Memories Of The Future is a five song EP by DAAY that immediately announces itself through groove, texture, and atmosphere. Released on the band’s own Yada Recordings, the project thrives on contrast, pairing sleek rhythmic foundations with hazy melodic details that nod toward both modern psych pop and older alternative forms. The music breathes in small gestures. Grooves repeat just long enough to sink in, tones smear at the edges, and the space between notes carries as much weight as what is played. These songs feel instinctively familiar, not because they look backward, but because they tap into shapes and moods that have been absorbed and quietly reworked.

“Guru Deva” opens the EP with a confident sense of restraint. The groove is deep and spacious, and the arrangement shows a clear understanding of when to step forward and when to pull back. Each instrument occupies its own pocket, and the vocals arrive catchy and relaxed, riding the rhythm rather than overpowering it. There is a psychedelic current running underneath the track, but it stays subtle and controlled, making it a strong and inviting opener.

“Mint” shifts gears slightly, landing somewhere between Doves and Radiohead. The rhythm section drives the song, with bass and drums injecting momentum while the guitars focus on atmosphere. The track moves through several strong grooves, each one adding a new shade rather than repeating the same idea.

“Live Out Your Lonely Life” stands out as a highlight amongst other really well delivered songs. The bass and drum pattern dominates the song in the best way, creating a pulse that flirts with dance music without abandoning its indie roots. It does take up a lot of frequencies in the song. I was reminded of LCD Soundsystem and Talking Heads in that the song had the dynamic groove that make you want to move. 

​“So Divine” continues to expand the EP’s range. The band experiments with unusual timing and dynamic shifts, keeping the track unpredictable and engaging. The whispered vocal section adds an unexpected intimacy that works well within the song’s broader structure. “One Moment (Outro)” closes the EP with a brief collage of sound that lasts just over a minute, functioning as a soft landing rather than a grand finale. Every track here feels considered and purposeful. The band’s identity comes through clearly, and there is a sense that nothing has been wasted. What a great EP!

Speak for the Dead arrive fully formed on their self titled debut, a record that wastes no time explaining itself. The Santa Rosa, CA band plays with a level of force that immediately defines their priorities. From the opening seconds, the album establishes a relentless pace and never meaningfully lets up. There are traces of Dropkick Murphys in the gang driven urgency and street level aggression, but Speak for the Dead push harder and faster, stripping away anything that might soften the impact

“Whatever It Takes…” works as a direct introduction to the band’s sound and intent. The riffs land thick and aggressive, and the use of field recordings adds texture without reducing the tension. “The World We Know” accelerates further, blurring punk and metal into something hostile and tightly wound. The tempo stays punishing, and the band’s control keeps the chaos focused rather than sloppy.

“Fighting in the Pit” escalates the intensity again. The drumming is exhausting just to listen to, with almost no space to recover between hits. The aggression is sustained from start to finish, and the recording quality deserves credit for how clearly everything cuts through. Even the guitar solo lands sharply instead of disappearing into the noise, reinforcing how deliberate the performances are despite the speed.

From there, the album commits fully to its approach. “Rearview Riot” hits with pure adrenaline, while “Take Back the Streets” pulses forward on sheer momentum and physicality. By the time “Lights Out,” “Dread,” and “Eternal Night” roll through, the cumulative effect is overwhelming in the best way. The songs share a similar intensity, but the band never backs off or inserts relief. The closer, “Speak for the Dead,” stays true to that vision and brings the album to a decisive end.

This is an album built on endurance and conviction. The sustained aggression may be too much for listeners looking for contrast or restraint, but for anyone drawn to hardcore that demands full attention, it delivers completely. The production captures the band’s energy without dulling its edges, and the commitment to a single, uncompromising mode is the essence of the music.

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Formed quietly but with intention in Jacksonville, the John Muka Band sounds like a project that has been orbiting its own ideas for years before committing them to tape. Listening to Things I Can’t Change, I kept returning to the sense of familiarity threaded through its ambition. There are moments that recall the communal sprawl of a Dave Matthews Band show, not as imitation but as a shared vocabulary built around momentum, dynamic shifts, and emotional release. I hear a band reaching for connection through density, trusting that excess can still carry meaning.

