Every Friday, Atwood Magazine’s staff share what they’ve been listening to that week – a song, an album, an artist – whatever’s been having an impact on them, in the moment.
This week’s weekly roundup features music by The Format, SUDS, Glassio, Queen Quail, Leah Cleaver, Brenn!, Pebbledash, Doctor Noize & The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra, MARI, Hemi Hemingway, Alexa Rose, JVK, Zoé Hammer, SUUNCAAT, Ava Franks, Joshu, Michelle Kash, The Guilteens, Holly Lerski, Away Fans & SEY.MOUR!
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follow WEEKLY ROUNDUP on Spotify
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:: “Shot in the Dark” – The Format ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
“Shot in the Dark” feels like the moment after the storm, when the sky is still streaked and restless but the light starts breaking through. Where “Holy Roller” was a fiery reckoning, all chaos and catharsis, The Format’s second single of the year leans hard into hope. It’s bright, buoyant, and big-hearted, carrying its predecessor’s exuberance forward with another energetic anthem of chance and risk and stubborn optimism. Nate Ruess sings like someone who has seen the worst version of himself and still chooses to believe in something better, his voice soaring over radiant guitars and a beat built to lift you off the ground. From that opening confession – “Me and my friends, we used to fall apart / and piece ourselves back together like a work of art” – the song feels like a love letter to survival, to friendship, to all the mess that somehow led here.
There is a deep astonishment running through “Shot in the Dark,” the sense of someone looking around at their life and still not quite believing they made it this far. The chorus crystallizes that feeling in real time, as Ruess asks, “How would I know / when these days just come and go? / How would I know / that we would make it this far from just a shot in the dark?” It is classic Format – self-questioning, self-aware, and utterly sincere – but now there is less angst and more gratitude in the mix. The verses rewind through early-days chaos and chance encounters, while the bridge zooms all the way out to a cosmic vantage point: “Lived my whole life like I was ready to die / ’til I finally caught a piece of the sun.” That line alone feels like a mission statement for this new era, where the point is not certainty, but the courage to keep stepping into the unknown.
As the second glimpse of Boycott Heaven, “Shot in the Dark” extends the story “Holy Roller” started – taking that roar of return and turning it into something gentler and more generous. The band sound loose and alive, channeling the alt-rock, grunge, and power-pop DNA that first bonded Ruess and Sam Means as Arizona kids, now infused with the perspective of everything that came after. You can hear the years in the way they play, but there is nothing tired about it; if anything, the song moves with the kind of urgency you only get when you know how fragile a second chance really is. It feels less like a comeback flex and more like two old friends grinning at the fact that they get to do this again.
“Shot in the Dark” is not about guaranteeing a happy ending so much as honoring the fact that you took the risk in the first place. It leans into the light with charming melodies and that relentless Ruess push forward, onward, upward to some unnamed plateau – to the next show, the next song, the next shared scream in some crowded room. The Format do not pretend to have it all figured out; instead, they turn uncertainty into something shimmering and communal, a reminder that most of the best things in life start exactly this way: as one small, reckless shot in the dark.
:: Tell me about your day again – SUDS ::
Will Yarbrough, Philadelphia, PA
Bands who broke up during emo’s heyday are now best friends forever, but England’s SUDS have always been best buds. Lead singer Maise-Mae Cater did settle on their name herself after hopping out of the shower one fateful evening in 2015, though the band didn’t really work itself into a good lather for another three years. That’s when she and fellow fretboard seamstress Dan Godfrey moved to the fashionably medieval city of Norwich, where they paired with another set of pals-turned-business-partners in drummer Jack Ames and bassist Harry Mitchell. This fresh-faced, fab foursome are still going through changes on their sophomore album, but Tell me about your day again is crafted with such love and care that they’ll soon be the talk of the scene on both sides of the pond.
