Blending blues rock with alternative and classic rock influences, the single tackles the homelessness crisis across American cities, from Los Angeles to San Francisco. Its central idea is deceptively simple: everyone is living in their own version of la la land. Politicians offer reassurances, families struggle to make ends meet, and individuals chase money or substances in search of an escape. Meanwhile, the crisis continues beyond the edges of their carefully maintained realities.

For Trail Hawk, this is far from an outsider’s perspective. The Frankfort, Kentucky-based artist is a recovering alcoholic and addict who has experienced homelessness firsthand. The devastating loss of his son to addiction also shaped his return to songwriting after decades away, lending his work a personal dimension that extends beyond social commentary. Inspired in part by Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror,” Trail Hawk approaches these difficult subjects without turning the song into a lecture.

There’s an interesting contrast in the choice to pair such heavy material with an upbeat, accessible rock sound. Rather than overwhelming listeners with the gravity of its subject, “La La Land” draws them in before asking them to look a little closer. It skillfully raises the uncomfortable questions without necessarily sacrificing its immediate appeal.

The single precedes Trail Hawk’s forthcoming EP of the same name, due November 3, 2026; and with five songs reaching the Hypeddit Top 100 in recent months, including “One Hundred Angels,” which peaked at number four on the Gospel chart, the artist is absolutely building momentum on the independent scene.

In “La La Land,” Trail Hawk turns the idea of living in a bubble into a critique of a society that rarely slows down long enough to question itself. The single may be easy to listen to, but its central message is harder to shake: indifference can become a habit before we even realise it..

The song hits all the notes you’d expect it to: it’s heavy, it’s powerful, it’s pretty unapologetically edgy. The pacing is great, and the dynamics between the verses and the choruses are incredible. It’s classic anthemic banger territory when it comes to the chorus especially, with huge drum fills and starts and stops that really sell the weight of each drop. The vocals are definitely a highlight here because those lyrics can easily just completely miss the mark if the vocals aren’t as commanding as they are here.

The band’s bio describes a body of work built around grief, desire, regret, love, and the memories that refuse to stay buried, so a track this combative shows another side of the project. It is a reminder that MICHAEL & THE GUILLOTINE can be as comfortable making noise as they are with atmosphere, and “The Hydra Blues” gives that side of them a loud, memorable headline. Anyone who has had enough of being told who to be will find something to shout along to.

Originally intended as the band’s sophomore release, the record was left behind when The Wheel Workers broke up around 2005–2006. Rediscovered and completed roughly twenty years later by Steven Higginbotham, it now arrives as the collective’s eighth album, bringing together original recordings and new performances. What could have been little more than an archival curiosity instead feels like an unfinished conversation finding its way back into the world.

Across its sixteen tracks, the album moves between alternative rock, grunge, psychedelia, and art-rock, drawing on the restless energy of acts like Sonic Youth, Pixies, Jane’s Addiction, and Fugazi. Yet its shifting sounds serve a broader purpose: these are songs concerned not only with the world as it is, but with our willingness to question it.

On “So Wrong,” the repeated line “We’ve been so wrong, for so long” becomes both an admission and a challenge. The song calls for an awakening from familiar nightmares, taking aim at a culture distracted by screens and increasingly disconnected from the people around it. Beneath its urgency lies a simple proposition: meaningful change requires people to look up, reconnect, and act together.

The title track, “One More Thing To Say,” takes a similarly direct approach to the ways violence becomes normalized and justified. Its images of innocents engulfed in flames and abstract equations used to rationalize cruelty point to the distance between political rhetoric and human suffering. The question “Why can’t we rise and try to find a little love?” cuts through the noise, offering neither an easy answer nor a neat resolution, but a reminder of what gets lost when hatred and fear become organizing principles.

⇒ Support the band & purchase the album via BandCamp.

“One Must Speak” begins with an acoustic song by Chris Maness before the collective reshapes it into something more expansive and psychedelic. “Distractions” and “Seaside” take a more impressionistic, cinematic approach, allowing the atmosphere to carry what words cannot always express. These shifts keep the album from becoming a single sustained protest, making room for ambiguity, reflection, and the chemistry of musicians responding to one another.