Co writers John Muka and Troy Towsley first linked up in 2000 through a local newspaper ad, and that long running partnership shows in the record’s pacing and internal logic. Their writing leans heavily on jam band traditions associated with Phish, where songs expand outward rather than locking into rigid forms.

The opener, “A Moments Thought,” leans hardest into that lineage. Its structure and energy echo familiar terrain, with pads, horns, and digital textures stacking up quickly. At times there is so much happening that individual details blur together. “No Reason” continues that approach, layering piano and overlapping melodies until the song threatens to spill over itself. Muka’s vocal delivery often pushes toward heightened emotion, occasionally tipping into exaggeration.

Elsewhere, the album settles into more defined moods. “Be There” leans celebratory, driven by bright horn lines, while “No One Is There” pulls back into something more restrained. I was drawn to “Foolish Pride” for its attempt at unguarded joy, and the title track carries a clear Americana tint that grounds the album briefly. “Not Me” stands out as one of the stronger cuts, finding balance between arrangement and song, and “That Isn’t Good” holds together despite its crowded palette.

Even with what sounds like a near endless supply of parts, Things I Can’t Change carries the intimacy and rough edges of a small scale operation. The mixes and production choices give it a home recorded character, as if the entire album is guided by a single, concentrated vision rather than a wide committee. That focus becomes its quiet strength, turning overload into a personal statement rather than a technical exercise.

R.M.Hendrix’s The Hole turns inward, trading distance for intimacy while quietly tightening the air around it. I hear an EP that sinks into warmth without offering comfort, built from piano, synths, horns, and field recordings that move slowly through a dim, unsettled fog.

The pacing is hushed and deliberate, shaped by restraint rather than momentum, and the negative space matters as much as any melodic gesture. R.M.Hendrix has described the record as an embrace of “welcoming dread,” and that idea holds. These tracks draw me closer without promising clarity or release.

“An Escape” opens on sustained piano chords and a heavy atmosphere that sets the tone immediately. The vocals are dramatic and exposed, reaching outward with a clear sense of longing. I caught echoes of Radiohead in the way the emotion stretches against the arrangement before dissolving quickly into “Stars at Noon.” That track abandons melody almost entirely, functioning instead as a ritualistic soundscape that could soundtrack a forgotten science fiction scene. Its power comes from texture and unease rather than structure.

“You Are Lost” adds more weight, built on repetitive figures that feel increasingly unstable. Listening to it, I felt enclosed by the sound, as if standing inside a vast industrial space where every echo amplifies disorientation.

The EP continues to drift between beauty and menace. “Seas Within Seas” balances soft harmonic movement with a looming sense of cosmic threat, while “The Body Passes Where the Body Is Not” shimmers with metallic tones that suggest a sense of vertigo which is just getting worse.

The closer, “How Is It in Reykjavík?”, finally introduces a beat and a more pronounced melodic thread. The vocals carry a sober, lamenting quality, and the song’s modest hook gives it a grounding presence. In its final moments, the track opens into a brief, transcendent swell that registers as a quiet reward for patient listening.

​I hear The Hole as a record meant for solitude and headphones, one that prioritizes texture and sound design over resolution and offers plenty to return to if you are willing to sit with its unease.

MUFASA RKG’s Vulture Recipes moves with the confidence of someone comfortable in narrow margins. The EP stays sparse and shadowy, built on skeletal loops and muted textures that leave plenty of air around the verses. I hear an artist who understands how silence and repetition can sharpen meaning, using minimal production not as an aesthetic pose but as a working language. The record feels attentive and measured, never rushing to fill space just because it exists.

The sound draws from lo-fi drumless rap and classic boom bap traditions, leaning into mood rather than spectacle. “XOTIC BLESSINGS” opens the EP with a dusty palette that carries a faint 70s haze, grounding the project in something familiar without leaning on nostalgia as a shortcut. The cadence is steady and self-assured, setting a tone that favors control over aggression. “WORLD OF WAR” pushes deeper into darkness, its haunting atmosphere tightening the focus while the rapping stays fluid and composed. I liked how the tension is sustained rather than released.

