Atwood Magazine is excited to share our Editor’s Picks column, written and curated by Editor-in-Chief Mitch Mosk. Every week, Mitch will share a collection of songs, albums, and artists who have caught his ears, eyes, and heart. There is so much incredible music out there just waiting to be heard, and all it takes from us is an open mind and a willingness to listen. Through our Editor’s Picks, we hope to shine a light on our own music discoveries and showcase a diverse array of new and recent releases.

This week’s Editor’s Picks features Ax and the Hatchetmen, Savannah Conley, Henry Grace, Tough Cookie, Westside Cowboy, and Jane Leo!

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o much to tell you,” Axel Ellis sings, hot on the mic and heartsick, his voice teeming with urgency and ache. “Holed up in this hotel room, can’t do the things I want to, I’ve been climbing the walls.” The moment hits like a fever dream of longing and restlessness – the kind of confession that catches in your chest before you realize you’re singing along. “Hotel Room” is that rare indie rock eruption that’s both magnetic and meaningful: Explosive and exciting, but also deeply, sincerely human.

So much to tell you,
holed up in this hotel room
Can’t do the things I want to,
I’ve been climbing the walls
And I just can’t get used to
not being right next to you
Not wearing half your perfume
while I’m singing your song

Beyond being an electrifying (re)introduction to Chicago’s Ax and the Hatchetmen, this track is utterly exhilarating– a headrush of yearning and motion that never loses its heart. The band don’t just play the feeling of distance; they embody it. The song starts mid-conversation and never lets go, its narrator tangled between desire and dislocation. It’s charming, charged, and irresistibly alive – music that makes you root for the person on the other end of the line.

Formed in 2018, Ax and the Hatchetmen – comprised of Axel Ellis (vocals, guitar), Sal Defilippis (guitar), Hunter Olshefke (bass), Nick Deputy (drums), Phil Pistone (trumpet), and Quinn Dolan (saxophone) – came roaring out of the Midwest with a rollicking sound that merges indie rock swagger with brass-driven soul. They’ve since built a cult following through their freewheeling live shows, sold-out tours, and feel-great records that channel everyone from The Strokes to Hippo Campus. Produced by Jake Sinclair (Weezer, Panic! At The Disco), “Hotel Room” finds them at their most cinematic yet – tender, restless, and overflowing with emotion.

When the chorus hits, it’s pure combustion. Ellis pushes himself to the brink, pouring his heart into every word as drums and guitars roar alongside him in a feverish release of longing and devotion. “And I hate that you’re so far away, and I just wanna find myself in the middle of you,” he cries, his voice churning at the edge of desperation. It’s the sound of someone trying to bridge miles through melody – to scream their way across the distance . The band surges alongside him like a livewire, horns gleaming and guitars blazing, their energy matching the ache in his delivery. It’s raw, radiant catharsis – the kind that makes your chest tighten and your pulse race – and by the time it peaks, you feel as breathless and consumed as he does.

And I hate that you’re so far away
And I just wanna find myself
in the middle of you
I’m all tied up in the middle of you
I hate that you’re so far away
And I just wanna find myself
in the middle of you
I’m all tied up

“‘Hotel Room’ feels like a loop that you can’t get out of,” Axel Ellis tells Atwood Magazine. “It was an attempt to embody the mental turmoil of being on the road, getting to visit many places without having enough time to really find comfort in any of them. While it feels beyond lucky to be able to travel for a living, there’s always somebody on your mind that you likely won’t be seeing anytime soon, which is the thought we aimed to explore on the track. It’s been refreshing to play live as it feels like it expresses an idea that we don’t often touch on in our other music. The song is looking to find comfort, even if it’s a home away from home.”

That ache pulses through every verse – “And I just can’t get used to not being right next to you, not wearing half your perfume while I’m singing your song…” – as bright drums and jangly guitars chase the bittersweet undercurrent of distance and desire. Ellis’ voice cracks at the edge of longing, but the band’s exuberant instrumentation keeps the song buoyant, turning pain into motion and melancholy into melody.