Despite their obvious chemistry on and off stage, in terms of mixing and matching genres, SUDS make for quite the odd couple. These Brits fancy American Football’s gentle nature as much as the folks in Greenwich Village who weren’t shy about tackling the pressing issues of the 1960s. But just listen to Tell me about your day again and it’s no small wonder that Big Scary Monsters came knockin’ on their door. For a subgenre that gets dismissed as punk’s whiny little brother, this album is remarkably pleasant. Even the pop-punk outbursts are warm and inviting. The boys in the band not only support the harmonies but add some necessary tension with their polite screams and shouts. Cater’s quiet feelings are voiced with all the delicacy of milk and honey, no matter how badly her spirit needs lifting.
That “Hook me out” is the last proper song on Tell me about your day again also presents itself as a bit unusual. The other, more twinkly tracks ebb and flow like natural pauses in conversation, but this one has to find its rhythm. Before sinking into the familiar embrace of guest trumpeter George Baker, the guitars and drums feel each other out, strumming along uncertainly while staying one step ahead of the teetering beat. “I’m grieving / What I’m missing / Is this what / Has become of me?” The album grew out of that difficult time in every young band’s life, when the places and faces from adolescence begin to fade away. But perhaps it’s those losses that led SUDS to further appreciate the comfort they continue to find in one another. Without saying a word, the band builds to a crescendo that never seems to come down, like the relief of falling into someone’s arms after another hard day’s night.
:: “When the Beat Carries On” – Glassio ::
Chloe Robinson, California
Many of us have experienced what it feels like to wrestle with imposter syndrome. Glassio’s latest piece examines that very idea making this work so relatable. The single “When The Beat Carries On” pulses with nostalgic energy, taking listeners on a dream-pop adventure of perception, self-discovery, and rebirth. The radiant, immersive sonic intertwines exquisitely with his warm, effortless vocals. The visuals, seamlessly alternating between him and his older self, powerfully convey the song’s message.
Glassio’s third album, The Imposter (out Feb 25th), shines as a reflective journey through identity, doubt, and the subtle act of reconnecting with oneself. Glassio is the alt-dance, dream-pop project created by songwriter and producer Sam R. The singer is recognized for weaving wistful melodies while carefully crafting a sound distinctly his own. The Brooklyn-based artist has toured with standout acts like Nada Surf and Electric Youth, firmly establishing him as a bold talent to watch. “When The Beat Carries On” pushes his artistry even further, exuding a raw, emotional beauty.
:: “Southside”- Queen Quail ::
Rachel Leong, France
From the low hum of reverberating electric guitar, to lush, rounded vocals that create worlds in itself – Kristin Edwards, aka Queen Quail, writes songs in the style of self-discovery, personal undoing and rebirth. Her single “Southside” feels like a deep foray into the sonic possibilities of Queen Quail. Where she croons “I left you in the southside” sweetly over slide guitar and broken chords, the track bursts into percussive explosions, grunge-leaning guitars and distorted solos.
Pulling on the imagery of distance and moving away, Queen Quail questions what it means to leave something (or someone) behind, and how that feeling shifts with hindsight. “Southside” reads like a dreamscape, allowing the listener to soar over sands and sea, before the waves ultimately come crashing down.
:: “Have You Ever” – Leah Cleaver ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
Leah Cleaver’s second-ever “Have You Ever” is the kind of intoxicating, R&B-soaked daydream that washes over you before you even realize you’ve fallen under its spell. The East London artist’s voice flows like honey over a smooth, seductive beat, slipping between sweetness and swagger with an ease that feels effortless. The production shimmers in kaleidoscopic color – springy drums, scuttling piano, psychedelic textures – creating a vivid backdrop where Cleaver can unravel and bloom. It’s enchanting and inviting, a warm rush of personality wrapped in a groove you can’t shake.
Cleaver describes the song perfectly herself: “Feels like 7pm in August on your way to meet your friends, and you know you can be slightly (or more than slightly) problematic, dramatic, and extra sometimes. You panic a little but then you remember you’re literally surrounded by people that love your cute nonsense and they love you, and you know how lucky you are and how funny this life is. It’s tongue in cheek and relatable because we all say things we literally don’t mean as we’re saying it but literally can’t stop. Whoops.”
