London’s WGMC – William McLaughlin by full name – dropped “Dragon Hentai Tears” on April 14th, his second single. The pitch is straightforward: no instruments, just recorded vocals that have been altered, modified, and mapped to a BPM to build every single layer of the track. McLaughlin is a chef by trade and a self-described passionate creative, and this one is very much a personal statement – the kind of thing someone makes because they genuinely wanted to see if it could be done.
From the title alone, you immediately get the impression that this is going to be an eccentric sonic ride, but there is a very high chance that you did not guess what it was going to sound like correctly. It’s actually tamer, more subdued, and more musical than you’d think, and the transformed vocals that make up every instrument give every layer a very interesting timbre – one that is very rewarding to listen to as a music nerd.
As a second single, it’s a confident left turn, and the all-vocal construction is a genuine constraint that produces genuinely interesting results. Limitations breed creativity, and for this kind of music, where there are no rules, it’s genuinely fresh to listen to because it’s pure self-expression. There are no boxes to tick, there is no label to please, no quota to fill, it’s just childlike curiosity basically, which is always great to experience. Whether WGMC keeps pushing this direction or takes it somewhere else entirely, this is the kind of release that’s hard to forget once you’ve heard it.
Genova’s Andrea Pizzo and The Purple Mice released “Come Out Lazarus 2 – Ineffability” on April 5th, the second chapter of their Come Out Lazarus cycle and part of the wider People Zero concept project. Where the first instalment approached a fatal accident and organ donation from the outside, this one flips the perspective entirely – the listener is now inside the experience, following a heart transplant recipient through the moment consciousness comes loose. The lyrics, written by Raffaella Turbino, move through recognisable near-death territory: the out-of-body lift, the tunnel, the sense of boundless love. It resists being clinical about any of it. Roberto Tiranti handles all the arrangements and instruments, building something immersive and unhurried around Andrea Pizzo and Riccardo Morello’s vocals.
Andrea Pizzo’s use of sparse elements that usually make the downtempo sound is uniquely spacious. However, it’s not in a sci-fi space sound achieved by just putting some reverb on everything and calling it a day. It sounds like interior space – like the thought process inside our own minds – which works perfectly with the song’s story. The sound is very much Andrea’s own, though he doesn’t shy away from citing his influences. He proudly wears them on his sleeve, and the most relevant for this song are Pink Floyd and Massive Attack for sure.
The collective has been building an international audience steadily – their 2025 album Transhumanity pulled a 7/10 from Mystic Sons, and they’ve found particular traction in the Czech Republic, Germany, and South America. “Ineffability” is a meaningful step forward from the rock textures of the first chapter, and as a concept piece, it earns its ambition.
There’s a difference between music that represents time and music that occupies it. “As War Starts!” by Shmeisani Jazz Massive belongs to the latter, existing not as reflection, but as presence, unfolding without the safety of distance.
“As War Starts!” by Shmeisani Jazz Massive feels suspended in immediacy. The drums don’t just keep rhythm, they interrupt it, reshape it. Keys drift between melodic suggestion and atmospheric haze, while bass and guitar move like signals trying to find ground. It’s collective improvisation in its purest form: not performance, but response. You’re not listening to a polished arrangement; you’re inside a conversation happening in real time.
Recorded during the group’s earliest sessions together, the track carries that fragile electricity of musicians discovering each other mid-flight. But beyond that, it holds something heavier, the sense that the outside world was shifting at the exact same moment. The music doesn’t attempt to narrate that shift. It absorbs it, stretches around it, and continues.
What gives the piece its quiet weight is how seamlessly reality enters. As the sound thins out, air raid sirens begin to surface, not as an effect, not as a decision layered in later, but as part of the environment itself. The boundary between music and life dissolves. What remains is not a climax, but a document, something that insists on being heard exactly as it happened.
There’s something deeply honest about how Shmeisani Jazz Massive presents this work. No rollout, no noise, no attempt to frame it beyond what it already is. Just a basement studio in one of Amman’s most culturally alive neighborhoods, and a group of musicians compelled to create. The result is raw, unfiltered, and strikingly present, music that doesn’t escape its context, but exists fully within it.
In a time where so much is delayed, edited, and reframed, “As War Starts!” by Shmeisani Jazz Massive insists on something else entirely: presence; no hindsight, no distance, just now..
Warm air, distant waves, and a sky dissolving into gold, “Daydreaming” by Psyborg feels less like a song and more like a place. It’s built on sensation as much as sound, pulling you into a world where everything moves just a little slower. With “Daydreaming,” Psyborg doesn’t rush the listener; he gently repositions them, somewhere between presence and escape.
