Opener “Skyworks” sets the pace immediately. A drum-machine beat propels a DEVO-inspired guitar and glitchy, punching synth line forward, with Allbrook’s vocals carrying a Richard Butler, Psychedelic Furs energy that roots the whole thing firmly in 80s new wave. The track starts skittish and coiled before ripping open around the 1:30 mark, and that’s exactly where I imagine the mosh pits forming. No time is wasted pulling you into the sonic world Pond has built here. “Casuarina” doesn’t let up, charging forward with loose, urgent energy that has a modern-day Wipers feel; heavy, buzzing, and brooding with a riff to kill for.

“Through the Heather” leans into the gothic with a reverb-drenched drum and plucky synth line that calls Sisters of Mercy to mind. Then “Two Hands” arrives as the record’s most overt call to arms; catchy, dancefloor-ready, and communally anthemic. “If your blood pumps and your heart beats / I’ll meet you at the corner of my street / now two hands can make a fist / red mist”. The song, like the record, invites you to be a freak and partake in freakage with your fellow freaks. It’ll sound stellar and at home on big festival stages as well as in the dimly lit, damp backroom pubs of Australia and beyond.

“Roebuck Plains” is less goth and instead more rustic, jangly and Prefab Sprout-y; it’s perhaps the finest track on the record. It made me think of The La’s if they were around in 2026. It’s a refreshing change of pace. “The Fatal Shore” is a slow burner with a Peter Murphy-esque vocal feel, building toward something close to euphoric, while “Tourmaline” features a metallic acoustic guitar and the same propulsive immediacy that runs throughout most of the record.

The title track is where it all peaks. Explosive and gigantic, it’s the moment the album was always building toward. Closer “Nashville (I’m Dying)” is a perfect cap; graceful and cinematic, it has the feel of Pulp at their best as Pond rides out into the sunset with the credits rolling.Terrestrials is Pond at their most focused and, arguably, their most exciting. Long may they haunt the back alleys.

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The cover of Ricochet alone earns an immediate double-take; perhaps a nod to Reading, Writing and Arithmetic, the beloved 1990 debut from the Sundays? Ball knowers, take note and strap in. “Tractor Beam” gets things underway with a bright, in-your -face 90-s adjacent riff that channels the same forward propulsion that Wishy channelled earlier this year on Triple Seven. Instant earworm. “My Maker” seems to serve as somewhat of a modus operandi for Ricochet at large, with a skittering acoustic flow that glistens over Jordan’s swirling vocals as she grapples with the potential realities of transcendance and what you’ll encounter when you arrive there:  “I wanna fly a plane to heaven / Tarry at the airport bar / Probably couldn’t even get in / I know I’ve gone wrong, let’s restart”. The track pushes when you think it’s starting to pull and pulls when you think it’s pushing, which creates an exciting tension to backdrop Jordan’s ruminations on life and death.

“Dead End” shuffles in and reaches right for the stars: “Couldn’t ever be the same / To be loved is to be changed / I don’t need other people around / Nobody’s gonna get me down”. There are themes of transcendence throughout Ricochet, which imbue it with an undeniable cathartic nature, and the “na na na” sequence to close out this particular track will surely smash it in a live setting. It’s a nice touch that showcases Jordan’s unique ability to underline her often introspective songwriting with a sense of a communal feel as well. “Light On Our Feet” introduces a gentler sound, more of a proper ballad with swooping strings that echo the cinematic grandeur of Born To Die era Lana Del Rey, a record that, coincidentally perhaps, Jordan recently cited as her Pitchfork Perfect Ten. “Agony Freak” is perhaps the record’s downright moodiest track in both a sonic and a lyrical nature, as she grapples with desire or lack thereof to evolve and leave pain in the past.

If “here’s to feeling good all the time” is an ethos, then “here’s to feeling all the time” seems to be Jordan’s throughout Ricochet. It’s the statement of a songwriter not scared to sit with it all and grapple with it all, big and small. It has every element that the devoted die-hards will love, and more than enough to keep the newcomers itching for more. It’s the sound of Jordan doing what she does best, and doing it with a confidence that five years away has only seemed to sharpen.

