toolbox that has fueled bar band rock for decades. Their take on “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” surprised me. I love the original, and here it jumps into a faster, almost punk sprint. “The Games We Play” carries clear shades of the 80s, while “MIGRAINE” shifts into something closer to metal.

I was a little confused by “Sugar” because it sounded like a different band with a different singer. It is a rock country tune with what seems to be a fiddle, and the shift is pretty stark. “Big Red Bow” has its moments and “The Bus” dives right back into punk territory. “God’s Country” channels a familiar classic rock warmth, while “Save Me” builds toward a big, arena ready chorus. “Hurricane” slows things down into more of a ballad.

Across the record, the band tries on a lot of styles, punk, metal, country, straight up rock, like they are testing the elasticity of their sound. They are loud, unfiltered, and I get the sense they would be a blast to see live. Their biggest strength is their energy, even when they rely on reliable rock moves they delivery it with power. There is nostalgia here, and it reminded me of a lot of the groups I grew up with. I cannot say they reinvent the wheel, but the songs are fun, they are delivered with conviction, and they keep the spark of rock burning.

Nashville singer-songwriter Meghan Hayes is not exactly a "latecomer," having begun her first musical forays in the early 2000's. She's released three critically-acclaimed albums since 2019, and her newest is titled Latecomer. Her music encompasses Americana, folk and bluegrass, all featuring Hayes' lovely soprano voice and crystalline acoustic guitar, along with excellent studio players.

Hayes has the kind of press you'd kill for, with quotes like “a songwriter capable of sharp introspection and character examination” (PopMatters) and "Seen Enough Leavers is one of the best Americana albums in recent history" (Take Effect Reviews). She's played such venues as The Bluebird Café, CBGBs and The Birchmere, and shared stages with artists like Hal Ketchum, Tift Merritt, Robbie Fulks, Ashley McBride and my personal favorite Freedy Johnston.

Thematically this album is described as "exploring an array of themes – from loneliness, abandonment and betrayal to resilience and hope – while offering stark commentary on the country’s increasingly troubling socio-political climate. The recording process centered around making Hayes’s guitar and vocals the heart of each song and capturing those parts first, before building the accompaniment around them."

"Surprised" is a sadly beautiful track that drew me in with its melancholy tone and weeping pedal steel (thank you Paul Niehaus!), along with references to LA skies, burning canyons and the 70's. Musically I'm reminded of Emmylou Harris. The song takes such a sharp emotional turn at the end that I can barely believe what I've heard! All players are stellar, including Thea Danos (background vocals) Robert Kearns (bass) and Jeff Brown (drums). The title track "Latecomer" features more of Haye's striking lyrical gift, laid out almost like biblical verses. Some examples are: "The car I get into smells of gas station pine, Moldy AAA maps, and road salt on vinyl" and "Where will we go when the night collapses? What am I supposed to do in the dark in a house that never stops crying?" The instrumentation feels like just voice and autoharp, with some ethereal strings toward the end. After the first two tracks, "Do the Wrong Thing" actually feels more like an upbeat love song, with Hayes coming up with flirtatious sentiments like "You make me wanna pretend I'm sober." This track has a quite sophisticated melodic structure and instrumental arrangement, though everything feels posed right beneath the surface, ready to pounce at any moment. 

"Still Be Nice" features amazing solo violin throughout (uncredited) and is an astute meditation on a broken relationship that still pulls at one's heart. "Evangeline" is an old-timey country workout reminiscent of Nanci Griffith or Iris DeMent, with sawing fiddles, quavery dobro and a lovely vocal duet with traces of Dolly. Naturally the lyrics are great: "Sex, caffeine and sugar are all that’s left for me / I can tell you’re running low... on all three."  "Unlock the Door" is a folky track that's co-credited to Mando Saenz, who I'm assuming is the second guitarist. The mix of acoustics and pedal steel is quite magical.

The framing of "Break Your Heart" is that the narrator is contemplating doing just that ("If I were you I'd never let down my guard")! I love the low-key banjo and acoustic in this track, which has the feel of a better Gordon Lightfoot track. There's also some lovely vocal harmonies, including some moments that come close to dissonance. The violin returns for the final third. Similar in tone is "Tornado" which was co-written and co-sung with Megan Palmer. It starts fairly stripped-down but blossoms into a sweetly sad full-band sound.

