This is a much darker sound compared to “Travelin’ Heart” – a much bigger, more powerful, and catchier one too. The guitar strumming keeps your interest by just how locked in rhythmically it is, very hypnotic in its syncopation. The song also earns the adjective psychedelic because of some very clever layering in the more spacious sections, where the arrangement opens up, and the elements that have been circling each other finally get room to breathe and unsettle simultaneously. The brass arrangements are the unexpected piece – they don’t resolve so much as accumulate, adding to the forward momentum without ever letting the tension release.

Turner has said the goal wasn’t to explain the feeling but to recreate it in sound – unsettling and strangely grounding at the same time. That’s a difficult balance to strike, and “The Shadow Remains” gets there. For a project that announced itself with dust-road Americana, this is a genuinely surprising second move.

The title track is one of the most profound dream pop tracks I’ve listened to in a while. The metaphor of a kite without a string is perfect because we often think of ourselves as being tied down by something, but it’s really an illusion or a flimsy facade; you can reach out and cut the rope anytime. You belong to no one, and nothing belongs to you. We are free reflections of the universe. The dreamy music is tastefully atmospheric to give you space to take in this beautiful message. A kite is even more of a genius metaphor when you think a bit more about it, because the wind carries us around, for we are not birds. Ultimately, life is just a ride, so learn to experience it.

Switching to the Arabic side,  now, “Maksour” is a ballad that tells the story of moving from Beirut to Boston between broken dreams and new horizons, which ultimately arrives at a hopeful conclusion and a new outlook or maybe a new excitement for the opportunities moving opened up, though that homesick feeling remains present throughout and is reflected in the shyly melancholic yet dreamy chords with the bubbly rhythm.

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The last song worth highlighting is “Self Made World” because, from a dynamics perspective, it’s the most delicate song on the album, and it builds up like a smooth linear gradient from beginning to end, and the way the vocals interact with the rhythmic devices’ accents here makes this uniquely catchy, even though it doesn’t follow a traditional pop structure at all. So that’s definitely a feat that can only be achieved through real talent and great musical taste; it’s something that AI can never replicate, let’s put it that way.

For a project rooted in the experience of living between two worlds, Kite Without a String earns its title in more ways than one. Souaid is not anchored to a single genre, a single language, or a single geography, and the album is richer for all of it. This is a record with something genuine to say about distance, identity, and the strange freedom of not quite belonging anywhere, and it says it beautifully.

Now, following a series of deluxe-edition reissues and a trilogy of groundbreaking singles, he releases his sixth album, Love Crash—his first new record in 13 years. On the album’s 10 tracks, songs of heartbreak and loss intertwine with Block’s characteristic vulnerability, humor, and his joy at simply being alive. “Cracked open and not sleeping, I reached for the guitar,” says Block. “In retrospect, each song ended up being the rung of a ladder that led me out of a very dark place. It was a rich vein of heartbreak to mine, and I made it out—but, just barely.” Produced by Chris Kuffner (Ingrid Michaelson, Regina Spektor), and mixed and mastered by ECR President Blake Morgan (Lenny Kravitz, Lesley Gore, Janita), this new album is the most highly-anticipated work in the career of one of New York City’s most indispensable artists.

⇒ Check our album review here.

Block has always broken boundaries while setting standards for commercial and critical success, but it’s his willingness to be authentic, intimate, and intelligent in his work—and his life—that has set him apart. From his first underground cult-hit record which helped launch the New York anti-folk movement of the late 1990’s, to his Glen Ballard-produced Capitol Records debut, to the four-part 2025 deluxe-edition reissuing of his storied catalog, and now this new record, his influence can be felt in every corner of modern indie, folk-punk, and lo-fi songwriting, alongside contemporaries Regina Spektor, Beck, The Moldy Peaches, and Ani DiFranco.

Block’s comeback has been fueled not only by his reissued-and-remastered catalog but also by the early success of Love Crash’s breakthrough singles, “I Thought I Won The War,” “Over And Over,” and “Firefly.” “I’ve reclaimed lost parts of myself while reaching a whole new audience along the way,” says Block, describing what he calls a once-in-a-lifetime moment. “I’m thrilled to have joined the super-cool roster at Meridian/ECR, and to have had my work reclaimed, released, and received in such a beautiful way,” says Block. “Most importantly for me, it’s all happened just in time for this new record.”

Block’s sixth album Love Crash arrives May 15th on Meridian (ECR Music Group).

“Love Crash”‘s melodicism is second to none, and it’s an album that rewards active listening with detailed harmonic layers and lyrics that harbor more meaning than they let on. Produced by Chris Kuffner, whose credits include Ingrid Michaelson and Regina Spektor, the record sits comfortably in that lineage – folk-rooted, emotionally intelligent, arranged with enough detail to reveal itself gradually. Block‘s characteristic blend of vulnerability and humor keeps the heaviness from curdling into self-indulgence, and that balance is what makes the album hold up as a complete listening experience rather than a collection of moments.