“CREEPOZOID” featuring KABOOM brings a jolt of energy. The beat is sturdy and idiosyncratic, and the performances feel sharp and alert, especially when the track shifts and drops into heavier territory. “FRIDGE ITEMS” is brief but purposeful, a lo-fi sketch that works precisely because it does not overstay its welcome. “VULTURE DRUMSTICKS” stretches time in the production while the rapping accelerates, creating a push and pull that keeps the track unsettled. “GIBLETS” adds a psychedelic tint, while “POSERS” featuring KABOOM returns to a darker, trip-hop-adjacent mood that recalls the slow menace of Massive Attack. “PRICE RITE” pairs slick rapping with one of the EP’s most compelling beats, and “FRIED VULTURE EGGS” closes things out with a lighter touch that still fits the overall atmosphere.

​Across the EP, the songs stay tethered by a consistent sonic palette and a focused vocal approach. The rapping remains fluid, varied, and attentive to rhythm and space. Vulture Recipes holds together not because it reaches outward, but because it knows exactly how far in it wants to stay.

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Shadowland opens from a place of decision. I hear an artist choosing commitment over refinement, allowing instinct to take precedence over smoothing every edge. The music carries the tension of choices made in real time, with takes left intact and emotion permitted to land unevenly. Instead of chasing immaculate surfaces, the record leans into immediacy, letting intuition guide structure and melody. That approach gives the songs a pulse that feels human rather than optimized.

As the album unfolds, hooks arrive without announcement and remain through repetition rather than force. Chords deepen the emotional register instead of merely decorating it, and melodies settle into memory with quiet persistence. There is a sharpened narrative focus throughout, reflecting personal growth while absorbing the unease of the cultural moment. I hear Shadowland as an album attentive to how it feels to move through the world right now, capturing fragments of reflection without tying them into easy conclusions.

The album opens with “Shadowland,” and I appreciated the way its elements gradually reveal themselves before settling into a steady groove. The vocals are immediately engaging, and the melodic guitar lines give the song a grounded sense of momentum. “Honey Bear Lane” follows with a bluesy swing that feels natural rather than performative, with digital horn accents adding character and a subtle Americana undercurrent. The blend of elements feels distinct, resisting easy genre placement.

“The Watcher” leans into a distinctly 70s palette, pairing organ tones with layered vocal harmonies. “JMS” carries a clear Americana influence, with guitar work that recalls Grateful Dead style jam band looseness while maintaining a strong melodic core. The vocals remain catchy and confidently delivered. “Walls” stands out as a clear highlight, driven by its upbeat energy, clapping rhythms, and open armed exuberance. “Dragonfly” locks into a deep groove and unfolds with a rewarding breakdown, while “Words About Life” slows things down into a more emotive, largely acoustic ballad. “The Hollow” returns to groove based terrain, and “Over Me” closes this stretch with a cinematic sweep anchored by strong melodic instincts.

​There is solid songwriting throughout Shadowland, supported by production that enhances rather than overwhelms. While rooted in rock, the album consistently reaches for unexpected textures and tonal shifts. I found a lot to appreciate here, a record that rewards attention without asking for indulgence.

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Right up top, Summer Colds has a couple things going for them: First, that's a great band name! Second, they're based in Ashland, home of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and one of the most beautiful, creatively vibrant places on Earth. Third, founder and band leader Nic McNamara is the son of celebrated recording engineer Steven McNamara, and witnessed his Dad working with acts like Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Tina Turner and Michael Bolton.

Nic (full name: Stephen Ashton McNamara) was born in Johannesburg, South Africa where his Dad was based, then followed him to Surrey, England. They finally moved to the United States in the 90's, where McNamara continued to study music and learn recording techniques. This was the golden age of power pop and alternative rock, and after a stint with the folk-rock band Black Bears Fire (2013-2015) McNamara fully embraced a heavier alternative sound with Summer Colds. They began releasing music and touring in 2019, but live shows came to a halt with the dreaded pandemic. McNamara took the time off to craft their sophomore album Missing Out, which he describes as "a harder, denser and more textured album than our debut." It's a tight, fast collection of eight songs that land right where they're needed with minimal fuss or pretension. 