Cover image by Daria Kobayashi Ritch.

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There’s a cohesion present throughout the entire record that feels somewhat rare in today’s world, in which singles dominate, and in which many are left questioning if people still have the attention spans to follow the themes of an entire record from start to finish. Navy Blue’s command of his craft and his clear confidence in his own voice make it so that there’s no other option but to approach the record as a cohesive whole. The Sword and the Soaring unfolds like a single, continuous exhalation. There’s not a single weak song on display, and each re-listen feels not just rewarding but necessary—the record begs to be devoured over repeated listenings.

Opener “The Bloodletter” sets the emotional tone; “I’m shedding light on all that’s bottled in and got a stench/ I caught a whiff of death in moments I would call intense”. Over a restrained, piano-led instrumental, Navy Blue delivers some of the record’s most reflective writing—“Gazing at the mirror ain’t a place to vent”—balancing grit and vulnerability with remarkable control. It’s cathartic without necessarily being bombastic, but there’s a propulsion in its restraint, buoyed by Navy Blue’s evocative lyrical prowess. “Orchards” slips in seamlessly and nudges the tempo upward. Its classic hip-hop pulse gives Navy Blue room to unbottle himself. “It’s hard to fill the shoes of who you’ve never been,” he raps, before following with the kind of distilled truth that defines his writing: “In this wicked world you’re hunting, or you’re gathering… We were dealt so many losses that we gotta win.” 

Cover and above images, courtesy of the artist. Photo credit: @campfloggnaw, @aldenbonecutter, @dantevelasquezjr

With “God’s Kingdom,” he leans into that soulful sample palette he’s always gravitated toward. It’s evocative and grounded, a throwback without feeling derivative. The beat itself is intentionally restrained, never quite exploding, which leaves space for Navy’s voice to act as the propulsion. You get the sense he’s not performing so much as bearing witness to his own interior world. “Sunlight of the Spirit” pushes forward with a sense of grounded resiliency (“I heard that karma is a roadmap/ all the air that my lungs get/ I say the heart is where the home at”), while “Guardadas” is one of the record’s most striking moments—meditative, emotional, and gorgeously lush. “I just want a little peace and some recognition,” he admits, and the line lands gently but powerfully. There’s a spiritual weight to the track, like many on the record, and it stands out as one of the prettiest songs on the album.

“Kindred Spirit” brings in warm, jazzy saxophone textures, while “Illusions” shifts into something almost ambient. The track moves gently, nearly dissolving at the edges but still carrying a sense of forward motion, like a breath held and released. It’s corny to reference a painter with a canvas, but that really feels like how he approaches each track. “If Only” is another standout, with couplets that would stand out as highlights on most records appearing left and right, as if Navy Blue is grasping them out of thin air. “I’ve been lonely ever since I was a little boy/ there’s only so much I can do with this voice…having boundaries don’t mean that I ran/shedding tears don’t make me less of a man”. The track’s funky bassline adds some juice that further expands the sonic lens of the record.

“24 Gospel” featuring Earl Sweatshirt feels like a classic from the first second, a true throwback instrumental with vinyl fuzz and an organ that lends weight to the cathartic vibes of Navy Blue and Earl. “Imagine if I didn’t rap?” Navy ponders. It would sure suck for us if he didn’t. He can hold his own with anybody lyrically, and The Sword and the Soaring is yet another step that goes a long way in further establishing Navy Blue as an exciting voice in rap.

