We are haunted. By what? We’re not supposed to know. Our past, our uncertain futures, ghosts of dead possibilities—all swirling in the background. Knoll summons but doesn’t exorcise them, it exercises them. The vicious Tennessee outfit engages in a fusion of metal styles that borders on outright warfare. The pitched sorrow of doom, the lacerating speed of grind and the drama of black metal all combine in their newest As Spoken. And we spoke to them below.

There’s beauty in desolation. Any drive through west Texas can teach you that. The sunlight is harsh, trying to dry and burn everything it touches. The trees are lonely sentinels, standing watch alone. But that alien landscape can conjure up the sublime through its emptiness. And Houston’s Shallowater evokes that hollowness well. The trio plays a mix of ‘90s looking grunge with a twist of country and shoegaze. If you were ever into Denton cult heroes Lift to Experience, Shallowater’s ragged, psychedelic understanding of Texas music history will entice and hold you. We talked to them about their debut album There is a Well, below.

The tambourine player will usher in the apocalypse. Or so hoped fictional punk band Cacophony. According to Gumshoes maestro and lore master Sam Sparks, the fake 9-piece band he created were the dregs of the ‘90s bands grabbing record label deals as cocaine-fueled executives desperately tried to find the next Nirvana. Cacophony (the album) follows the band in the aftermath of their implosion, each of them putting their faith in a new music avenue for deliverance, whether that be searching for cold hard cash, an alien abduction or summoning the rapture. If that all sounds a bit too heady for you, don’t worry, it’ll worm its way into your subconscious thanks to the absurdly catchy tunes delivering the tale. “Nobodies” is like Bell and Sebastian at their most ragged, following the pyromaniac guitarist as he builds a bonfire out of his own songs. Meanwhile “Low Fantasy” grooves like a Mario Kart backing tune. Chamber pop bliss, with rapturous consequences. We chatted with Gumshoes below.

In HP Lovecraft’s The Outsider, madness comes from reflection, an understanding of the self. Iravu inverts the fear that made Lovecraft so detestable into acceptance. Through progressive, in all senses of the word, metal, Iravu soars through a sci-fi concept album that shreds with Van Halen-esque guitar solos over blistering drum fills. Acceptance through transcendence. We talked with Iravu below.

What’s lost is found. And what’s found is beautiful. Chandan Narayan has explored musical, natural and colonial history through 78s, the great discs of shellac that predated vinyl. His collections bring light and sound to an era of Carnatic music from southern India. There is a history here that’s rich as it is deep. We talked to Narayan below.

Satisfying, but never self satisfied, Germany’s Conic Rose blend together a sumptuously smooth mix of nu jazz, electronica and lo-fi hip-hop that still never strays away from moments of startling virtuosity, or sudden left turns. The ever spiraling patterns of “Gleisdreieck” sigh into the cutesy bop “Heller Tag” while “Miranda” soars like suped up Arve Henriksen. Sexy, adventurous, comforting.

Yonder; it’s over there somewhere. Or over when, either way, it’s just ‘round the corner. There’s a pleasantly surreal implication to Yonder, the word, and Yonder, the album. The same could be said for the merry band of rabble rousers who gesture you yonder. Atlanta guitar gardeners Arbor Labor Union play rapid psych country like the Grateful Dead with a stopwatch, ripping through post-punk flavored twang. There’s no Cheshire Cat smirk to their reality-bending notions, just a grin and a high dive into a labyrinth of intwining guitars and dime-turn tempo shifts. So, let’s follow them. Yonder. 

Life is short. Recovery is long. The peak of the COVID pandemic reduced most of us to a half-space, limbo between reality and absurdism. And those who dealt with the ravages of long COVID, their bodies thrown into flux by the longtail effects of the virus, feel even further into the liminal. Composer Nyokabi Kariũki contracted COVID, then felt her body stammer. Over months of recovery, her life came to a standstill, even as the world demanded she move forward. Endless emails, friends who no longer asked how she was doing, her own internal doubts all flooded her mind. But, part of her recovery was FEELING BODY, an avant-beauty primarily composed for voice that sifts through the haze COVID, and society, encased Kariũki in.

There is a deep call, from the bottom of the river, from the gleaming brass of a trumpet, from the soul of a stand up bass. Mali Obomsawin has heard it and grasped it with both hands. The bandleader, singer, upright bassist and general polymath’s most recent album, Sweet Tooth, was a beguiling and haunting trek through free jazz freakouts, curdled hymns and unscripted beauty. Obomsawin is from the Abenaki First Nation at Odanak, and the longing and reflection that shimmers out from Sweet Tooth reveals a lineage of genocide, colonialism and a slow death of wilderness. It’s not easy listening, but Sweet Tooth, and Obomsawin’s, mastery of jazz’s revolutionary sound and history makes it necessary listening. We talked with Obomsawin below.

Ferociously catchy–or just plain ferocious? Indiana’s Perfect Angel at Heaven have cleaved off a fine slab of post-punk, with hints of jangle pop and post-hardcore embedded in their debut EP. The dueling strengths at the core of the work are the hard-edged, headknocking muscle they play with and the charming knack for hooks they slather across the EP. Casey Noonan’s soaring, near operatic vocals might be the perfect fodder for sobbing strings, but instead they add an anthemic procession to a gritty, mosh-pit inducing frenzy. This is one of the most deliriously catchy EPs released in recent memory, but isn’t afraid to kick your teeth in. Near perfection in four songs, and enough promise to salivate over. We talked to Perfect Angel at Heaven below.