Surprise: it turns out all the rapturous press for Meghan Hayes was right! One song will tell you everything, but they're all great. Way recommended!

meghanhayes.com

Some bands take a while to grow on you. I liked Atlanta's Blackfox right from the start, and by the end of their new album Blackfox 4 I was a fan! It was a little confusing trying to pin them down at first, but I now realize that's because they have three lead singers, creating a sound sometimes like Belly and other times like Bowie. They have one of the best Band Statements ever: "We write songs, then take them apart and put them back together wrong. We improvise, extend, forget and then remember. We believe in quiet and in loud. Music is truth, and truth is sometimes difficult."

Blackfox began as a southern gothic / swamp blues power trio over 10 years ago, eventually adding talented Atlanta musicians until finally locking in the current lineup:

Stacey Cargal (vocals/guitar), Monica Arrington (vocals), Andy Gish (vocals), Greg Wright (bass/guitar/piano/synthesizer/vocals), Mitchell Sosebee (drums/percussion/vocals), Jim Combs (keyboards/synthesizers/glockenspiel/vocals) and Ryan Taylor (guitar).

They describe their new album as "a bold, guitar-driven collection that moves seamlessly from alternative rock and alt-pop to punk, new wave and even prog. The record delivers high energy tracks alongside cinematic depth, featuring soaring vocals, muscular guitars and atmospheric keyboards."

"Beaming" opens the album with (apparently) the only song not written by Stacey Cargal, who takes lead vocals anyway. This one put me in mind of my favorite alternative bands like Sebadoh, Belly and Throwing Muses. Besides the alternating lead singers, almost every band member also contributes backing vocals, and it definitely adds a nice sonic cushion to this and other tracks. "Bring Your Fire" brings in the powerhouse pipes of (I believe) Monica Arrington, with a faster and more aggressive Patti Smith punk-new wave vibe (also helped by the Elvis Costello-like organ). The harmonies in the middle make me miss John Doe and Exene. "Jump" introduces Andy Gish on vocals, and though not a Van Halen cover, Gish's voice does have a David Lee Roth drawl. The title certainly describes how you'll probably dance to this one, with some of the sharpest rhythms since The Knack.

"Goodbye This Time" goes WAY back in time with an arrangement not unlike "I Got You Babe" by Sonny & Cher, crossed with the vocals of Debbie Harry. I've been noting the vocals, but the shimmering guitars (and more pop organ) are also excellent. Andy Gish returns to lead the pack on the dramatic Bowie-like "Running Out of Danger." This is followed by the big guitars and big vocals workout "Difficult" that manages to be both epic and intimate simultaneously, with a melody vaguely related to the old Cars track "Who's Gonna Drive You Home." Great guitar solo too! "She Died Inside" may be my favorite song, and not just because my Spotify glitched and played it twice: the pop invention and lively arrangement are irresistible, with the kind of chorus that locks in note-for-note with the vocals. "Strangers" has the dusty, heat-bleached vibe of a Tex-Mex epic: I believe people use the term "cinematic." The album closes with "Sacred" which is like a psychedelic track produced to the nth degree, and though Gish takes his fourth lead vocal in a row, the voices of the other members are prominent and amazing. Instrumentally everyone shines here, from chunky guitars to keys to full-on drum kit. 

Really good albums are often the hardest to review, because I feel like a fan saying "That one's great! That one too!" But then I can also recommend without hesitation. Great band, great album!

Jeppediinho opens Games of Life with the confidence of someone who has spent years figuring out what actually drives his music. Working out of Stockholm, he pieces together classic house, hard rock accents, pop gloss, and bright 80s colors in a way that feels intentional rather than stitched together for effect. The record relies on a revolving set of anonymous vocalists from Sweden, England, the United States, and Australia, and each one nudges the songs in a distinct direction. Even without names attached, I can hear the contours of their personalities shaping the flow of the album.