“California Calls” is a standout built almost entirely on acoustic accompaniment, yet it feels somehow bigger than its instrumentation should allow. Analytically, the element most responsible for that is the space between the notes rather than the notes themselves – Block seems to be closely following that Miles Davis wisdom about silence being as important in music as sound. The notes played definitely still carry their weight, though, with harmonic choices that accentuate a homesick feeling for California in a way that’s specific enough to feel earned.

“Over And Over” opens a window for introspection in which, over and over, we revisit old memories as the song gradually builds up a sonic palette that is much more harmonically complex than the preceding songs on the album. It’s a very ethereal sound, and as it builds up, it pulls you in closer and closer, and its intimate sound infiltrates your mind as if the sounds are coming from inside.

“The Heartbreak Song” is legitimately hilarious. First of all, it’s pretty clearly intentionally parodying corporate advertisement music while Jamie Block lays down the punchlines, which are themselves obvious jabs at the empty promises that capitalism attempts to sell to us. But it’s not just that – there is more on offer here than surface-level commentary, and that is signaled with the dynamic changes of the music as more human elements begin to creep in. It’s a really fun song that rewards repeat listens.

Block is currently on a U.S. tour behind the record, and the momentum around this comeback – a million streams, Apple Music editorial placements, audiences across five continents – suggests the thirteen-year gap hasn’t cost him the audience so much as expanded it. “Love Crash” is the work of someone who went through something real and came out the other side with enough craft and perspective to make something lasting out of it.

This is music born between two worlds. And it sounds like exactly that.

Kite Without a String follows a deliberate emotional and sonic journey across its eight tracks — opening with the driving, urgent energy of a world in a kind of muted stupor, and moving gradually toward something more settled, more layered, and ultimately more grounded.

“Hurricane Eyes” opens the album with electric urgency — the outside world pressing in, forward motion shaped by forces beyond the individual’s control.

The title track, “Kite Without a String,” follows with a spacious, mid-tempo arrangement: direct, reflective, and centred on the delicate balance of letting go without losing your core.

“Maksour” — the album’s Arabic-language track and one of its most exposed, emotionally raw moments — is a personal reflection on Beirut, stripped back and unguarded. A quiet anchor at the heart of the record.

“Vermontier (Dusk Edition)” marks the pivot — built around bright 12-string guitars, it shifts the tone outward, moving from heaviness toward direction and release. The landscape brightens.

From here the album turns inward. “Mizuri” — layered, melodic, and centred on faith — features vocal contributions from Matt Deluccia and Gaby Carvajal Poisson. “Petit Pierre” expands the palette into fuller arrangements, finding stability in simple, everyday moments. “Self Made World” — the album’s folktronica peak — reaches an emotional high before settling into a smoother, more connected outlook built on mutual support.

The bonus track, “I Like to Play (17′ Vault)” — a stripped-back archival closer from 2017 — brings the record full circle: a reminder to stay grounded, stay authentic, and return to the simplest version of why any of this began.

The full arc — from inertia to clarity, from muted stupor to light — is both musical and deeply personal. Grit, vice, strength, love, earth, skies, and clouds. All of it.

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John Lebanon began as solitary demos — the project of a songwriter navigating the distance between the underground scenes of Beirut and the alternative rock world of the American Northeast. Over a decade, it matured into a Boston-based ensemble blending the melodic nostalgia of the Levant with the textured grit of indie folk and alternative rock. The music has always been a documentation of two worlds — a search for truth, a guide home, a moral boost, a feeling that grounds expansive arrangements in something tangible and real.

For fans of Vampire Weekend, The Shins, Wilco, and Bibio, Kite Without a String offers exactly that combination of melodic warmth, lyrical depth, and sonic range.

Produced by Alexander Hulme, “Better In Fiction” captures the emotional split second that exists between attraction and action, that fleeting moment where fantasy and reality briefly collide. Inspired by a real-life encounter during a particularly cynical chapter in Harrison Rimmer’s life, the track leans into uncertainty rather than resolution. Instead of turning romance into something dramatic or idealized, the song focuses on the tension of almost-connection: the possibility of approaching someone, or choosing instead to quietly walk away and let the imagined version remain untouched.

The track unfolds through warm acoustic textures and spacious instrumentation that give the songwriting room to breathe. Harrison’s vocal delivery feels conversational and unguarded, carrying an honesty that makes every lyric land naturally. While traces of his punk-rock roots still linger beneath the surface, they appear here more as emotional weight than explosive energy. The vulnerability feels intentional but never overstated.

Harrison Rimmer understands that not every meaningful connection becomes a love story, and the track embraces that emotional ambiguity rather than trying to resolve it neatly. There’s a quiet melancholy running through the song, balanced carefully against moments of hope and curiosity.

“Better In Fiction” by Harrison Rimmer delivers a beautifully restrained indie folk release. One that finds meaning in hesitation, imagination, and the feelings people leave unsaid..