That sense of playful chaos is stitched into every corner of the track. Cleaver sings like she’s letting you in on a secret, her conversational tone turning the song into a late-summer confessional between friends – the kind that happens as you’re slightly out of breath, half-laughing at yourself, trying to articulate feelings you can’t quite pin down. Her delivery is tender but cheeky, self-aware but soft, capturing that strange space where anxiety and affection collide.
As with all her art, “Have You Ever” is grounded in community and connection – the desire to make space for people who don’t often get it, and to celebrate the messy, beautiful, dramatic parts of being alive. It feels like a hand on your shoulder, a wink, a reminder that you’re not alone in your spirals or your nonsense. Cleaver turns the moment into something bright, warm, and deeply relatable.
Her debut EP Pushing Up Flowers, released earlier this October, only deepens that promise. Across its shape-shifting production and fearless emotional candor, Cleaver emerges as a genre-agnostic artist unbound by labels or expectations. She jumps from breaks-powered electro-pop to funk, soul, and alt-pop with the same ease she brings to her storytelling, turning every track into a little universe of its own. What ties it all together is her voice – warm, bold, honeyed, and deeply human – and her mission to cultivate a space where people can show up fully as themselves. It’s an introduction that announces Cleaver not just as a new artist to watch, but as a writer and performer carving her own lane in real time, with vision and verve to spare.
“Have You Ever” isn’t just fun – it’s freeing, a glittery alt-pop exhale that invites you to show up exactly as you are and trust that the people who love you will meet you there. It’s magnetic, messy, tender, and true.
:: “Footing” – Brenn! ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
“Footing” hits like the moment a storm breaks open – exhilarating, overwhelming, and impossibly alive. Brenn!’s newest single feels like an emotional exhale after months of holding everything in, a charged and aching reckoning that pushes his folk-rooted storytelling into a bold new space. The dynamic contrasts that have come to define his music are all here: Softness and roar, fragility and fire, confession and catharsis. His voice trembles and soars over restless guitars and gathering intensity, spilling truth after truth until the whole song feels like it’s vibrating. Even its quietest lines land with a punch, from the weary recognition of “I can see my weight coming back and the bags beneath my eyes have faded over time” to the devastating refrain, “I’m the mess that you walked out on… maybe you were right all along.” It’s radiant, raw, and unapologetically vulnerable.
For Brenn!, “Footing” marks more than a new chapter – it marks transformation. “‘Footing’ is the shift between being a musician and becoming an artist. I cannot wait to see how this whole project comes together,” he tells Atwood Magazine.
He opens up further: “Honestly, ‘Footing’ was a slow song starting out. It had been written the same night as ‘Upstate’ about 6-7 months ago. After taking some time to travel and relax off tour, I finally got back into making my own music. How I heard it. I woke up one day and was going through my notes and decided to produce out this song I had written. I wanted it to feel dramatic and heavy and instantly fell in love with the first demo. After that we just chipped away at it in the studio. I think this song is a good turning point for what the Brenn! project is becoming.”
You can hear that turning point in the song’s emotional spine. “Footing” captures the painful clarity that comes after a breakup, when the dust has settled and you’re left staring at what’s left – what’s yours to carry, what’s yours to release. That harsh admission “now I hate everything, all the songs that I wrote” hits like a bruise, while the hope he extends outward – “I pray to God you’re doing well, that you finally stopped starving yourself” – adds a rare, aching compassion. Brenn! balances both sides of the wound: The self-blame and the tenderness, the regret and the wish for the other person’s healing.
And in so many ways, “Footing” sits right on the fault line between who Brenn! was on his Upstate EP, and who he’s becoming now. That EP was a cathartic, road-forged reckoning – a season defined by heartbreak, motion, and the desperate chase for closure across highways and hotel rooms. Those songs carried the weight of a love he was still trying to outrun. “Footing,” by contrast, feels like the tremor that comes after the break, the first breath after that storm, the moment the ground shifts beneath him in a new direction. It’s Brenn! stepping out from under the shadow of that story and finding new balance, new clarity, and new footing in the person he is – beginning to write from a place untouched by the relationship that defined his last chapter.