The production leans into a deep house and chillout palette that prioritizes space over saturation. Lush synths stretch across the mix like a fading horizon, warm but never overwhelming, while the rhythm remains understated: a soft, steady pulse that feels more like breathing than movement. It’s a carefully controlled stillness, where every element is allowed to exist without pressure.
Psyborg’s vocal performance feels almost weightless. Breathy, intimate, and slightly dissolving at the edges, it doesn’t sit above the track; it floats within it. There’s a quiet emotional pull in the delivery, a sense that the voice is guiding you inward without ever demanding your attention. It’s subtle, but deeply intentional.
The track unfolds through themes of mindfulness, patience, and self-reclamation. The words don’t aim to impress; they create space. Phrases around growth and quiet clarity land like internal affirmations, allowing the listener to project their own meaning onto them. It’s less about telling a story and more about opening a feeling, one rooted in softness and release.
Then comes the trumpet: warm, expressive, unmistakably human. It weaves through the electronic textures with ease, adding a layer of emotional depth that feels both grounding and nostalgic. Its presence gently shifts the track from purely atmospheric into something more personal, more lived-in.
“Daydreaming” by Psyborg resonates with its fluidity. There are no sharp transitions, no forced peaks, just a continuous unfolding that mirrors the act of drifting itself. Psyborg’s strength lies in restraint, in knowing when to hold back and let the music breathe.
Emerging from the Netherlands, Psyborg continues to craft immersive electronic soundscapes that sit comfortably between rhythm and reflection. And in “Daydreaming,” Psyborg refines that balance into something quietly compelling.
By the end, you’re not searching for a climax or a conclusion; you’re simply there, suspended in the atmosphere it created. That’s the quiet impact of “Daydreaming” by Psyborg: it doesn’t take you away from yourself, it brings you back: softer, slower, and finally ready to unwind..
Rooted in a mid-tempo pulse, Andrius’ “Contradiction Groove” opens with a sense of control and quiet intention. From the outset, Andrius leans into a subtle funk undercurrent, shaping a groove that feels fluid without ever becoming excessive or predictable.
The rhythm section is clean and grounded, but what truly shapes the listening experience is the layering. Elements arrive with restraint: percussive details, synth textures, and tonal shifts, each one extending the sonic landscape rather than crowding it. There’s a natural progression at play, where repetition becomes evolution.
What gives the track its character is this ongoing dialogue between opposites. Warm, enveloping synths drift alongside more precise, defined accents, creating a push-and-pull that feels intentional rather than accidental. It’s not contrast for the sake of drama, it’s contrast as structure. The track breathes in this space, allowing tension and release to coexist without urgency.
From a production standpoint, everything feels considered. The low end supports rather than dominates, giving the groove a steady foundation while leaving room for the upper layers to move freely. The stereo field is handled with care, offering width without losing focus. It’s the kind of mix that doesn’t call attention to itself, but you feel its clarity in every moment.
There’s also a versatility here that works in its favor. The track sits comfortably between deep electronic and groove-driven house, with just enough atmospheric depth to carry it into more introspective listening spaces. Whether placed in a late-night set or experienced alone, it maintains a distinct presence without overstating its intent.
With “Contradiction Groove,” Andrius refines the idea of contrast into something fluid and cohesive. And in doing so, Andrius’ “Contradiction Groove” becomes less about opposition, and more about alignment.
On “Close as Kin,” Hi Ho, Six Shooter! strip things back to what matters: connection, memory, and the quiet endurance of both. It’s a track that resists overstatement, choosing instead to settle into something more lasting. Coming out of Richmond, Virginia, the band return not with spectacle, but with a kind of emotional precision that feels earned over time.
There’s an unforced intimacy in the way “Close as Kin” unfolds. The vocals don’t reach outward; they sit with you. There’s a conversational ease in the delivery, as if the lyrics are being remembered rather than performed. Lines like “called you brother before I even knew what that meant” carry a quiet weight, grounded in lived experience rather than poetic excess. It’s this restraint that allows the emotion to breathe.
The track leans into warm alt-country and folk textures, but never feels confined by them. Acoustic guitars provide a steady, grounding presence, while subtle layers: faint strings and restrained percussion move in the background like passing thoughts. There’s a gentle interplay between brighter tones and more introspective moments, mirroring the way memory holds both comfort and ache at once.
What lingers most is the song’s understanding of distance, not as loss, but as transformation. This is a portrait of friendship that evolves rather than fades, where silence doesn’t erase connection, it reshapes it. There’s no dramatic peak, no forced resolution, just a quiet acknowledgment that some bonds exist beyond time, beyond proximity.