"Something's Coming" kicks in with that familiar 90's fuzz guitar sound and vocals that recall Weezer, Bright Eyes, The Weakerthans or recent indie band The Del Cobras. The beat is solid and the music straightforward as McNamara slowly builds a fresco of stacked guitars and counter-melodies. "All Time High" has vocals that have that unmistakable 90's tongue-in-cheek, like the singer knows more than you and isn't afraid to let you know. This one is snappy three-chord rock with head-snapping interplay between the two main guitars, with a chorus that's basically the verses rocking harder. The lead guitar plays off-kilter melodies that threaten dissonance but resolve just in time! McNamara wrings every possible variation on this simple structure and we're all the better for it.

"Shakeout" has vocals that suggest McNamara may have actually had a cold while singing it! This is another track where the basic chords are the point, and the variations come with how hard the guitars are played! "Say It Back" has a kind of schoolyard taunting delivery, with an interesting structure where the driving guitars wait their turn whenever the vocals take a break. There's an interesting story here with mentions of meditations, fixations and medications. "If You Know" takes the basic Missing Colds formula and slows it down, the way the Ramones sometimes did: McNamara seems to enjoy savoring the lyrics and harmonies and so did I! There's a section where it almost feels like the song is over, but like a phoenix it rises from the ashes stronger (and heavier) than before! 

"The Moon" ups the musical ante, starting with acoustic guitar while singing about partying on a hilltop by the light of the moon, then immediately dives back into hardcore riffage with one of the most sophisticated structures yet. The harmonies and blocks of fuzz chords are like tectonic plates sliding against each other. Love the desperate lyrics: "You must be so sick of me / 'Cos I'm a stick in the mud and a thorn in your side / From the moment you were born until the day that you die." The final third is especially heavy and that's saying something! The vocals and attitude of "Dear Life" remind a lot of The Weakerthan's John K. Samson. How many absolutely epic choruses are we up to now? The final track "Weak Hands" is the longest at seven minutes, taking its time building a towering edifice of melancholy riffs and uncertain yet sincere vocals. The bass gets a quick solo moment right in the middle before the feedback-drenched finale, with one the longest final chords in memory. We end as we began, with a room full of chatter but morphing into a bizarre sound collage you totally do not expect.

I must admit I was a little worried that the songs here would be too much alike going forward, but MacNamara is wise to our fears and keeps the surprises coming. Heavy, fast and really fun!

This Broken World is the twenty second full length release from A J Kimmel, working under the long running Departure Street name, and it carries the quiet authority of someone who has spent years refining a deeply personal language. Rooted in alt ambient and neo folk psychedelia, the album treats solo electric guitar as both instrument and surrounding space. Reverb heavy loops overlap and recur, forming environments that encourage contemplation rather than closure. I hear an artist who values atmosphere over spectacle, allowing repetition, erosion, and subtle shifts to carry the emotional weight.

The idea of departure moves gently through the record and operates on multiple levels. There is the ache of loss shaped by people who have passed on or slipped out of focus, but also the sense of a beginning, a point from which movement and possibility still exist. Responding to a broader climate of anxiety and uncertainty, This Broken World does not amplify despair. Instead, it offers a measured reply, using restraint and patience as a form of resistance.

Individual tracks emphasize texture and duration over development. “Suicide With A Slow Motion Bullet” centers on sustained effects, with flickering guitar tones that settle into a meditative stillness. “Falling Through The Light” builds around a repeating figure while a second guitar traces a loose lead line above it, with delay and reverb doing much of the expressive work. “To Erase The Life In Between” leans into quiet beauty, its foundation shaped almost entirely by atmosphere.

​“Burn A Whole Life Long” introduces a deeper melancholy while remaining fragile and understated, and “Before The World Fell Apart” relies on space as much as sound. The title track suggests clustered motion, while “A Last Moment Of Silence” closes the album with a sense of lightness and release.