Navy Blue tour dates

Dec 3 – Mary’s Underground, Sydney, Australia 
Dec 4 – Forecourt, Sydney Opera House, Australia
Dec 6 – Sidney Myer Music Bowl, Melbourne, Australia
Dec 9 – Metro City, Perth, Australia
Feb 19 – Thalia Hall, Chicago, US
Feb 21 – History, Toronto, Canada
Feb 22 – Beanfield Theatre, Montreal, Canada
Feb 24 – Royale Boston, Boston, US
Feb 26 – The Fillmore, Washington, D.C., US
Feb 27 – Brooklyn Paramount, New York, US
Mar 3 – Regency Ballroom, San Francisco, US
Mar 5 – The Novo, Los Angeles, US

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Mac has always been an artist capable of doing more with less, while simultaneously maintaining a signature touch that is all his own. His last effort, 2023’s sprawling One Wayne G, stretched that ethos to its limits with nearly 200 tracks of sketches and fragments that saw him challenge the album format entirely. Guitar, on the other hand, feels like the counterbalance to One Wayne G: an intimate collection that strips everything down to only what’s necessary, without any messing about. Only the final song on the record even has an introduction (“Rooster”), all of the others jump right into it with Mac’s voice and guitar at the forefront.

Guitar is lean and direct, and must’ve felt great for him to put out into the universe, as he often comments in interviews about suffering from demo-itis. Guitar feels like the kind of record you would make when you’re done trying to prove anything, which feels appropriate for a character who’s been at it as long as Mac has.

“Shining” kicks the whole thing off gently (and this gentleness continues throughout the record), a lover’s lament caught in the haze of what sounds like a relationship having ended. The bass bounces, the arrangement is stripped down, and Mac sighs, “My love must be broken / what’s been going on / can’t stop my heart wandering / at least not for too long / and I wanted to want only you my girl / what more could I want?” It’s bare in a good way, almost naked, but still powerful and raw. It’s the highlight of the record.

“Sweeter,” drifts along like a João Gilberto daydream, as Mac slips into crooner mode, delicate and breezy, singing, “We could try things over / as if there wasn’t ever pain.” Later, he adds, “Heartbreak wasn’t my intention / let’s see how your love can bend.” Did he screw something up? Did he blow it with a lover? Whatever the case, it sounds like he’s circling around regret, and the track’s fragility makes it sting all the more.

“Phantom” continues that streak, with Mac confessing that “Your phantom sits with me / when I’m all alone.” By “Nightmare” the theme of lover’s regret is starting to wear itself somewhat thin, but the hook is undeniable—“Smoke the whole pack / there’s no turning back from this one.” If you’re looking for past-paced rockers, then you know by this point of the record that you aren’t getting any, but that’s fine; Guitar is sort of like one long song, the vibes of all of the tracks are very closely aligned.

The mood does begin to shift a bit on “Terror,” as Mac sounds resigned to his shortcomings, singing “I am but a wandering terror / this is all I’ll ever be” in a falsetto-laced troubadour-like manner. It’s got a bit of sleaze to it (NOT the indie kind, the Vegas showroom kind, aka the real kind in my humble opinion). Lovers of 2 and Salad Days are in for a treat on “Rock And Roll” with its flamenco-tinged, playful guitar bursts that are Mac at his best. It’s got a bit of a John Lennon Plastic Ono band feel to it, with Mac even tossing a “pick it” adlib that reminded me of John Lennon mumbling “cookie” on “Hold On,” Mac can’t resist cracking a joke in the middle of ripping up the 6-string.

The jokester persona is still there, buried a bit deeper than in the past, but still there. “Nothing at All” is deceptively jaunty, with a guitar line chasing his vocal melody before breaking away—it’s classic Mac, the kind of understated lead work he’s been doing since he stumbled onto the scene in the early 2010s. He’s always been able to make a few notes be enough to carry a tune.

“Punishment” seems like a mission statement for the record, as the lyrics reflect the vibe of Guitar as a whole, which is to say breaking everything down to the studs to find what really matters. “Take all my money / leave me my soul / burn down my house / I’m ready to go.” He sounds like he’s wrestling with fate and mortality now, not just love.

“Knockin,” rolls along in a trance-like state, with Mac confronting questions from his past that just won’t die: “Questions from your past that still need answering / knocking.” It’s circular, almost hypnotic. A short burst of a guitar line adds some spice and undertone that pushes the track forward over the acoustic chords.