For all the stylistic ingredients in play, Jeppediinho seems far more invested in mood, momentum, and emotional clarity. He assembled the album partly in Stockholm and partly through remote sessions scattered across the world, but the result is surprisingly focused. When I listen through it, I hear less of a debut producer showing off range and more of an artist trying to map out the shifts that come with growth, uncertainty, and the work of getting back up.

“Illusion” opens the record and lands exactly where it aims. It is a straightforward club track with bright electronic drums and a neon pulse. The vocals are solid and the song about being ghosted has a hook that gets the job done. “The Wrong Time” works within a similar space but with a sharper kick and a vocalist who brings more urgency. “Lost In My Mind” leans on big synth stacks, while “Find Myself” pushes toward introspection within the limitations of a dance track. I really liked the synth design on “I'm Unbreakable” and “What Are You Waiting For” keeps the momentum up.

As the album moved forward, I found myself responding to “We Are The Winners,” “What's Your Mentality,” and “The Power Inside,” even though the emotional palette stayed locked in place. It reminded me of nights in college when every club track aimed for the same rush of adrenaline and the same sense of release. That atmosphere is a constant throughout Games of Life.

If the first few songs connect, the rest will too, because the energy, intention, and emotional temperature barely shift. The songs echo one another in structure and tone, which makes the album coherent but also predictable. It becomes a continuous run of bright synths, steady kicks, and the same familiar spark meant to keep a crowd moving. If you're looking to get people sweating on the dance floor with high energy songs this album will definitely do the trick.

Until They Burn Me is the somewhat ominous band name for the duo of Cody Carlyle and Travis Jordan of Ferndale, Washington. Having heard their music, however, I know their name couldn't be more appropriate, along with the title of their new album A Carnival of Reveries. 

The two friends and partners have been playing together for over 30 years, formerly in a band called The Dry Season. Their current project started in 2021, and they correctly describe its music as "an eclectic mix of Americana, old-timey murder ballads, garage rock, dark country, punkgrass and folk." For those of a certain age, the vocals have the low-end grit of early 70's blues singers like Dr. John or Leon Russell, which they allude to by mentioning "the voodoo sounds of Old New Orleans and circus madness from a bygone era."

Describing their new album, the guys state that A Carnival of Reveries is "an eclectic cocktail of evocative music. It’s gritty and dirty with a vintage sound and streetwise soul. A cinematic soundtrack to which one might astral travel, conjure ghosts and, if not careful, lose one’s mind." Mastering was by John McLaggan at Parachute Mastering.  

"Dark & Deep" begins in full Dr. John vocal mode, backed by wailing overdriven harmonica and chugging electric guitars that sound acoustic (or the other way around!). After the first verses there's a killer dobro solo. The music is a perfect embodiment of a brush with the devil in a dark forest. "To The Bone" follows with vocals that are somehow even lower, neck and neck with Tom Waits. Musically it's very similar to the Camper Van Beethoven version of the Appalachian folk classic "O Death." Pretty sure I'm hearing mandolins, acoustic guitar and an electric that feels down-tuned almost into the dirt. I also love the echo-laden acoustic coda. 

"Licorice & Lollipops" is a bouncy rocker that recalls the weird, experimental side of the Beatles doing the White Album. Great tones throughout, with cool guitar chords along with melodic bass. Travis Martin adds a terrific guest vocal during the Beatley middle eight. Pretty sure I'm hearing sax too! "Dig Them Graves" is a sort of cowpunk-reggae hybrid that could be an alternate theme song for the TV show "Rawhide." I doubt the lead singer could possibly get his voice lower than this!

"Night Passage of Painted Dog" is a thumping, slow-paced acoustic instrumental that the boys describe best: "Inspired by a particular, brief scene in a movie... a theme for a wild dog making its journey across the desert on a sacred passage only he understands. The feel is driving, dark and tribal." There's ghostly vocal sounds and efforts but no words. Though very different, this had the same effect on me as the blues classic "Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground."