And there’s so much to tell you,
holed up in this hotel room
Can’t do the things I want to,
I’ve been climbing the walls
And I just can’t get used to
not being right next to you
Not wearing half your perfume
while I’m singing your song

Ellis, who made his acting debut this fall on the Amazon Original series The Runarounds, speaks candidly about the song’s emotional core: “‘Hotel Room’ feels lonely. It’s about the hardest reality of being fortunate enough to travel for a living: Always having someone to miss. It’s about wishing you could call that person and lay your thoughts on the table, but what’s the point if you won’t be around anytime soon? It’s about wanting to see the one who makes your heart jump, but not knowing when or where that might happen. It’s about looking out the window at an array of different sceneries, with one constant thought stuck on your mind. It’s about missing you.”

That line – it’s about missing you – says everything. So Much to Tell You, the band’s recently-released debut album (October 24^th via Arista Records), takes its name from this song’s opening lyric, and fittingly, it feels like the heart of the record: A snapshot of motion and memory, connection and distance, longing and love.

And I hate that you’re so far away
And I just wanna find myself
in the middle of you
I’m all tied up in the middle of you
I hate that you’re so far away
And I just wanna find myself
in the middle of you
I’m all tied up in this

“Hotel Room” captures the feeling of always being in between – between homes, between hearts, between the life you dreamed of and the one you’re still figuring out. It’s a song for the restless, for the romantics, for anyone who’s ever tried to find peace in the chaos.

And as debuts go, So Much to Tell You is nothing short of spectacular – a thrilling first full-length that cements Ax and the Hatchetmen as one of the best new indie rock bands of the year, and “Hotel Room” as one of its most unforgettable anthems.

“Burn it up, I got a couple stacks on me…” Savannah Conley spits the line with a smirk and a spark, her voice drenched in grit and adrenaline. “Love You Mean It” isn’t just a song – it’s a reckoning; a roaring, riff-laden declaration of independence and release. Guitars snarl, drums thump, and Conley’s vocals blaze through the noise like wildfire. For an artist once known for her delicate, dusky indie folk confessions, this is something else entirely – a right turn, a reintroduction, and a rebirth all at once.

Burn it up I got a couple stacks on me
Don’t have to be home
for a while keep it steady
Spent an hour and a half
just getting ready, pick me up
Meet me at 9 out at the Regal 8 parking lot
I got a handle full of vodka in a coffee cup
Keep your hand on the glass
See how long you can last

I’ve been following Savannah Conley’s journey for years – she’s a two-time Atwood Magazine Editor’s Pick – and this feels like her most exciting chapter yet: A bold evolution from the tender introspection of 2023’s debut LP Playing the Part of You Is Me into something rawer, louder, and more unapologetically alive. Like its parent EP of the same name, “Love You Mean It” is unfiltered and unflinching – all fire and brimstone, grit and glory. “Rev it, brake it, love ya, mean it,” she howls in the chorus, an emotionally charged mantra pulsing with feverish abandon. It’s the sound of someone who’s done playing it safe; who’s ready to live messy and loud and all the way through.

Rev it
Brake it
Love ya
Mean it

“To be perfectly honest, this song truly is about just f*ing off and having fun with your friends to me,” Conley tells Atwood Magazine. “It’s about release and allowing yourself to have fun even when things might be dark or fearful otherwise.”

That freedom radiates through every second of the song – the fuzzed-out guitars, the racing pulse, the grin that practically bleeds through the mic. It’s reckless in the best way possible, brimming with life and electricity. Conley channels the spirit of a joyride at 90 miles an hour, windows down, no destination in sight. “Call it what you want but imma call it living,” she sings, her voice smirking against the static. “Won’t be like everybody else, just give me something I can feel, something I can touch.” It’s a manifesto for mischief and motion – and a reminder that sometimes survival looks like screaming into the night sky and meaning every word of it.

Call it what you want
but imma call it living
It’s a step above a life of just existing
Won’t be like everybody else
Just give me something I can feel
Something I can touch
I’ll do anything ’cause
everything is boring
This is the best that I can do
and I know what I’m doing
Keep my hand on the glass
See how long I can last

“When Jake Finch, Collin Pastore, and I sat down to write, we just kind of let it roll out and followed whatever came up,” she says. “We didn’t have many sonic goals going into it. We just all wanted to have fun and make whatever felt good to us, and this is what came out of it! I do really, really, really just f* with guitars though.”