“Footing” is a song about collapse and rebuilding, about losing your ground and then clawing your way back to it. It roars, it aches, it glows with an honesty that sticks with you long after the final note fades. If this is the turning point for the Brenn! project, it’s one lit by ferocity, growth, and hard-won clarity – the kind you can only find when you finally stop running and face what’s been pulling you down.
:: “O The Wind” – Pebbledash ::
Danielle Holian, Galway, Ireland
Pebbledash’s latest offering, “O The Wind,” from their EP To Cast the Sea in Concrete, is a masterclass in contemporary Irish indie-folk alchemy. The track moves with a spectral grace, anchored by Asha Egan McCutcheon’s haunting vocals, which float atop a meticulously layered tapestry of sound that seamlessly fuses traditional Irish folk sensibilities with shoegaze’s immersive textures and post-punk’s restless drive. Fingerpicked electric guitar dances with swelling strings and synth, while the warm, insistent bass and shuffling percussion lend a quietly propulsive energy. Subtle field recordings and reverb-drenched echoes heighten the sense of otherworldliness, creating an emotional landscape that is as intimate as it is expansive. “O The Wind” is a luminous example of Pebbledash’s ability to traverse genres while maintaining a distinctive, evocative voice, marking them as one of Ireland’s most compelling emerging acts.
:: “1-2-3-4-5-6-7 A Song”- Dr. Noize ::
Chloe Robinson, California
Widely praised artist, musician, and songwriter known as Doctor Noize ignites pure joy with his infectious single “1-2-3-4-5-6-7 A Song.” A true multi-hyphenate, he has charmed global audiences for years with his innovative, family-oriented musical projects. His latest piece and accompanying heart-warming video are a real delightful watch and listen. Within the track he guides children through song structure. Music, lyrics, and orchestration are all created by Doctor Noize, with performances by Doctor Noize, Anton Schwartz, the Colorado Children’s Chorale, and the City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra.
“1-2-3-4-5-6-7 A Song” is off of his album Positive Energy. Doctor Noize is a Stanford-trained father, acclaimed musician, commissioned composer for theater and film, author, award-winning educator, speaker, studio founder, and witty entertainer. His colorful songs, immersive workshops, and interactive shows fire up the imagination, bringing happiness to children and fun-seekers of all ages.
:: between the lines – MARI ::
Danielle Holian, Galway, Ireland
MARI’s latest EP, between the lines, marks a striking maturation in her artistry, revealing a newfound depth in both storytelling and sonic design. While her emotive vocals and pop sensibilities remain central, the record immerses listeners in a more introspective and intimate space than ever before. From the opening moments of “00:31” to the contemplative vulnerability of “see you go,” each track is meticulously constructed, balancing contemporary production with a timeless emotional resonance. The early portion of the EP navigates the turbulence of youthful heartbreak and identity, with MARI’s voice threading fragility and conviction through every lyric, making each moment feel immediate and profoundly relatable.
As between the lines unfolds, the narrative arcs toward self-discovery and resilience, transforming personal reflection into a broader message of empowerment. Collaborations, particularly her brother’s production guidance, are seamlessly woven into the arrangements, enriching the soundscape without ever eclipsing MARI’s personal narrative. Midway tracks like “last talk” and “please don’t let me know” pivot between introspection and catharsis, while the closing songs, “bye” and “goddess,” celebrate triumph and confidence, leaving listeners with a sense of emotional closure and uplift. In both its sonic execution and storytelling, the EP demonstrates MARI’s capacity to translate vulnerability into art, solidifying her presence as an artist unafraid to lay bare her truth while crafting music that resonates on a universal level.
:: “Wings of Desire” – Hemi Hemingway ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
Hemi Hemingway’s “Wings of Desire” feels like it belongs at the emotional peak of a long-lost John Hughes film – a moment where everything slows down and the whole room seems to glow. The artist’s voice, that impossibly deep, soft baritone, moves with a quiet devastation through the track, grounding its cinematic sweep in something raw and human. And then the saxophone kicks in. It smolders, roars, and soars, cutting through the haze like a bolt of neon through midnight air. The contrast is breathtaking: Tender croon against burning brass (really woodwind), longing wrapped in fire. When he sings, “I wanna live on the wings of desire, bury my face deep in that fire,” the whole song seems to hover in that space between fantasy and heartbreak, reaching for something just out of reach.
