Album Review

Trainwreck Boyfriend began the way many modern indie bands do: not through a classified ad or a carefully plotted industry plan, but through a moment of shared recognition in a crowded room. The members first connected at two 2023 shows by The Beths, bonding over their mutual devotion to female-fronted indie rock that balances vulnerability […]

There’s something quietly defiant about Suicidal Strain before you even press play. In an era where most records are engineered for playlists and algorithmic survival, Add Zedd positions this as a full-length album in the old sense of the word: a complete emotional arc meant to be absorbed, not skimmed. It is not built for

There is a very specific kind of artist who makes you feel like they are constantly in the middle of figuring themselves out in public, and somehow that’s the whole appeal. Not in a messy, “I uploaded my demo folder by accident” way, but in a deliberate, ongoing process of refinement. Tyson Dickert has quietly

There is a very specific emotional phenomenon that happens when the weather gets cold. Suddenly, everyone becomes reflective. Playlists get sadder. Text messages get longer. Memories you thought were safely archived in your brain’s “Do Not Reopen” folder start aggressively resurfacing. And into this seasonal emotional chaos steps Marzoña with Love Songs For Colder Weather,

With Loose Omens, Absinthe Vows have very clearly decided that “making a normal album” is not on the table, locked in a drawer, and thrown into the sea. This is a double album, which in 2026 is already a mildly unhinged act of confidence. This isn’t a victory lap or a retrospective or a playlist

Let’s get this out of the way first: Arsenal of Democracy by Energy Whores is not here to vibe politely in the background while you fold laundry. This album wants your attention, your discomfort, and ideally your blood pressure. Energy Whores, the New York–based DIY project led by Carrie Schoenfeld with guitarist Attilio Valenti, have

Gwynn Davies’ new project The Definition of Insanity, A Commodity, A Human Being, arrives with the kind of title that already feels like it’s squinting at the state of the world and asking, “Okay, but are we doing this on purpose?” It’s long, it’s slightly unwieldy, and it immediately tells you that this is not

21 Grammi feels like stepping inside someone’s mind, unfiltered and alive. The album drifts between memory, desire, chaos, and fragile hope. Every track is a world on its own, but together they trace a thread of vulnerability, urgency, and longing. The album doesn’t guide you gently, it throws you into experiences, emotions, and reflections, leaving

There’s a certain kind of album that doesn’t try to win you over. It doesn’t do the big, glossy, “look how important I am” thing. It just kind of sits there, awkwardly, like someone in the corner of a party holding a drink and hoping you’ll come talk to them. Perhaps is very much that

There’s a familiar mythology attached to artists who return to music after decades away. The narrative usually demands a comeback story, complete with redemption arcs and triumphant rediscovery. REVERIE … FROM THEN TILL NOW resists that framing. Michellar’s album doesn’t sound like someone scrambling to reclaim lost time; it sounds like the work of someone