Guitar is Mac cutting everything down to its essence: voice, guitar, and melody that hangs in the air like a seabreeze. It’s a record that shows yet again that Mac DeMarco is a craftsman who can make the simplest things sting the most. It’s Mac at his most unguarded, with nothing to hide behind but a voice and a 6-string, full of cheekiness and soul that lingers with you long after the last note plays.

Photos courtesy of Mac DeMarco

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Take the opener “With A Grain” for example, which starts with a jazzy, frantic energy that calls to mind the best of Black Midi and more recently, Goerdie Greep’s solo work. Jarvis’s understated yet evocative guitar lines float underneath the surface and around the edges, while his vocal melodies fill the soundscape and bounce off of each other to create an Illinoise-era Sufjan climatic feel as the track rolls to a pounding finish. The record manages to pull off a retro feel while also feeling fresh and of the moment. The celebratory and joyful “Gold Filigree” sounds like it could be a Purple Rain-era Prince tune, and “One Gripe” keeps the pace and momentum going, as a jaunty and metallic riff dances around Jarvis’s vocal. His voice is easy to sing along with, and pretty much every song on the record becomes an earworm after just a few listens

“I’ve Been Mean” has a country vibe, with a finger-picked riff acting as the main factor as the barebones drums make way for an epic hook. “It just occurred to me/ That I’ve been mean” sings Jarvis, with the clarity of somebody stumbling out of a saloon after an extended session. “I’m Your Boy” showcases his knack for classic arrangements; it sounds like something that could’ve been penned by Paul McCartney for a Wings record.

“All Cylinders” is one of the true highlights, and it’s one of the many tracks on which Yves Jarvis manages to put it all together. Over a piano riff that’ll instantly get stuck in your head for days, he flows without regard; “Sun will be rising/ Our tears will be drying” he croons, and it’s as life-affirming a moment as I’ve heard in a song in a while.

“Luck’s Last Luster” closes things out on a high note, and shows how Jarvis can carry a tune with just his voice, a guitar, and a pretty sparse production; it’s a number that might’ve sounded at home on Elliot Smith’s Figure 8, as Jarvis’s vocals tumble over each other to create a spidery web impossible not to get wrapped up in.  “One more dreary dire day/ I can’t find the time to catch myself a break”. Did I mention that his lyrics are relatable and memorable throughout the record too? Well, add that to the list.

All Cylinders is yet another fantastic step forward for one of Montreal’s finest, one that gives more and more the more spins that it gets. It’s a record that is sure to sound fantastic live, and, seeing as he played nearly everything on the record himself, it’ll be an awesome sight to see when he rolls into your town.

Photos by Casanova Cabrera

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Deal has been an inspiration to many for a long time, which makes it all the more exciting that, after four decades as an artist, Deal is giving us her solo debut album, Nobody Loves You More, out November 22nd on the 4AD label. Nobody Loves You More will have longtime Deal fans rapturous, but it’s by no means only for that crowd. It’s an emotional 

“Nobody Loves You More” ushers in a cinematic vibe, smooth and breezy, with a waltzy quality that sees bold orchestral strings swell and hum around Deal’s voice as it takes the forefront. There’s a mysterious quality about the track, a certain longing and desire for Deal’s voice that you can instantly tell is deep; it makes things feel personal right away. “Summerland”, from the back half of the record, contains a similarly lush, cinematic atmosphere.

 “Coast” is a buoyant, feel-good stomper with funny, tongue-in-cheek lyricism from Deal that adds to the operatic feel that bubbles up early on in the record. It’s got Camera Obscura/Belle and Sebastian vibes, with trumpets and trombones punching and stabbing as Deal sings about “Two beautiful kids on the coast”. It’s got a reflective nature, but the forward propulsion of the track gives it a warm feel as well and, like a lot of the songs on Nobody Loves You More, it deftly walks that line between intensely emotional, funny, and cathartic.

Things take a slight detour on “Crystal Breath”, which is a straight-up electronic banger that would get things going at any club. Straight-up Berlin vibes, grimy with a drony synth line. Alan Vega would be proud. Deal’s voice switches up a bit on this one as well, taking on a Roisin Murphy-esque quality that pairs well with the different musical moods.