New Zealand’s Hemi Hemingway – the musical project of Shaun Blackwell – has always lived in the world of dreamy crooner pop, but “Wings of Desire” hits differently. It’s deeply personal, a confession set to a widescreen fever dream. “When I wrote ‘Wings of Desire’, after an extended period of heightened anxiety and depression, I’d grown tired of feeling unwanted, unused, unrealised,” he tells Atwood Magazine. “However self-inflicted these feelings might have been, I felt about ready to burst. I wished to relive that constant ache of early-20s longing with self-conscious uncertainty, return to that delirium of potential love, when the risk was so high that tragedy lurked around every corner. I longed for that push and pull between excitement and heartache, to be inspired by the never knowing.”
You can hear that ache in every line. The memories feel scorched at the edges, looping back on themselves as he tries to rewrite what slipped away: “I shoulda called you, baby… I’m breaking from the pain of tainted memories.” The chorus lands like an open wound, one that still pulses when touched. Yet the song never collapses under its weight. The arrangement lifts it – the saxophone swirling like smoke, the rhythm section pushing forward with quiet urgency, the melody rising into something both nostalgic and strangely hopeful.
“Wings of Desire” is a love song, but it’s also a reckoning. A longing for the electric uncertainty of youth, for the kind of love that terrifies you in all the right ways. It glows with that bittersweet shimmer – half-memory, half-wish – and leaves a heat behind long after the last note fades.
:: “Where the Magic Lives” – Alexa Rose ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
There’s a dreamy, dusted glow to “Where the Magic Lives” – a sweet light that leans into twilight and memory at the same time. Asheville singer/songwriter Alexa Rose wraps heartland warmth in something feather-light and wistful here, letting a tender twang mingle with a melody that shivers straight down the spine. The fiddle is the first thing that catches the ears – soulful, searching, almost luminous – drifting through the song like a lantern in the dark. And as Rose sings, “show me where the magic lives, do my heart some good,” you feel the ache beneath the sweetness, that longing to recover a spark you’re not sure you still carry. It’s one of the standout moments on her newly released third album Atmosphere, a record steeped in tenderness, resilience, and the quiet courage of looking inward.
“Have you ever been in some situation you should be enjoying but somehow just can’t? It’s happened to me at the best concerts and under the starriest skies,” Rose tells Atwood Magazine. “This song is about fighting to find enchantment again, and making peace with the time that feels lost. I was thinking a lot about growing up in the early aughts, before I always had a phone in my pocket, and how I felt a curiosity about the world that couldn’t be answered with a quick Google search. Sometimes I think leaving a little mystery is what we need to be able to run towards those dreams, to let ourselves bask in a question before we know the answer.”
That tension – between disillusionment and wonder – comes to life in every corner of this song. Rose’s lyrics look backward and forward at once, reaching for a field of daisies, a sky full of old and new stars, a time before everything had an explanation. The production mirrors that emotional landscape: pedal steel humming like a distant memory, fiddle carrying a kind of quiet yearning, Rose’s voice soft but sure as she sings toward something she can’t quite name yet. It feels like a small act of reclamation, a gentle return to the parts of ourselves that still believe in possibility.
“Where the Magic Lives” doesn’t chase nostalgia so much as it tries to trace the thread back to where wonder once lived. It lands softly, like a hand reaching out in the dark, reminding us that mystery isn’t something to solve – it’s something to sit with, listen to, and maybe even follow home.
:: “Get Offline” – JVK ::
Julius Robinson, California
JVK’s “Get Offline” defines a new era. Formerly steeped in hard rock, JVK now glows with a dazzling mix of retro glam, synth-pop sheen, dance-floor rhythm, and punk rebellion. The vibrant, in your face piece packs a huge punch. In an age where everyone’s glued to their screens, this fierce track is a rallying cry to break free and reconnect with real life.
