Few bands land an album so insanely packed with addictive tracks and unique production quite like Jungle did on Volcano, so anything following that would have some trouble living up to that legacy, even purely on singles. And while their latest record is more of a slow-burner, the depth they bring to the production across this record, while also mixing in a lot of vintage timbres, is something to be marvelled at. “Sunshine” has a hyperpop production feel that takes it further into the future than the band’s past work, blending a sound that samples a symphony while also making every vocal exchange feel like half of a duet, half of a sampledelica dream. You’re thrown into a rush of sonic heaven on “Move Like You Do” that feels like a flood, where the bass constantly dances, while synths and a few dozen other small instruments swirl around Lydia Kitto’s voice in a tight club drive. The group plays to their Loaded Honey ends the most on “Carry On,” essentially crafting a retro classic with better bass and subtle details that would never have existed in the era. The result is a sweet and rich sonic throwback, though one that leaves you curious why it didn’t land on that other project’s setlist. “The Wave” swings with such an intoxicating groove and vocal charge that it’s hard to listen to it just once.
Two decades from his breakout album, James Blunt has left the heavy heart for beachy romance on “Tastes Like Summer.” Though the track has a sense of summer love in its sultry notes, there’s also a heavy weight looming over it in those melancholic chords. As you get further into the track, you can feel a sense of impending loss coming on, almost as if Blunt is actually recounting a breakup from the beginning. Each lyric gains a sense of a hunter stalking prey, and at times there’s even a vampiric quality to everything. Like it’s eternity or utter consumption — assuming the only other option is losing each other.
Every so often a band can blend genres in a way that feels so fresh and off-the-wall that it becomes a genre unto itself. And despite cracking at it for nearly two decades, Mass of the Fermenting Dregs aka Masu Dore are hungry and sharp as ever, giving you a kinetic Japanese rock sound, but mashing in so many shoegaze, emo and post-punk flavours that it becomes all their own. There’s a beauty and a burn to “Simmer Summer” that you can feel right away, as every guitar line tells a story of nostalgia but also devastation, and longing; it’s easy to get lost in those chords. The instant flood of joy on the racing sound of “Let It Go” makes you want to get up and dance, and shake your cares away, and somehow recalls a bit of The Joy Formidable and Broken Social Scene in its massive-yet-melancholic barrage. The bass tones and harmonies are like divine daggers on “Dareka ga kizu wo ou sono shunkan wo,” but the way they spin it between all the shoegaze influence and some frantic emo and more explosive rock elements makes for a wholly unique listen that sends you into the stratosphere. The band builds a slow but massive wave on “Ghost,” slowly enveloping you in their wall of sound by layering so many guitars on top of each other that it becomes a force of calm destruction by the end of its nine-minute run.
Blending 90s aesthetics with the kind of character work that would make Alex Cameron blush, Lukie Lovechild’s latest single is a cheeky delight. The combination of a lot of icy, glossy synths with bass runs that dance between low-key and funktastic ecstasy makes the track feel like Earth, Wind and Fire collaborated with Rick Astley and then had a cigarette next to the mixer. The lo-fi elements add a fun indie quality to the whole mix, giving it a little more 80s je-ne-sais quoi. And every string hit bounces off the grooves in a way that makes you want to get lost in a drunken dancing haze. The track brings every different end of Lukie Lovechild’s older material into sharper focus for a single that is spice first, and nice second.
Despite her insane output across various projects and her overall imprint on musical culture, it’s crazy to think we’re only on LP number three for Phoebe Bridgers in 2026. But with that time and a lot of other projects in the meantime, this album, like Punisher before it, feels like a massive leap forward in her sound that she can proudly claim to be her best yet. Plus, Bridgers spins her usually powerful use of quiet to take her songs and build them into these monsters that can feel like completely different tracks by the end. “Lost Boys” sets the album off with vocal distortion and harmony tracks reminiscent of later Bon Iver work, before Bridgers explodes into a beautiful dance of acoustic timbres. Frankly, this track mixes everything that makes Bridgers’ music so fantastic, whether it be the horns, the depth of her emotions, strings, or personally that gutturally satisfying yell into the final explosion of a chorus. With a rippling guitar that feels like an echo of “Bohemian Rhapsody” for a moment, “Kill Me” sets off floating through the ether, slowly blooming into a ghostly guitar ballad that feels like it’s a flame expanding and dying in the darkness until it can’t be contained any longer. “The Governor’s Waltz” makes you want to cry from the outset in its deep longing, and that’s long before the tearjerking piano line and lost soul-like vocal traces give you a twisting feeling in your gut. The tones are charmingly rustic on “Haunted” as the mandolin charge feels like a rising sun in its early moments, giving so much of the first half the feeling like it’s leading to a hoedown or a Celtic dance. Which is why it’s so fun to find Bridgers breaking out of her cage, and wailing into that last chorus with a triumphant wall of golden harmonies and clear smiles just from the sound of her voice.
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