"Revealed to Him in the Wild" is a driving rocker with picked electric guitars and a guest cello solo by Corbin Keep that I first mistook for electric guitar. It's dark almost to the point of sonic saturation, with spare but spooky lyrics, as if spoken by a man dying on a forest floor. The guitars are heavy and the bass melodic and insistent. "The Golden Motel Room" comes off like a film noir narrative, and the guest bass by David Payne is the first thing you notice before the radio drama-like voice. This song has one of those Ennio Morricone-style arrangements with added coolness from the growling guitars, plus the bass (did I mention the bass?). "Josef K" concludes the album with a bouncy, Threepenny Opera-style narrative with slashing chords and oompah-bass. Travis Martin guests on vocals and acoustic guitar.

Wasn't sure I was going to get here when I started, but I'm thinking fans of Oingo Boingo or Danny Elfman might really like this album, but not exclusively. See what you think. I really liked it!

Become A Fan

Baaj & Baaj’s There’s No Reason lands with the kind of quiet assurance that comes from someone who has been fine-tuning their own universe for a while and seems to have been influenced by a lot of artists that I grew up listening to.

Working alone in Cognac, France, Baaj & Baaj builds these tracks piece by piece, pulling from the shimmer of 80s pop and the moodier shades of new wave without slipping into imitation. I can hear the fingerprints of The Cure and Depeche Mode in the synth work and vocal reverb, but the project leans a little more electronic overall, with a funk undercurrent that hints at Daft Punk and gives the EP a subtle modern gleam. It is nostalgic in its palette but rooted firmly in its own perspective.

The EP was designed as a kind of morning spark, something meant to lift you out of autopilot and get the day moving with intention. That concept shapes the flow from the first seconds, where bright synth patches, clipped guitar accents, and buoyant rhythmic choices form a sense of continuity across the release.

The title track, “There’s No Reason,” opens things up and ends up being one of my favorites. The bass line carries a confident bounce, the key choice gives the song an immediate warmth, and the vocals glide with that unmistakable 80s sheen I have always loved. It is catchy without pushing for it, the kind of track that nudges you into motion almost subconsciously.

“Echoes in the Mind” takes a more introspective route. I found the arrangement spacious in a way that invites closer listening, and something in the vocal phrasing brought David Bowie to mind, especially during the verse. “We Are” shifts again, leaning into darker tones with atmospheric pads that expand the space around the mix. Even with the moodier backdrop, the groove is steady enough that it still functions as a club-ready track.

“More ’n More” blends slick electronic production with a sense of lift that reminded me of Jon Hopkins at times. The floaty textures and airy guitar lines even nod toward U2’s more expansive eras. “Shoot the Tax Haven” is the wild card here. The acoustic guitar introduces a trace of alt-country, but the electronic backbone holds everything together. The vocal performance on this track might be the strongest on the EP, carrying both clarity and edge.

“Hate the Haters” brings things to a close with a more brooding energy, and I appreciated how the melodies ride that tension without sinking into heaviness. By the end, the EP makes its point clearly. These are tight, well-produced electronic pop songs that understand the value of momentum, mood, and melody. Each track brings enough personality to stay memorable and enough polish to keep me coming back.

Charlie Freeman, who records as FREE/MAN, approaches his new EP Reconnection like someone testing the range of their own voice. Across four tracks, he moves from subdued funk to wistful folk, from acoustic intimacy to cosmic rock reverie. The title suits the collection; it’s as if he’s revisiting different parts of himself, reconnecting with sounds and emotions that shaped him as an artist.

It opens with “Not Tomorrow,” a sharp and soulful groove that hooked me immediately. The rhythm section feels earthy and unprocessed, anchored by a dry, organic kit and a bassline that moves like breath. Freeman’s delivery is refreshingly unguarded, playful but sincere, never pushing harder than he needs to. When the orchestral strings appear, they don’t overwhelm; they glide through the mix like memory surfacing at the right moment. It’s one of those rare songs that sounds both effortless and deliberate.

“Bluebird” shifts the tone entirely. It’s a hushed folk ballad steeped in melancholy, the kind of song that could close a film with quiet grace. The strings take on a more emotional weight here, circling around a simple guitar figure while Freeman sings as if from the other side of a long night. His version of Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song” strips away everything but the essentials: voice, acoustic guitar, conviction.