Rev it
Brake it
Love ya
Mean it
Love it
Leave it
Take it
Keep it

That love for guitars, for grit, for feeling over perfection, defines the new era of Love You Mean It – both the song and the forthcoming EP of the same name. “It feels like the most apt energetically to describe what I was trying to get across with this project,” she adds. “If I could sum up a message, it would be to let yourself have fun.”

It’s simple, maybe, but it’s also radical – and after a few years of quiet, introspection, and growth, “Love You Mean It” and the five-track Love You, Mean It EP (independently out now) feel like the sound of Savannah Conley reclaiming her joy. It’s raw, wild, unapologetic, and free – and if this is the start of her next chapter, it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

I want a little bit of everything
Hold the world on a bit of string
(Love why don’t you lie)
Spin around until my limbs grow numb
(Why don’t you lie)
Stumble in where I belong
(Why don’t you lie to me)

Henry Grace’s “Say Something Mean” aches in all the right ways. It’s warm, bluesy, and tenderly rough around the edges – the kind of song that feels like it’s been waiting on vinyl since the ’70s, only to spin now with new life. Gritty guitar riffs mingle with dreamy acoustic strumming and playful bass lines, while Grace’s vocals come hot on the mic, dripping with rawness and sincerity. Warm harmonies bloom around him in the chorus, accentuating every ounce of heart and hurt in this soulful, slow-burning rocker.

“I’ve been foolish with my heart, I’ve been foolish with all of my dreams,” he confesses, his voice cracked and earnest. “I’ve been foolish with my heart, I’ve been foolish from the start so it seems…” There’s a tenderness in that delivery – an authenticity that makes it feel more confessional than performative. When the chorus arrives, he breaks free, pouring himself into that simple but devastating refrain: “Say something mean, like it don’t mean a thing.”

Grace has always been a songwriter unafraid of honesty, and here, he leans all the way in. The London-based artist – who spent formative years cutting his teeth in California before returning home – channels the soulful rock spirit of artists like Hiss Golden Messenger and Bonnie Light Horseman while grounding his sound in something deeply his own.

“‘Say Something Mean’ has always felt like a positive song to me, like breaking out, even when the lyrics might suggest something else,” Grace tells Atwood Magazine.

It’s that duality that gives the song its spark. Heartache lives at the center, but so does release; the song aches and soothes at the same time. “The whole thing was really built around the chorus ‘say something mean like it don’t mean a thing,’” he explains. “It worked sitting at my kitchen table with just my voice and guitar, but it was not until I took it to the band and Brian started playing the opening riff that the song grew wings.”

That band – Brian Love (guitar), Toby Evangelou (drums), Blaine Harrison (keys), and Tom Holder (bass) – helped Grace find a new gear. Together, they recorded live at Middle Farm Studios in Devon, chasing intensity and imperfection in equal measure. “Everyone gave everything to making this album,” he reflects. “We recorded live and with such intensity. There’s a yearning in the performances which I think we all felt. It was magical at times.”

And that yearning radiates through “Say Something Mean.” Even as Grace laments the foolishness of his own heart, the song never feels defeated – it feels alive. The chorus is cathartic, an anthem for letting go and finding joy amid the ache.

“I hope people get close to having as good a time listening to it as we did making it,” he says. “The song came out the week before we played Glastonbury, which was pretty special. I wish more people could hear it, so I’m grateful for people like you who are willing to shout about it.”

With its blend of grit and grace, tenderness and triumph, “Say Something Mean” stands as one of Henry Grace’s most captivating releases yet – a soulful, feel-good rocker that aches beautifully from the inside out. It’s a song to drive to, to drink to, to feel to. And if this is what’s coming from his forthcoming sophomore album Things Are Moving All Around Me (out January 16), then it’s safe to say he’s moving in all the right directions.

“It felt like there was a force willing these songs into existence,” Grace says of the album. “Everyone gave everything to making this record and I’m really proud of what we achieved.”