There are some really nice guitar licks on the track too, and they add just enough spice without attracting unwanted attention. It’s a great, pumping, buzzy club tune with a big-time feel that offers a different feel than the first couple of tracks. “Are You Mine?” immediately comes across as a love song, but it maintains that sense of longing and duality between certainty and uncertainty that Deal taps into throughout the record. It sounds a bit like a Western lullaby; there’s a wistful, dreamy feel that the song invokes. “Let me go where there’s no memory of you/ Where everything is new/And nothing is true” sings Deal. There’s a sense of contradiction in the lyrics, but love never ties up neatly and is often a messy affair. Any time of love; romantic, familial.

It’s never one clean, easy thing, and Deal expresses that notion throughout the record. “A Good Time Pushed” is a fantastic album closer, and is perhaps the track on the record closest to something that would be found on a Breeder’s record. “Now’s the time for me to get what I want” Deal gently sings. You know what I want? To go listen to the record again. It’s a smash.

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Free Energy starts with a wall of sound that carries a cathartic undertow and is at once both spacious and immediate; you’re already wondering, just a few seconds in, where things are going to go. And they go somewhere euphoric right away, as “Intro” transforms into a banging beat that will get you moving while losing none of its emotional pull. Warped vocals layer on top of each other to create a feel of mystery and momentum, like somebody calling to you in fragments from beyond the haze of the dancefloor. “Soonish” starts out sounding very abrasive and industrial; the sheer volume of the screeching (in the best way) guitars is reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine, and one wonders if the song title “Soonish” is a tongue-in-cheek tribute to MBV’s legendary Loveless track “Soon”; the vocals have an irreplicable longing to them that makes it feel like something real is on the table, and singer Emma Maatman’s vocal even sounds a bit like Bilinda Butcher.

Throughout the record, Dummy touch on a lot of really cool influences. I can hear elements of shoegaze, industrial, dance, among many others. Dummy blend these influences really well. “Unshaped Road” has a bit of a Cocteau Twins dream pop vibe. A lot of bands are trying to do the MBV, Cocteau Twins adjacent stuff, but Dummy actually have the chops and sounds to pull it off, which they do brilliantly. Emma Maatman’s voice is Dummy’s real trump card though, and it’s her voice that gives the tracks on Free Energy (even the one where she doesn’t handle lead vocals) their mystery and appeal. 

Throughout Free Energy, you get the sense that Dummy have totally opened up their sonic palettes, and the tracks themselves feel like worlds to get lost in. It’s a record that leaves you wondering how far they can take it on the next try. Any sort of limitations have been lifted and the results are a record that is bold, big, mysterious, banging, and memorable. I’m already looking forward to what Dummy will get up to next.

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Songwriter and vocalist Tracyanne Campbell has one of my favorite voices, and she’s one of the best storytellers and writers about love that we’ve got, in my opinion. Look to the East, Look to the West, their fantastic new record out on Merge, sits right up there with their finest work. Tinged with their regular blend of rich, soulful pop, Look to the East, Look to the West is Camera Obscura at their best, reinvigorated after some time away from the spotlight and full of all of the hauntingly beautiful hooks, melodies, and musings on life and love that fans have come to ardently adore.

“Libery Print” kicks things off, and wastes no time getting its hooks in you. It eases in overtop drums that sound like they’ve been programmed on a Roland before transitioning into a more rocking, undeniably Camera Obscura feel. It picks up the pace and becomes an anthemic banger. “We’re Gonna Make It In a Man’s World” is one of the catchiest earworms on the album, and perfectly showcases Campbell’s lyrical talent and penchant for crafting wonderfully rich pop vignettes, as she remarks upon the reality of navigating the music industry as a woman.

There’s a bit of a honky tonk, shuffling country feel to “The Light Nights,” and a twangy Nashville feel to a lot of the guitars. “Big Love” starts off as a stomper, with pedal steel guitar giving it an anthemic feel, before ending on a fun, jammy note. Gorgeous piano flurries punctuate “Only a Dream,” one of the more ballad-y songs on the record, alongside “Sleepwalking” and the emotional “Sugar Almond”. “Baby Huey,” “Denon,” and “Pop Goes Pop” all bring an upbeat energy, with “Pop Goes Pop” in particular being one of the highlights of the record.