Emerging from Boston’s daring DIY scene, JVK has been captivating audiences across North America with electrifying performances, a retro-rock flair, and bold, empowering lyrics. Led by frontwoman Jo Krieger and backed by Atticus Crowley, Kay Kwiatek, Liv Barcohana, and Zach Feinstein, the band began in 2022 as a hard rock outfit tearing up basements, dive bars, and nightclubs throughout New England. Now with two EPs already released, the group is crafting their debut album, a project set to cement their signature sound of retro-glam and synth rock. As their style grows and transforms, JVK welcomes listeners to come along for the exhilarating journey ahead.
:: “Dreams” – Zoé Hammer ::
Rachel Leong, France
Orbiting within dreamscapes and swooping cinematic stories, Zoé Hammer rises, falls and swirls within “Dreams.” With vocals as emotive as it is wonderfully rugged, Hammer’s track was formed around the thought, “things I never truly wanted and dreams that were never truly mine.” Several years in the making, “Dreams,” then, takes on a new meaning with every listen. The song begins on the low chimes of piano, led by Hammer’s crisp vocals. As the song progresses, Hammer starts to expand, bursting with emotion and orchestral arrangement by the very end.
As a journey through growth, shifting lives, and musical expansion, Zoé’s “Dreams” stands as a powerful testament to independent artistry – a shimmering ode to her authentic musicianship and forthcoming sonic identity.
:: “Signs” – SUUNCAAT ::
Danielle Holian, Galway, Ireland
Known for blending hyperpop’s volatile energy with a strikingly cinematic sense of scale, SUUNCAAT weaves themes of pain and transcendence through every layer of her sound. Her newest single “Signs” feels less like a threshold; ghost-lit and trembling. Ghostly synths rise and settle beneath vocals that seem to waver between flesh and vapor, drifting like smoke through a haze of neon. Celestial tones and glass-bright textures fold into one another with a kind of ritual intent, each sound operating as both incantation and confession.
Suspended somewhere between fever dream and sacred rite, SUUNCAAT reshapes the emotional architecture of experimental pop. Straddling the delicate line between reverence and self-effacement, the lyrics unravel like an intimate confession: “Night time mirror eyes go everywhere / gold child you’re the sign we’ve been waiting / don’t you realize you’re god, you decide.” They conjure a portrait of devotion teetering on the edge of consumption, where love and worship merge into something both luminous and insatiable. The track pulses with both fragility and transcendence, a quiet heartbeat glowing in starlight, disarmingly honest, and touched by something otherworldly.
:: “Every Day”- Ava Franks ::
Chloe Robinson, California
Falling in love leaves you with a giddy feeling that is indescribable. In the beginning stages of a romance those butterflies are fluttering especially strong. Yet beneath it all lies uncertainty and mystery, tempered by a quiet hope that things will turn out well. Ava Franks’ warm, breathless single “Every Day” conveys that mix of emotions perfectly. The track envelops listeners in rich acoustic guitar textures, with delicate vocals carrying radiant, memorable melodies.
Franks is an indie pop singer-songwriter based in New York City, fueled by a lifelong love of writing. From performing in school musicals to showcasing her talent in local shows, she has carefully shaped the vocal style that defines her sound. Inspired by pop icons like Taylor Swift and amazing musicals such as Hamilton, her work possesses that same exceptional storytelling.
:: “holding on” – Joshu ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
Like sunlight breaking through morning fog, “holding on” shines with a welcome, unassuming grace. One year on from its original release, Joshu’s tender reverie still glows with that same gentle magic – soft and dreamy, full of warm harmony beds, cinematic guitar work, and those sweet, airy whistles that feel like a breath released after holding it too long. It’s a song that moves slowly and kindly, like someone returning home after a long journey with new clarity in their eyes. Even its opening lines carry that ache of transition: “Left my home in the warm rain / too many times and I’m going again.” Calm, tender, and comforting, “holding on” feels like an olive branch from someone who’s been through it, learned what to release, learned what to protect, and knows what it means to hold on tight.
“It’s a song about letting go; looking at a broken relationship, or an identity given to you in childhood, and realising that is no longer serves you,” Joshu tells Atwood Magazine. “There’s a profound difficulty in letting things change, so the chorus is a kind of affirmation to acknowledge the pain of moving on. With gentle self-compassion, you can let go of comfortable definitions of yourself and move into the freedom of something more true.”