That same force runs through “Say Something Mean” – a current of honesty, heart, and human ache that makes every note feel alive. It hums like an old friend, familiar and true, even as it pushes Grace into new emotional territory. It’s music born of instinct and emotion, of movement, of the courage to feel everything fully, and of surrendering to whatever it is that needs to come out.

Warm, wistful, and wonderfully alive, “Say Something Mean” is a reminder of the beauty in feeling it all – a song that burns slow, hits deep, and lingers long after the last note fades.

“It’s time to see the world for what it really is. I’d say I knew, but I’m naïve.” Tough Cookie’s “The Countryside Is Good for You” feels like both a sigh and a scream – an intimate alternative reverie full of restless energy and aching desire to break free. It’s the kind of song that takes you somewhere far away and yet feels rooted deep in your chest. There’s something magnetic in the band’s sound – equal parts Radiohead-esque melancholy and Blur-style swagger – all filtered through their own raw, distinctly London-bred edge.

The British four-piece of August Tse, Daniel Hvorostovsky, Jess Ayres, and Gavin Sullivan, Tough Cookie have quickly emerged as one of the UK’s most exciting new voices in alternative rock. Emotional candour meets alt-rock grit in their music – delicate and restrained one moment, intensely heavy and distorted the next. They call it “alternative guitar music with sprinkles of grunge, rock and indie,” but there’s something far more human at its core: A charged introspection that turns chaos into catharsis. You can hear that throughout the band’s recently released debut mixtape The Countryside Is Good for You and its enchanting title track.

“The Countryside Is Good for You” opens like a memory slowly resurfacing – subdued, spacious, alive with quiet tension. “Now this chapter of my life is over,” August Tse sings, voice trembling with reflection and resolve. “I’ve seen the ins and outs of everyone I’ve got to know, but I still worry.” Each line brims with unease and longing, and as the song unfurls, that introspection builds into a tight, cathartic full-band crescendo. Guitars churn and crackle, the rhythm section pulses with urgency, and Tse’s delivery grows more fevered – an exhale that’s both freeing and fraught.

Now this chapter of my life is over
I’ve seen the ins and outs
of everyone I’ve got to know
But I still worry

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned
but I’m different
It takes me longer to adjust to change
Do people know how difficult it is
to be paranoid and uncertain?

There’s a beautiful contradiction at play here: A yearning for stillness delivered through sound that refuses to stay still. “The Countryside Is Good for You” wrestles with identity, change, and the illusion of escape – what it means to leave, to start again, to search for quiet when quiet itself can be deafening. “This is the oldest song on the record,” the band explain. “It first appeared in a very primitive demo August recorded years back when they had to move home to the countryside. Realising this is the end of a chapter of their life and the start of a new one this song was written. It’s about hindsight, not waiting for your calling. You have to make decisions for yourself to move forward in life without expecting others to do it for you.”

Walking slowly listening
for a wake up call that I can’t afford
Take my time for it’s worth nothing
’cause I spent four years
of my life deciding if I’m bored
I’m stuck on record

That sense of motion and reflection ripples throughout their debut mixtape The Countryside Is Good for You – eight songs forged in a Dalston basement, spanning five tumultuous years of self-discovery and change. It’s the sound of four friends figuring themselves out in real time: messy, vulnerable, and alive. The band describe it as “an honest account of navigating moments of vulnerability, disconnection, and escapism; a journey of self-discovery amid chaos.”

From the dizzy Britpop bursts of “Paycheck” to the cathartic ache of “Disappear,” Tough Cookie balance tenderness and tension with striking precision – delicate and restrained one minute, intensely heavy and distorted the next. They capture the chaos of youth and the calm that follows it; the push and pull between city noise and countryside silence.

There’s truth in the title, too. As Tse puts it, “It’s not necessarily as literal as going to the countryside – more of an intrinsic coping mechanism or manifestation.” These songs live in that in-between space: yearning for escape while knowing some demons travel with you.