“Two Witches” closes the set in widescreen mode. There’s a slow-building grandeur reminiscent of Pink Floyd, with reverb trails, subtle synth textures, and a sense of looking out at something vast and unknowable. It’s an ambitious and atmospheric piece that balances the EP’s earlier intimacy with something more expansive.

​Reconnection has some serious range. Each song seems to exist in its own orbit, distinct in tone and feeling, yet united by Freeman’s honest and unforced presence. “Not Tomorrow” is still the one that stayed with me; it has that ineffable spark that makes you hit repeat, but the variety across these tracks suggests an artist still joyfully exploring what he can do.

Become A Fan

If I close my eyes while listening to Steel & Velvet, I can almost smell the grain of an old wooden cabin, the kind that creaks when the wind moves through it. The Breton trio of Johann Le Roux, Romuald Ballet-Baz, and Jean-Alain Larreur treat folk rock like a language passed down by memory rather than written down in ink. Formed in 2021 through friendship and a shared devotion to restraint, their songs are stripped to bone and breath. There’s no production gloss or performative reach for grandeur, just wood, string, and voice, held together by a fragile stillness that feels both personal and ancient.

People Just Float, their six-song EP, extends that philosophy into something cinematic. It’s accompanied by a short film from longtime collaborator Loïc Moyou, a surreal western that drifts between solitude and revelation. The music mirrors the film’s tone, each song like a chapter in a sparse novella, told through quiet guitar and low, resonant vocals. Silence isn’t just the space between notes here; it’s the pulse of the whole work.

“Orphan’s Lament” opens with a voice that belongs on a grand stage, operatic and unhurried. But beneath it, the guitar does most of the emotional heavy lifting. The playing is patient and luminous and recalls the American Primitive stylings of Jack Rose or John Fahey. Their cover of “Ring of Fire” follows, pared down to its essence. The baritone delivery lends gravity to lines that, in other versions, might sound worn thin by repetition. Here, they regain their weight.

“Man in the Long Black Coat” reimagines Dylan’s ballad as a dark fable. I could almost see fog curling around castle walls as the story unfolded. “Silver” leans into harmonic interplay, the voices folding around each other like candlelight on wood. Their take on “Lake of Fire,” best known through Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged set, nods back to the Meat Puppets’ original with reverence and restraint. The closer, “In Heaven,” feels like a benediction whispered to no one in particular.

​By the end, People Just Float doesn’t try to reinvent the songs it borrows; it listens to them differently. These are minimalist recordings, voice and guitar, nothing more, but they breathe with conviction. I knew every song here before pressing play, yet somehow, in the trio’s hands, they sounded newly unearthed, as if rediscovered in the dust of that imagined cabin.

Become A Fan

“Harbor Boulevard” from Blind Man’s Daughter, the moniker of Denver-based artist Ashley Wolfe, sits somewhere between comfort and familiarity. It’s a gentle, mid-tempo pop rock ballad that doesn’t try to reinvent anything, and maybe that’s part of its charm. Wolfe writes from a deeply personal place, channeling the slow ache of watching her father slip away to Alzheimer’s, yet the delivery feels restrained, more soothing than raw.

I found myself appreciating its directness. The acoustic guitar and brushed percussion create a warm, steady pulse, and Wolfe’s voice lands somewhere between resolve and ache. There’s no metaphor to decode or emotional puzzle to solve; she tells you exactly what she’s feeling. “I wrote ‘Harbor Boulevard’ for my dad,” she’s said, and the lyrics echo that plainly, tracing family memories and fading moments with a steady hand.

At times, I wished the song pushed a little harder or took a risk melodically. It’s safe, maybe too safe, the kind of track that could sit between a Norah Jones cut and a mid 2000s country crossover on a coffeehouse playlist. But its simplicity gives it an easy appeal, and Wolfe’s sincerity keeps it from feeling hollow.

​“Harbor Boulevard” might not surprise you, but it might still find you at the right moment, that quiet evening when you need a song that doesn’t demand much, just offers a bit of light. It’s tender, predictable, and undeniably human.