That chemistry is central to the record’s appeal. The album’s journey from abandoned early-2000s sessions to its eventual completion gives it an unusual sense of continuity, with Higginbotham even harmonizing with his younger self. Mixed by Grammy-winning engineer Steve Christensen, the finished work brings together performances separated by years without entirely smoothing over the passage of time.

The closing track, “In the Breeze,” captures that spirit particularly well. Beginning as a quiet, lullaby-like waltz, it gradually opens into a soaring anthem. Its growth feels less like a carefully imposed conclusion than a collective discovery, allowing the record to end on a note of possibility rather than certainty.

Beneath its political frustration and restless musical shifts, One More Thing To Say returns to a deeply human concern: how we live with one another, and what it takes to find common ground. The Wheel Workers‘ recovered songs may have originated in a different time, but their call to look beyond fear and distraction still resonates. Perhaps the most enduring message here is also the simplest: we have to find our way back to each other..

The three bring long résumés, according to the band’s bio. Bennett, a singer, songwriter, and preacher, founded the StarSong recording band Sacred Fire and toured the U.S. with Petra and Mylon LeFevre & Broken Heart. Davis, a Berklee-trained guitarist, founded Last Generation and For You Brother, and Miranda joined the Brazilian rock group Oficina G3 at twenty-one. The sound they bring to this single sits in an 80s and 90s rock pop mold.

The first thing that caught my attention was how crisp the production is. This is superb and incredibly satisfying to listen to. There is an undeniable gospel influence here, not just because of the contagious positive vibes of the narrative and the lyrics themselves, but because of the execution itself and the choir backup vocals. Speaking of the narrative, the song carries a beautiful message that love is out there for all of us in all forms, and the form that never fades is God’s grace. Faith is the purest form of love, and one should open themselves to it because no human can love you more than God.

The band is currently working on bookings and festival appearances, and it describes “When Love Walks In” as the start of a new chapter for the trio. No dates have been announced yet, so for now the single is the best way to hear what three experienced players sound like when they have the time and space to get it right.

Written by frontman Leo Duke, the track draws inspiration from Alter Bridge and Alice in Chains, shifting between stripped-back acoustic passages and heavier, arena-ready riffs. The contrast gives “Coming Home” its character, allowing quieter moments to build tension before the guitars take over. A soaring chorus and blazing lead-guitar section bring the energy, while the dynamic arrangement keeps the song’s emotional core intact.

Behind the music lies a personal turning point. After leaving his previous band in 2022, Duke reconsidered the sound and creative direction he wanted to pursue, returning to his classic-rock roots to build something of his own. “Coming Home” transforms that experience into a statement about independence, creative freedom, and finding your way back to yourself.

The single also marks the band’s first use of acoustic guitar, revealing a more sensitive side of Duke’s songwriting. He handles vocals and guitar alongside lead guitarist Jacob Lott, bassist Shannon Wilk, and drummer Sam Wall, with David Dicks producing at his private studio in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. The result balances introspection with the full-throttle energy of a band influenced by Guns N’ Roses, Aerosmith, Dirty Honey, and Mammoth WVH.

Having performed at Nashville venues including The Basement East and The East Room, Leo Duke & The North Wind are building their presence on the city’s rock circuit. With “Coming Home,” they show that their appeal goes beyond stage-ready swagger: there’s genuine vulnerability beneath the distortion.

“Coming Home” leaves listeners with more than a memorable riff or powerful chorus. It offers a clear sense of renewal, showing how Leo Duke & The North Wind have turned personal upheaval into a sound that is confident, emotional, and absolutely ready for the road ahead!

It opens the project’s second chapter, following the relationships, betrayal, grief and recovery of Blinded By the Blonde: Chapter One, and this time humor takes the lead. The single was recorded through Musiversal with professional session players, among them Joe Bills on lead vocals, Breno Machado on guitars, and Christiano Galvão on drums. Paul oversaw production, though by his own account he mostly stayed out of the professionals’ way.

The song came to life through a process of brainstorming with AI-generated demos, but it’s just to stimulate the creative process, and the final version is fully human recorded. That’s an interesting gray area for using AI, because how different is it from using a preset on a drum machine to inspire the drummer to play a groove in their own way? It’s just a jumping-off point. Human execution is what matters when it comes to art, and here the execution is peak divorced dad rock, pun intended.