For a band once defined by their twangy irreverence and barroom spirit, this feels like a deepening rather than a departure. The playfulness still flickers beneath the surface, but it’s now held alongside reflection, patience, and a clearer sense of what they want to say.
With “Close as Kin,” Hi Ho, Six Shooter! offer something rare, music that gracefully settles in like a memory you realize you’ve been carrying all along..
There’s a quiet authority in the way “Reminder” by Joel Veena, featuring Jasdeep Singh, unfolds, trusting the listener to arrive fully before revealing itself. It doesn’t rush to impress or overwhelm; it settles, grounded and assured, like something that has already endured and come back to speak.
A sense of invocation lingers from the very first bend of Joel Veena’s 20-stringed Indian slide guitar. Rooted in the late-morning raga Jaunpuri, the piece carries a restrained, inward longing, one that reveals itself gradually. Joel’s phrasing breathes with intention, each note shaped and held just enough to feel lived-in. There’s a striking vocal quality in his playing, as if the instrument is recalling rather than declaring.
At the heart of the piece, a dialogue begins to take form. Jasdeep Singh’s jori enters not as accompaniment, but as a presence: low, resonant, and deeply grounded. It listens, responds, and at times gently resists, creating a subtle tension that keeps the music alive. This is not about display; it’s about exchange. About two voices choosing to meet in awareness rather than compete.
Beneath the surface, a quiet historical weight carries through the collaboration. As one of the first recorded encounters between Hindustani slide guitar and the jori, it doesn’t feel experimental; it feels inevitable. Like two traditions finally recognizing each other across time.
As the piece unfolds further, a tightening becomes noticeable. The jori grows more insistent, the guitar more searching. You feel the friction, the necessary resistance that gives the music its meaning. And then, release. Not dramatic, but earned. A soft exhale after tension has done its work.
Within the track’s unfolding, the title Reminder begins to resonate more deeply: strength is not given, it is formed through persistence. Through staying. Through moving with and against what resists you. The music doesn’t explain this; it embodies it.
“Reminder” by Joel Veena and Jasdeep Singh lingers as something more than a listening experience. It becomes a space you return to, each time uncovering a little more of what it quietly holds..
There’s a certain precision to “TIME TO FLY (REMIX)” by Adik Angel that reveals itself almost immediately, not just in its energy, but in how deliberately that energy is shaped. Adik Angel’s “TIME TO FLY (Alternate Mix)” feels engineered for movement, not chaos. It doesn’t overwhelm; it aligns.
Rooted in electro-house, the track leans into a streamlined, forward-driving pulse. The beat is steady, confident, and unwavering, giving the listener something to lock into. Around it, bright synth lines cut through with clarity: sharp but not aggressive, melodic without becoming sentimental. There’s a balance here that feels intentional: uplift without excess, momentum without noise.
What stands out is the sense of control. Instead of relying on dramatic drops or heavy contrasts, the track builds through continuity. Layers are introduced with subtlety, transitions glide rather than collide, and the overall arc feels cohesive from start to finish. It’s less about peaks and more about sustained elevation.
There’s also a quiet discipline behind the production. You can hear it in the spacing, in the restraint, in the way each element has room to exist without competing. That compositional awareness, likely rooted in Adik Angel’s classical background, gives the track a kind of structural elegance that sets it apart from more disposable EDM releases.
At the same time, “TIME TO FLY (REMIX)” by Adik Angel doesn’t lose its accessibility. It’s still a feel-good track at its core, designed to recharge rather than challenge. But it does so with a level of polish that makes the experience feel considered, not accidental.
Adik Angel’s “TIME TO FLY (Alternate Mix)” leaves you with a steady afterglow rather than a fleeting high. It’s not about escape, it’s about recalibration. A subtle, well-crafted push forward that lingers just enough to shift your pace..
Minneapolis alternative rock band Perry Project announce the release of their fourth major album, Animals That Trusted You, out Friday, June 26, 2026. Written throughout 2024 by singer-songwriter Tracy Perry Jr. and guitarist Stafford Christensen, and produced by Owen Sartori, the album is Perry Project’s most intimate and emotionally direct work to date — a record that sits unflinchingly in the aftermath of broken trust, examining the silence left behind when relationships fall apart.
“Animals That Trusted You” explores what happens after the damage is done — not just between people, but within yourself. Shaped by real experiences of heartbreak, divorce, family separation, and the lingering sense of powerlessness that comes from watching painful events unfold both in the world around you and in your own backyard, the sessions produced something raw, atmospheric, and deeply felt. Guitars move between warm melodies and uneasy, off-balance tones shaped by unconventional tunings, creating a subtle instability that mirrors the emotional terrain the album maps. The arrangements give space for feeling to settle rather than resolve, resulting in a record that refuses the comfort of easy answers.