You hear that self-compassion in every corner of the song. Born mid-ocean during an Atlantic crossing – a journey from the UK to Antigua that mirrored a return to the artist’s own beginnings – “holding on” carries the hush of reflection, the weight of memory, and the quiet bravery of someone reckoning with identity in motion. The chorus rings out like a mantra whispered to oneself: “It’s not easy when you’re holding on so tight… you get the feeling that everything’s alright.” The way the melody lilts, the way the production leaves space for breath and pause, the way the guitars glow like late-afternoon light – it all deepens the sense that this is music made with care, from a place of deep interior truth.
Featured on Joshu’s way back home EP (released this past January), “holding on” resonates just as much – maybe even more – than it did a year ago. It’s tender, intimate, and hopeful, tracing the tension between what we cling to and what we must eventually release. Some songs soothe; this one gently steadies you, reminding you that letting go doesn’t always mean losing something. Sometimes it’s the first step toward finding your way back home.
:: “Gravity” – Michelle Kash ::
Rachel Leong, France
Smoky windscreens, hazy air, and late night drives. These are the feelings invoked by Michelle Kash’s “Gravity” – an exploration of longing and release, underpinned by swooshing synths and the slow burn of a love that could have been.
Michelle Kash has been one of my favourite artist discoveries this year – and she’s definitely one for those who believe in the magic life can give you. Her songwriting begins with poetry, and her sonic worlds are nostalgic as they are feminine, modern and exploratory. But her journey to music was unexpected: she participated in an hour-long meditation during a spiritual retreat seeking clarity, but this later paved the way for an overwhelming urge to sing. Kash cited a sudden ability to rearrange vocals, harmonise and sing. And the rest is history.
Kash’s music is a reminder that you can start again at any time, and there’s magic in the world for those who are open to seeing it.
:: Heavy Letters – The Guilteens ::
Danielle Holian, Galway, Ireland
The Guilteens’ debut EP, Heavy Letters, emerges as a striking testament to the band’s ambition and artistic evolution. Recorded with the deft touch of Christian Best, whose work with Mick Flannery and Susan O’Neill is already well-regarded, and shaped sonically by the mixing expertise of John ‘Spud’ Murphy and the mastering precision of Jamie Hyland, the EP feels meticulously crafted without ever losing its raw emotional core.
Across its four tracks, the band navigates a rich tapestry of sound, psychedelic guitar swirls, post-punk angularities, and dark alternative textures, that reveal both a reverence for their influences and a fearless drive to forge their own musical identity. From the expansive, almost cinematic sweep of “Born Evil” to the fuzz-laden intensity of “Monolith,” and the theatrical, piano-driven drama of “Savour,” each song conveys a sense of purpose and adventurousness that elevates the EP beyond a conventional debut.
Heavy Letters closes with “Further Down The Channel,” a track that consolidates the EP’s themes of tension, melody, and atmospheric depth into a finale that resonates long after the final note. The Guilteens balance experimental textures with striking accessibility, crafting music that challenges as much as it seduces. Vocals, guitars, piano, and trumpet interplay with a precise yet unforced chemistry, while Shane Murphy’s drums and Tomas O’Brien’s bass underpin the sound with both grit and grace. The result is a debut that not only announces The Guilteens’ arrival on the alternative rock landscape but also signals a band unafraid to stretch boundaries, creating work that is both intellectually compelling and viscerally thrilling.
:: “The Moon and the Sun” – Holly Lerski ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
There’s a soft, twilight shimmer to “The Moon and the Sun,” a glow that feels borrowed from another era. Holly Lerski leans into a dreamy, ‘50s-tinged rock n roll sway here, letting something moody and diaphanous bloom in the space between longing and letting go. The song opens like a slow dance with a ghost, her voice drifting through the dusk: “You’re the moon, reflecting back at me… but your light’s temporary.” Even in its beauty, there’s a tremor of heartbreak, an ache wrapped in starlight. You can feel the distance yawning between two people – one waxing and waning, the other burning steady – as the melody gathers a gentle, vintage warmth around its bruised center.