The other half of the joke is the video. It’s done in a comic-book style with illustrated scenes, background gags, and a fourth-wall break where Will questions the songwriter responsible for his predicament. According to the press materials, the idea is to add jokes rather than just repeat the lyrics on screen.

Paul’s background as a novelist shows in how the song is put together, as a story that escalates rather than a single mood. A premise this silly only works if the storytelling keeps its footing. Whether Will ever makes it home to feed his cat is left for the listener to find out.

Musically, the song subverts expectations by pairing a really bright tonality with heavy themes: anxiety, identity, and the action the title alludes to. Bright tonality doesn’t mean soft, though, because the sound here is gritty and very heavy. It just doesn’t sound dark, since harmonically it emphasizes a major sound. That is a big reason why it’s so catchy, in my opinion.

The influences are clear from the lineup Amoral cites: Nirvana, Soundgarden, Silverchair, Alice in Chains, and Bush, and the approach is the same guitar-driven, 90s-grunge spirit those bands share. His own description is of powerful riffs, memorable melodies, and emotionally direct lyrics that explore anxiety, identity, and the struggles of modern life while staying unapologetically authentic. “Pull The Trigger” fits that description, with an honest, loud and unfiltered delivery.

That DIY attitude runs through the whole project, from the unpolished look of the video to the loud, unfiltered delivery of the song itself, and it suits a genre that has always valued honesty over polish. It also keeps the focus on the writing and the riffs rather than on gloss, which is where grunge has always lived.

Delirium is Amoral’s second album, and it builds on his debut with bigger hooks, heavier guitars, and a more confident sound. “Pull The Trigger” puts that into practice, with major-key brightness sitting on top of heavy guitars. For listeners who miss the era of Nirvana and Silverchair, it’s an easy one to put on repeat.

Drawing heavy inspiration from the golden eras of 1970s and 1980s rock and roll, Studio flows seamlessly across diverse sonic landscapes. The record kicks off with the David Bowie-influenced alternative rock lead single, “Scratch,” pivots into the Rolling Stones-flavored tracks “Deja Vu” and “Hig & Jig,” and ultimately concludes with an 80s pop-dance mix of “It Ain’t Perfect But It’s Free”.

⇒ Don’t miss our thoughts on the “Studio” album, and read here.

The album’s signature sonic fingerprint comes from the tactile combination of a 1960s Hammond Organ run through a vintage Leslie Cabinet Speaker and a Fender Mustang guitar.

Recorded at Vancouver’s Blue Light Studio alongside producer Kaj Falch-Nielsen, Studio features a powerhouse lineup of contributors. Most notably, legendary drummer Steve Ferrone—renowned for his work with Tom Petty and Eric Clapton—anchors six of the album’s tracks with exquisite percussion.

“Pennan first saw Steve playing in Eric Clapton’s ’21 Nights’ performances at the Royal Albert Hall. It was an honour to have him play on the record,” notes the production team.

The rich instrumentation is further rounded out by Alison Jenkins’ creative vocal harmonies, Kaj Falch-Nielsen on bass, and Cameron Wilson on violin. Visually, the release maintains continuity with Paint, featuring striking cover artwork by Nathan Gowsell that highlights vintage Vancouver neon signs.

⇒ Don’t miss our thoughts on the “Studio” album, and read here.

Delirium does not chase trends. It does not smooth itself into something more palatable. It draws instead from the raw emotion and uncompromising attitude that made grunge one of rock’s most enduring movements — and it delivers that spirit with bigger choruses, heavier riffs, and a sharper artistic vision than anything Jonny Amoral has put to tape before.

Honest. Loud. Unfiltered.

Delirium arrives as a significant leap forward from Jonny Amoral’s debut — a record that retains everything that made his early work compelling while expanding every dimension of it. The songwriting is more precise. The production is more forceful. The emotional territory is more unflinching.

The album moves through its themes with the restless energy of someone genuinely working through something — anxiety and identity not as abstract concepts but as lived, daily realities; isolation not romanticised but examined; self-destruction not celebrated but looked at honestly, with both eyes open. Across eleven tracks, Delirium maps the search for clarity through chaos — and finds, if not resolution, at least the catharsis of having said it out loud.