Lead single “Callous” opens the album and sets its emotional compass — previewing a band that has grown both sonically and personally with every release, and arriving with something to say that could only come from this particular chapter of Tracy’s life.
“Animals That Trusted You” is Perry Project’s fourth major release, following their 2022 EP Liars, Fires and their previous albums Can’t Steal Soul (2014) and Regardless of Everything, Are You Okay? (2019). It is mixed by Owen Sartori, Adrian Bushby (MUSE), and Math Bishop (Taylor Swift), and mastered by Frank Arkwright of Abbey Road Studios — whose credits include Coldplay, The Killers, The Verve, and The Smiths.
Tracy Perry Jr. grew up in Ridgecrest, California — a remote town in the Mojave Desert where long stretches of empty highway kept the world at a distance. With little to do and endless quiet, imagination became essential. He spent those long, hot days coming up with songs in his head for the people he observed, recording homemade radio shows with his siblings, and dissecting music the way only a future songwriter can: isolating bass lines, guitar parts, and vocal harmonies, studying how songs were constructed before he had the language to describe what he was doing.
The revelation came in high school. Hearing Oasis’s Champagne Supernova for the first time, something clicked. He picked up a guitar and immediately started writing. A friend’s invitation to open a show — with no material ready — pushed him to write a handful of songs in a hurry. Nervous and shaking, he performed for a crowd of about ten people, discovered something he couldn’t ignore, and never looked back.
He relocated to Seattle, launched Perry Project on Myspace in 2007, and spent the following years writing constantly — crafting over sixty songs and finding in songwriting something more enduring than any original collaborative plan. After enlisting in the U.S. Air Force, he spent deployment days off writing and playing guitar, and continued performing relentlessly while stationed in Tampa. In 2012 he moved to Minneapolis, invested his military savings in his debut album, and connected with producer Davide Raso to bring years of material to life. Can’t Steal Soul arrived in 2014, mastered by Joe LaPorta, known for his work with David Bowie, Foo Fighters, and Imagine Dragons.
The addition of guitarist Stafford Christensen — a Minnesota native influenced by Pat Metheny, Sting, and David Gilmour — expanded Perry Project into a full band and transformed the project’s dynamic. That collaboration deepened through Regardless of Everything, Are You Okay?, the pandemic-era Liars, Fires EP, and now into the intimately constructed sessions that produced Animals That Trusted You.
Let’s take a moment and really listen, shall we? Because what Alex Krawczyk offers in “Like the Passing Clouds” isn’t just a song—it’s a gentle but firm reminder about how we manage our inner world. And quite frankly, it’s something many of us could do with learning.
From the very beginning, the tone is calm, measured, and intentional. There’s no chaos here, no overwhelming noise competing for attention. Instead, a soft acoustic guitar lays down a steady foundation, like a reassuring presence in the room. The arrangement is tidy, thoughtful—nothing excessive, nothing out of place. And that’s important. Because when everything is in balance musically, it allows the message to come through clearly.
Now, let’s talk about that message.
“I welcome my thoughts like the passing clouds.” It’s a simple line, but it carries weight. What Krawczyk is doing here is modeling emotional regulation—acknowledging thoughts without letting them take control. She’s not suppressing feelings, nor is she overwhelmed by them. She’s observing, allowing, and then letting them move on. That’s a skill. A vital one.
Her vocal delivery reinforces this beautifully. There’s no strain, no need to prove anything. She sings with calm authority, the kind that comes from understanding rather than reacting. It feels grounded, centered—like someone who has taken the time to sit with their emotions instead of running from them.
And that’s where the real strength of this song lies.
Too often, we’re encouraged to either ignore our feelings or dramatize them. “Like the Passing Clouds” offers a third path. It encourages awareness. Reflection. Patience. Krawczyk doesn’t rush to fix things, and she certainly doesn’t pretend everything is perfect. When she asks, “Am I here or am I gone?” she’s acknowledging confusion—but she doesn’t spiral. She stays present.
Musically, the song follows that same philosophy. There’s no dramatic build, no explosive release. It remains steady, controlled, and consistent. Some listeners might expect more of a payoff, but that would completely miss the point. This is about maintaining balance, not chasing extremes.
And I must say, there’s something quite reassuring about that.
“Like the Passing Clouds” creates a safe emotional space. It doesn’t overwhelm you, and it doesn’t abandon you either. It simply sits beside you, encouraging you to breathe, to observe, and to carry on with a bit more clarity than before.
In many ways, it feels like guidance without instruction—a quiet nudge rather than a lecture.
And perhaps that’s what makes it so effective.
Because when all is said and done, this isn’t just a song you listen to. It’s a song you learn from.