Now for another year of isolation
Popularity’s a form of modern currency
But I’ll pull back positioning
myself on course for failure
And I’m not icing a change

It’s time to see the world
for what it really is
I’d say I knew, but I’m naive
I’m making money just to spend it on…

The Countryside Is Good for You is a powerful first statement – wistful, introspective, and nostalgic, as the band themselves describe it. But above all, it’s human. Restless and radiant, Tough Cookie have made something that aches and hums with life; a mixtape that reminds us that peace and chaos often coexist, and maybe that’s the point.

Raw, restless, and impossible to shake, “The Countryside Is Good for You” is the kind of song that makes you believe in rock music all over again – or at least, for the moment. And isn’t that enough?

Walking slowly listening
for a wake up call that I can’t afford
Take my time for it’s worth nothing
’cause I spent four years
of my life deciding if I’m bored
I’m stuck on record

rom the dirt in your nails / to the wear on your boots…” Westside Cowboy come in hot and heavy on “I’ve Never Met Anyone I Thought I Could Really Love (Until I Met You),” a raw and raucous spark plug of a debut single that turns one year old this month – and deserves every candle on the cake. A whopper of a name and a song, it’s fiery punk and pure passion, all charming indie rock swagger and adrenaline – an unapologetically unfiltered tempest full of overdrive and unbridled, searing emotion. The Manchester four-piece of Aoife Anson O’Connell, James (Jimmy) Bradbury, Paddy Murphy, and Reuben Haycocks sound brand new and beautifully timeworn at once: Mouthwatering dynamics, a headrush backbeat, twinned guitars that snarl and shimmer, and vocals that teeter between breathless confession and battle cry. It’s breathtaking – and a fantastic introduction to a band with limitless potential.

“Sometimes love is tender. Other times it just sounds like a snare drum,” the band share. “This song for us was a liberation from serious music. A blunt love song. We just love guitars and hanging out. We started this as a joke when we were all a bit miserable, but now we actually have to put some effort in. We just wanted to write a good song – this is the best we’ve got for now.”

(Westside Cowboy!)
This’ll work for now
Unless this all works out
This’ll work for now
Unless this all works out
But that type of luck
don’t happen to blokes like me

Remember the scene
The place you loved so violently
Never find the words
Never stop and speak

There’s romance in the wreckage here; grit wrapped in melody. The verses move like late-night memory, and then the chorus rips the ceiling off: “I’ve never met anyone I thought I could really love / ’til I met you.” You can feel the room shake as the drums convulse and the guitars ignite, that classic three-chord rush hitting like a first kiss and a first pint all at once. It’s fun and feverish, messy and magnetic – the kind of song you play twice in a row because once isn’t nearly enough.

From the dirt in your nails
To the wear on your boots
I’ve never met anyone
I thought I could really love
‘Til I met you

“I think this was either the second or third song we wrote as Westside Cowboy,” drummer Paddy Murphy tells Atwood Magazine. “Believe it or not, it began life as a shitty Magnetic Fields impression, but it took a turn quite quickly. Without much conversation about it about half the chords and sections and then played it like a rock song, cutting out anything too flowery, and there it is, I suppose. LOUD quiet LOUD. Verse Chorus Verse, repeat. It was the first time that any of us had had a part in writing a half decent pop song, and none of us could really believe it. Not to say that song is anything special, not at all, but it was our little scuffed rendition I guess.”

And the lights so harsh
In this pinstripe car park
Don’t leave the engine on
It’ll never start

That ethos – blunt and brash, but achingly heartfelt – courses through their debut EP This Better Be Something Great (released Augut 8^th via Heist or Hit and Nice Swan). Tracked live with Mercury winner Lewis Whiting, the record bottles the band’s “Britainicana” chaos: scrappy skiffle spirit, classic harmony-soaked, major-key rock’n’roll, and slacker-cool indie grit colliding at full tilt. You hear the optimism and the community they talk about baked into every bar – music for everyone, meant to be felt more than finessed.