Look to the East, Look to the West is just another confirmation that Campbell and Co. are true pop magicians still operating at the tip-top of their game. Camera Obscura have crafted a catalog of songs that their fans don’t just like; they love. Songs that soundtrack periods of your life, like they’ve done for me. They’ve been kind enough to give us 11 more, and for that, I’m thankful.

Photo by Robert Perry, courtesy of the artist

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Even for an artist as celebrated as OPN, it’s got to be special coming back home. He didn’t disappoint, and between the endlessly interesting soundscapes and mind-melting visuals (plus a well-delivered “let’s go Celtics!” shoutout from somebody in the balcony), I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to a show quite as engrossing, on an auditory, visual, and spiritual level, than the one I was lucky enough to witness at The Royale last Sunday.

Oneohtrix Point Never is a musician’s musician, an artist’s artist. He’s done film scores, production work, and worked with tons of cool artists in various mediums all while creating his own distinct sound and aura over 15 years of releases. He’s got an expansive universe and an expansive sound that sprawls into several genres at once to become something wholly unique. I always wonder how artists like that will translate to a live setting, how they’ll manage to pull it off. OPN did not disappoint on this front.

The show had a depth to it that mirrored the depth of OPN’s music on record. Openers Pedagogy (Eli Keszler and Nate Boyce), locals from Brookline, set the scene with an avant-garde set of experimental music that injected some rhythm and otherworldly vibes into the crowd. Their set helped move my brain from “I wonder how late I’m going to stay… it is a Sunday after all” to “let’s hear and see some awesome shit”.

Once OPN took the stage, it felt like I was transported to a different realm entirely. He had a mad scientist-like scene of computers and various electronic instruments, and you could feel his immediate command over his audience. The visuals that he had accompanying the music were at a level that I don’t recall seeing before at a show perhaps ever.

Helped by multi-disciplinary artist Freeka Tet, they made for an incredibly sensory experience, as throughout the night the screen behind OPN would switch from flashing concrete colors (like the red and blue of Mutant Standard) to showing rapidly shifting cut-up montages of what looked like video games characters and various pop culture references that clearly have some meaning within the Oneohtrix Point Never universe.

My favorite part was that Freeka Tet continually filmed a mini figurine that OPN set up near his computer, and throughout the night that mini figurine would be shown on the feed rocking out as if it were the real OPN. All very meta, but in a cool and fun way. After playing one of his first songs, “Zones Without People”, OPN thanked the crowd in a robot voice, which only heightened the otherworldly, futuristic feel that ran throughout the entire gig.

He ran through a few numbers from Again, such as “Krumville,” which translated really nicely to the live setting. It broke a bit from the more heavily electronic and experimental nature of the night, and was I think the only song to prominently feature an easily identifiable guitar. The OPN mini-me was certainly rocking out, Kurt Cobain grunge style. The energy was high throughout the evening but got ratcheted up a notch when OPN tossed the crowd a bone with fan favorite “We’ll Take It”. If you showed up expecting easily discernable song beginnings and endings with small talk between songs, you might’ve had a hard time.

The set flowed together as one, mimicking a night jammed in a small club where you don’t know if the sun just went down or just went up. OPN asks you to leave the regular world outside and step into something else, and he creates a clear avenue for you to do so. Just look, listen, and feel the music and the scene. Aside from mentioning how glad he was with the audience and to be back in Boston (you could feel his genuineness), he stuck to the point. “The adventure continues, no one wants to hear me talk anyways,” he said to a crowd that would’be hung on his every word. He was to the point; another thing that I really enjoyed about the show.

Between the music, the visuals, and the overall feel of Oneohtrix Point Never’s whole artistic being, it truly felt like I had stepped into a different time and space continuum from the one that I had been in just a few hours before. Forget about Monday morning, forget about all that normal stuff.