It’s a feeling Holly Lerski knows intimately. “This is a song about love, delusion and soul redemption,” she tells Atwood Magazine. “I’d fallen in love big time in Nashville when I was making my album, Sweet Decline. We’d tried to be together but found it impossible, navigating visas. I’d even been detained at the airport one visit and sent back for mistakenly overstaying my ESTA.”
“By summer 2023, I’d finally got a visa, had gone nomadic, and was about to chase my wild goose back to Tennessee and finish mixing the album, only my house sale stalled and I missed my flight. So I went to live in Crete for a month instead, close to the Caves of Matala, Joni Mitchell’s old hang. That’s when I discovered my American love had moved on. It felt like Tim Buckley’s ‘Song to The Siren.’ As I was driving to visit Zeus’s Cave one day, pondering on my situation, I started to think of her as the moon and this wolf howl lament began. It turned into a victorious howl once I realized, yes, she may have been a beautiful moon, but that made me the sun.”
You hear that whole journey in the song’s quiet flare, from the lonely confession of “Show me what I want to see” to the mythic turn in Crete where she sings, “Met a god, drank his mountain tea… night and day were never meant to meet.” The arrangement glows with that recognition – not bitterness, but a kind of soft, cosmic clarity. The reverb-kissed guitars hum like a sepia photograph coming to life, while her vocal carries both the ache of what was lost and the warmth of what was found in its wake.
“The Moon and the Sun” feels like a postcard written at golden hour, half-lament, half-revelation. It’s a reckoning with love’s illusions, but also a quiet reclamation of self, glowing with a light that doesn’t flicker or fade. In the end, the song doesn’t just mourn what slipped away. It stands in the radiance of what remains.
:: “Keeping On” – Away Fans ft. SEY.MOUR ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
The first thing that hits you in “Keeping On” is the beat – a jarring, propulsive thing of kinetic power that pulses nonstop from the moment you press play. It’s a jolt straight to the chest – urgent, feverish, almost overwhelming at first, but the longer you sit in it, the more it becomes comfortable and intoxicating. What feels chaotic turns into a controlled eruption of emotionally laced passion, a cathartic release that sparks and surges in all directions. Away Fans and SEY.MOUR sound like they’re sprinting through the emotional aftermath of a fight, trying to catch each other mid-spiral. Even the tender lines land with urgency, from “Baby are you coming home / I’ve been missing you for a while” to the bruised admission of “Miss cuddles in the kitchen, rudderless and drifting.” It’s longing under pressure, wrapped in adrenaline.
It’s a feeling Away Fans’ frontman Tom Fisher knows well. “We took inspiration from bands like primal scream and the prodigy, who managed to keep the live feel of a band, whilst still fitting in with the rave and party scene,” he tells Atwood Magazine. “When recording this track we utilised pre-programmed drums, blended with live performance, to create a rich layered sound which references jungle and drum and bass breaks, whilst still feeling like a guitar band. We’ve also generated unique samples to layer throughout the track providing interesting rhythms and textures.”
He continues, “This is also our first collaboration with singer SEY.MOUR., whose backing vocals add layers of interesting texture and warmth. The song is about that moment post-argument with your partner, when the initial anger has faded and you just wanna sort things out but don’t know how. That sort of malaise when you’re desperate to get back to how things were but aren’t quite sure how to get there.”
You hear every bit of that intention. The jungle and d’n’b DNA keeps the track twitching with raw, restless energy, while the live-band grit grounds its emotional weight. SEY.MOUR’s vocals widen the space just enough to let the heartache breathe. And through it all, that refrain echoes like a mantra, a warning, and a plea: “Come on home, baby come on home… just keeping on.” It’s the sound of a relationship hanging in the balance, a plea caught between hope and hesitation, pulsing forward on muscle memory and hope.
“Keeping On” doesn’t soothe. It sweats, shakes, claws toward something better, even when the path is blurred. It captures that liminal moment after the anger and before the healing – when you’re trying, faltering, trying again – and it leaves you with the uneasy truth that sometimes the only way out is to keep moving.
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