For fans of Nirvana, Silverchair, Alice In Chains, Soundgarden, and Bush, the album sits squarely in the lineage of guitar-driven alternative rock that built its foundations in the early 90s and has never fully released its grip on the people it first reached. Jonny Amoral adds his own voice to that tradition — one shaped by the specific emotional landscape of an artist writing from Adelaide and Kangaroo Island, bringing a distinctly Australian perspective to a universally felt experience.

Studio feels like a record made for the hours when the city starts to glow. Its musical language is unmistakably rooted in classic rock, but there is enough curiosity in the arrangements to keep it from feeling like a simple trip down memory lane.

The journey begins with “Scratch,” an appropriately unconventional opening. Quirky guitar work, unusual rhythms and an alternative-rock sensibility immediately bring David Bowie to mind. There is something slightly eccentric about the track, but it never loses its melodic centre. Rather than announcing exactly what the album will be, “Scratch” leaves the door open.

That door leads into the warmer classic-rock territory of “Deja Vu.” The combination of Hammond organ and a sharp guitar riff gives the track a distinctly vintage character, while “Hig & Jig” continues in a Rolling Stones-inspired direction. Together, the songs establish one of the album’s central pleasures: familiar rock vocabulary being used without making the music feel entirely predictable.

A lot of that character comes from the instruments themselves. Brae handles guitar, organ and vocals, joined by Kaj Falch-Nielsen on bass, Alison Jenkins on harmonies and Cameron Wilson on violin. Legendary drummer Steve Ferrone, known for his work with Tom Petty and Eric Clapton, appears on six of the seven tracks, giving the record a strong live rhythmic foundation.

But perhaps the most distinctive element is the Hammond organ. A 1960s Hammond was recorded through a vintage Leslie Cabinet Speaker, preserving the physical character of the instrument rather than smoothing it into something purely digital. Alongside the Fender Mustang guitar and live drums, it gives Studio a sense of weight and texture. You don’t just hear the instruments; you get a sense of their physical presence.

That tactile quality is one of the album’s strongest characteristics. Studio seems to understand that part of the pleasure of rock & roll is hearing musicians interact with actual instruments: the slight roughness, the warmth, the movement between sounds. Alison Jenkins’ harmonies add another dimension, softening and expanding the arrangements without taking them away from their rock foundation.

There is also a cinematic quality to the record, which makes sense given Brae’s parallel work as a film composer. He has written and scored the independent films The Astronot and 2 Below 0, and Studio often feels visual in the way it moves between moods and textures. Its artwork, created by Nathan Gowsell, reinforces this atmosphere with vintage Vancouver neon signs glowing against the night.

That image almost becomes a metaphor for the album itself. There is something old-fashioned about neon, a technology and aesthetic associated with another era, yet its glow still feels strangely contemporary. Studio operates in much the same space, taking sounds strongly associated with the 70s and 80s and allowing them to exist in the present.

The album’s final track makes that transition especially clear. “It Ain’t Perfect But It’s Free” (Dance Mix) moves away from the classic-rock centre of the record and into 80s pop-dance territory. Originally released as a funk-rock version on Paint, the song takes on a different character here. Coming after the guitar-driven opening and the classic-rock middle of the album, it feels almost like the city has suddenly changed its lighting.

That contrast gives Studio a satisfying sense of movement. “Scratch” and “It Ain’t Perfect But It’s Free” become contrasting bookends: one quirky and alternative, the other bright, rhythmic and unapologetically 80s. In between them, Brae explores the Hammond-heavy warmth of classic rock, Stones-inspired swagger and the organic interplay of guitar, bass, drums, strings and voice.

What makes the album interesting is that its influences are never particularly hidden. Bowie is there. The Stones are there. The 70s and 80s are everywhere. But the record doesn’t seem interested in disguising those references. Instead, Brae treats them as a musical vocabulary; sounds that can be picked up, rearranged and given another life.

That’s exactly where Studio finds its identity. It isn’t trying to escape the past, nor is it attempting to reproduce it perfectly. It sits somewhere in between: looking backwards while still moving forward.

By the time Pennan Brae’s Studio reaches its final dance mix, the album has travelled from quirky alternative rock through classic-rock warmth and into 80s pop without losing its sense of place. Like the vintage neon signs that frame its visual world, it takes something from another era and lets it glow again; but this time through its own particular shade of rock & roll!