This was a spectacle that took my brain chemistry and turned it upside down for an hour and a half, and had me wondering at various times, “how’s he doing this? Where are these pictures and sounds coming from?’ It took me out of myself, and that’s my favorite thing that can possibly happen to me when I go see a show. So, kudos to OPN, and I hope he enjoyed being back home as much as we enjoyed having him here. That somebody who has roots in the same hometown as me (Winthrop, MA, where I grew up) could create such an interesting and expansive world was inspiring to me as well. I had gone into it not having known much of what to expect, and left a new fan. That’s why music is awesome.

Photo by Andrew Strasser & Shawn Lovejoy / Joe Perri, courtesy of the artist

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It feels a bit lazy though to ascribe that description to Yot Club’s new album, Rufus. While there remains plenty of that charm that’s made Yot Club such a popular listen recently, Rufus pushes things forward. It’s chock-full of bold hooks and intimately crafted songwriting and wanders down enough paths sonically to keep the experience fresh throughout. While there’s plenty of sweet, jangly guitar pop on the record, Rufus as a whole packs an exciting punch in a variety of different ways.

Some tracks have an anthemic, spirited feel to them, like opener “Stuntman,” catchy hooks that’ll go over well live (“Nostalgia”), and blow it open, loud rock energy (“New Day”). The guitar work is strong throughout, and fluctuates between mellow and quick, like on standout “Fool”. It’s got a kind of surf rock, Dick Dale motion to it, which fits well with the frantic, breakneck nature of the song.

Kaiser does a great job of conveying big emotions with quick turns of phrases, like on “Nostalgia” (Nostalgia/It followed ya”), and his delivery makes it authentic. Lyrically, much of the record feels like Kaiser grappling with feeling out of touch with his surroundings, but pushing through nonetheless and maybe even finding out something about himself along the way. It makes the album feel like a journey and a ride, one that’ll entertain both Yot Club’s longtime fans and the many more that are sure to be coming along.

Rufus is an exciting step forward for Yot Club, one that shows Kaiser’s willingness to keep expanding his sound. It’ll be exciting to see where he can take things.

Cover image byAriel Fisher, courtesy of the artist

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She can sound dreamlike, ethereal, mellow, and mysterious, and everything in between. On Something in the Room She Moves, her latest release with Domino, she manages to meld a flowing, free-spirited aura with a cutting edge. Everything pulsates with momentum, pushing and pulling at the same time, always cathartic and full of the present moment.

The album kicks off with some sort of jarring sound, and I like to imagine that it’s a door opening, because it feels like you’ve been transported to a different world when opener “Sun Girl” gets going. Holter’s voice floats like an excited whisper, mellow yet confident, full of longing yet resolute. The production is instantly fantastic, an atmospheric mix that has Holter’s voice floating around and cascading over itself, swirling and tough to pin down, like a siren’s call. “These Morning” has gorgeous piano chords and saxophone jabs that add a smoky feel to Holter’s oscillating voice. Holter doesn’t just sing, she uses her voice like another instrument. She does this throughout the record, but it may be most evident on standout “Materia”.

“Spinning” injects a poppy brightness and life into the record, but still maintains an experimental edge. Marching forward in double time, it’s a dizzying, jittery, and danceable number. It builds and builds and builds, and, like the project as a whole, has a natural momentum to it. Nothing feels forced. There’s a meditativeness running throughout the record, evident on tracks like “Ocean,” which balances being gentle yet quite cinematic in scope, and, “Evening Mood,” one of the highlights of the record.

It’s a long record, with most of the 10 tracks clocking in at 5 minutes plus, yet there’s truly no wasted space. Always willing to challenge her listeners, Holter incorporates some Gregorian chant-equal vibes on “Meyou”, adding to the otherworldly feel of the record.

Something in the Room She Moves is peaceful, exciting, full of wonder and nature, familiar yet challenging. It’s got layers and layers and pushes and pulls with a wonderfully wild rhythm. It’s another exciting release from an always imaginative artist who continues to add dimensions to her sound.

All images by Camille Blake, courtesy of the artist

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