(What did you think was gonna happen
when you took that shot in the dark?)
From the dirt in your nails
To the wear on your boots
(What did you think was gonna happen
when you took that shot in the dark?)
I’ve never met anyone I thought I could really love
‘Til I met you

As first impressions go, “I’ve Never Met Anyone I Thought I Could Really Love (Until I Met You)” is a flag-in-the-sand moment – a territorial statement and a love song with its sleeves rolled up. Raw, romantic, and impossible to shake, it’s the kind of debut single that makes you believe in rock music all over again – and This Better Be Something Great more than lives up to its name.

From the dirt in your nails
(Shot in the dark)
To the wear on your boots
(Shot in the dark)
I’ve never found someone that I could love better than you

From the dirt in your nails
The dirt in your nails

There’s something irresistibly hypnotic about Jane Leo’s “I Want to Be Left Out.” It’s alluring, seductive, and utterly weird in the best possible way – a post-punk, new wave fever dream that seduces the senses and never lets go. Synths pulse. Drums churn. Guitars sway and shimmer in the dark. Jane Ellen Bryant’s vocals move between singing, speaking, screaming, and sighing – each delivery more captivating than the last. The result is a magnetic, scintillating experience that’s as theatrical as it is raw, a delirious, high-gloss act of rebellion wrapped in velvet and chrome.

Lust without identity
could be a misdemeanor felony
Arms pinned hiked leather skirt
Should aim for pleasure where it hurts
I’ve educated my desires,
with VHS ultraviolet
Romantic failures taunt my fears
But we’re not here to share tears

The Austin-based duo of singer Jane Ellen Bryant and guitarist-producer Daniel Leopold, Jane Leo craft a sound they call “neon noir” – a modern spin on the late-‘70s and early-‘80s post-punk and art-pop they both adore. Pulled from the pair’s recently released sophomore album Creature of Destruction, “I Want to Be Left Out” is, as they describe it, “a song for the introverts not playing anyone else’s game.” It’s bold, biting, brimming with attitude, and it captures everything that makes Jane Leo so distinctive: A fusion of danger, drama, and undeniable groove. “The character Jane’s voice takes on in this song has become a JL staple,” Daniel Leopold explains. “That sarcastic, somewhat bratty persona she channels allows us to get away with a lot. We send her in to spread the message.”

That message? Defiance, delivered with a wink. “Designer clothes, alcohol / Expensive habits in bathroom stalls / I want to be left out, I want to be left out.” The refrain is hypnotic, liberating, and slightly absurd – a declaration of independence dressed in sequins and distortion.

“The choruses really say it all,” Leopold adds. “For example, I have been sober now for 14 years. Jane separated herself from the church life she grew up in. We’ve left some things behind on purpose.”

Designer clothes, alcohol
Expensive habits in bathroom stalls
I want to be left out,
I want to be left out

“I Want to Be Left Out” doesn’t just play with contradiction; it thrives on it. It’s sexy and cynical, playful and profound – a siren song for the introverts who refuse to play anyone else’s game. Jane Leo’s “neon noir” aesthetic shines brightest here, a kaleidoscopic blend of Blondie, St. Vincent, and Talking Heads that feels equally nostalgic and futuristic.

I’m diving deep I’m driving steel
Climatic shift tectonic feel
Lipstick stain my bearskin rug
Choose you to wear me like glove

Board meetings, country clubs
Church group, group hugs
I want to be left out
I want to be left out

Released September 19^th via Native Fiction Records, Creature of Destruction channels that same electric defiance across its nine tracks – bold, innovative, and fun, as the duo themselves describe it. Written through the years that saw them fall in love, tour, and get married, the record feels like both an artistic evolution and a celebration of creative freedom. “We really honed in on who we are together sonically and personally,” Bryant shares. “This record showcases our artistry and songwriting. It’s bold and it’s freeing.”

The fun is just around the corner
You’re a real borasauras
Healthy provisions in the back lot
Flaunt what you’ve got, you’ve got a lot

“I Want to Be Left Out” may be a song for the outsiders, but it’s one that invites you in completely. Dazzling and defiant, magnetic and mesmerizing, it’s a reminder that sometimes rebellion is the most beautiful – and certainly the most compelling – sound of all.

Collective consciousness
Political nonsense
I want to be left out
I want to be left out

I feel alive all of the time
Ohhh, ahhhh, ohhh, ahhh

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