The sonic palette remains deliberately narrow throughout. Most of the songs appear to be built from just two guitar parts, and that limitation helps create cohesion. The tracks bleed into one another, forming a continuous experience rather than a collection of isolated moments. This Broken World works best when taken in as a whole, a record designed to be absorbed slowly, where the lines between songs blur into a single sustained mood.

Confusion and Wonder is the first full-length album by James Graham and his band of helpful friends. Based in Lyme, New Hampshire, Graham has been around the music scene for quite a while but not quite as long as his music sounds!

Graham began as an "anti-folk" artist in the East Village of New York City around 1990, joining a music scene that was a direct reaction to West Village folk which no longer seemed relevant in Reagan's America. Graham made a lot of connections with other bands while also playing solo, then raised his family in New Hampshire where he began exploring his earliest influences: "70s soul, funk and folk, synthesizing the best sounds of classic rock and soul into contemporary folk rock."

What jumped out at me most from my first listen was the similarity to early Santana, and I'm someone whose brother-in-law used to watch Carlos and company rehearsing in an open garage in San Francisco. But Graham casts his net much wider: "Think Neil Young meets Roxy Music." On this album Graham is joined by longtime friends and studio players, with production by Ezra Oklan. He hopes the resulting album comes across as "a tightly crafted statement of love and awareness for grooving to the present moment."

The title song "Confusion and Wonder" is a track that immediately reminded me of Santana's "Evil Ways." Part of what made Latin-rock bands like Santana or Malo great was the vast number of players which usually included keyboards, horns and percussion. Graham has a similar set up, starting with himself on lead vocals, guitar and harmonica, then adding Jim Musty (guitar), Don Hollis (trumpet), Jared Samuel (keys), Toby Summerfield (bass) and producer Ezra Oklan on drums. On this song and others, Lara Cwass and Jessica Leone add sweet but unobtrusive trilling and cooing. "You're So Smart" is a smartly arranged jazz-rock outing that's like equal parts Steely Dan and Doors (mellow version). The arrangement is again the star, with all Graham's players adding little bits here and there like an audio quilt. Graham's interplay with his backing singers adds a nice touch toward the end, along with tasteful solos from guitars and trumpet before an explosive conclusion. 

"Love x3" is a minor-key swinger anchored by Rhodes-like electric piano, lots of horns and another low-key, fully sincere vocal by Graham, Cwass and Leone. In the middle section Graham takes a sort of truncated rap, followed by a classic, weeping fuzz guitar solo. "Change Is" has a hip hop attitude and a purposely LoFi opening, but quickly becomes more of an outlaw love song: "He's gone, he ain't never coming back / Carrying a gun and a pack on his back." The "Riders On The Storm" keyboards, Graham's deep voice and the badlands imagery can't help but evoke late-era Doors ("Into this world we come and through this world we go"). "Eleanor" is an intimate and exotic bossa nova detour, with a horn section worthy of Burt Bacharach. 

Continuing Graham's genre tour, we have a New Orleans-psychedelic mashup called "Feet In The Water" with Dr. John keys matched with "Incense and Peppermints" fuzz lead guitar; a more recent touchstone might be the Genesis track "That's All." Then it's onto pure reggae with the tragic tale of "William Bonney" and his gun-related crimes. Here's another song where the players all contribute exactly what's needed without ever hogging the spotlight. That's tricky! "Dark Ride" is a dark rocker with welcome whiffs of Buffalo Springfield or The Byrds (or even Neil Young, as Graham suggested!). Love the wailing, distorted harmonica and the bed of fuzz guitars! The concluding "Change For The Better" is Graham's mission statement, using the imagery of a neighborhood gone to seed as an analogy for our current state. It's a sad list of particulars, but within the upbeat music Graham declares: "Gonna sit down and write me a letter / Try to make a change for the better." 

It's always interesting to me how certain people lock onto genres that may have been a decade or two behind them. If you love that Latin rock 70's sound, you could do much worse! Recommended!

jamesfrancisgraham.com