In its original form, “Love That Fills My World” is a full-throttle rock song — a live favourite for the Fiona Amaka Band, complete with extended guitar solos and the kind of stage energy that keeps audiences locked in from the first note to the last. The acoustic version takes that same song and rebuilds it from the ground up: violin, cello, Andy Zanini’s classically trained guitar work, and Fiona’s voice at the centre of an arrangement that is part classical, part blues, and part rock. The result is something that resists easy categorisation — and is all the more compelling for it.

“It’s an orchestral folk version of a rock song,” Fiona says. “A completely different take. Part classical, part blues, and part rock. Andy’s classical training definitely played a big part in shaping the sound.”

The risk paid off. Since sharing video clips of the song on social media, Fiona has been struck by the response — new followers, genuine engagement, and an audience that has connected with this version of the song on its own terms, not simply as a quieter take on a louder track.

“I’ve been simply amazed at the response on my socials in terms of new followers and engagement since sharing video clips of the song,” she says. “It feels great to take a risk and try new things musically, so I’m pretty grateful to my audiences — old and new.”

The official music video for “Love That Fills My World” (Acoustic Version) was filmed at the London Wetlands and Wildlife Trust, a setting that mirrors the quiet, natural intimacy of the arrangement perfectly. It has been warmly received — a visual complement to music that asks the listener to slow down and pay attention.

⇒ Check out our review here.

“Love That Fills My World” (Acoustic Version) arrives on the back of one of Fiona Amaka’s most prolific and diverse creative stretches. Her 2025 singles “No Daylight” and “Cowards and Shadows” showcased her signature soulful indie-rock sound — raw, unflinching, and shaped by real experience of betrayal and disconnection. “Honesty (Psalm 139)” introduced a spiritual dimension while nodding to her folk-rock roots. And “Desert Flower” — a chirpy indie-pop departure released at the end of 2025 — earned significant radio play and confirmed what her audience already knew: Fiona Amaka is an artist who cannot and will not be confined to a single sound.

With influences ranging from Stevie Nicks to Smashing Pumpkins, her music has always blended bluesy vocals with driving rock guitar or chill folk atmosphere. “Love That Fills My World” (Acoustic Version) is the latest and perhaps most striking expression of that range — proof that the same song can live entirely differently depending on the space you give it to breathe.

Naming your debut single after one of the most mythologised figures in American frontier history is a statement of intent. Wyatt Earp was a lawman – a marshal who became famous partly through the gunfight at the O.K. Corral – while Jesse James, who gets namechecked in the same tradition, was the outlaw on the other side of that cultural equation. These are the folk heroes that American country music has been drawing on for over a century, the kind of names that carry instant weight and moral symbolism. What Devan is doing with “Wyatt Earp” is rooting himself in that lineage while coming at it from rural Cambridgeshire, which is an unusual angle. The song sits in that space where classic country’s storytelling instincts meet a cleaner, more polished modern production – the kind of sound that has become standard in the post-Morgan Wallen wave of country pop crossover – and it manages to feel personal rather than derivative. The choice of Wyatt Earp as a frame isn’t just a nod to genre convention; it’s Devan signalling what kind of artist he wants to be – someone who values the mythology, the grit, and the moral clarity that those old American folk tales carried.

The single has already picked up radio play on CountryLine Homegrown with Tim Prottey-Jones, which is a solid early platform for a debut. Devan has a planned EP launch at Rockin’ the Country festival later this year, and with a track like “Better Man” – written about his grandfather – still to come, there’s clearly more emotional material in the pipeline. “Wyatt Earp” is a promising start from someone who, by his own account, had never written or recorded before any of this. That’s either a remarkable natural instinct or very good collaborators. Probably both.

Blending Americana, indie rock, folk influences, and soft-rock textures, “Easy Times” unfolds with an understated charm. From its opening notes, the song creates an atmosphere of ease, wrapped in retro indie-folk tones and a sense of calm that lingers long after the final moments fade.

Beneath its sunlit warmth, the track carries a deeper emotional current. Rather than dwelling on heartbreak or conflict, seeTrees turn their attention toward what comes after,  the fragile yet beautiful stage where people decide to stay, rebuild, and rediscover what brought them together in the first place.

The emotional core of the song is carried through Drew Lawrence’s lyricism. Lines such as “There’s a look in your eyes suggesting born again desire / There’s a light in your voice saying this love isn’t tired” reflect renewal with sincerity, capturing love not in its dramatic highs, but in its quieter acts of return. His vocal delivery mirrors that spirit, moving with softness and assurance rather than urgency.

The partnership between Lawrence and Luke Adams continues to shape a sound that feels nostalgic without becoming overly retrospective. The production remains spacious and restrained; gentle guitars drift through the arrangement, rhythms stay relaxed, and the closing keys add a final layer of tranquility. The simplicity never feels empty, it becomes part of the song’s emotional language.

There is also something cinematic about “Easy Times.” It feels like the moment after the storm has passed: windows down, sunlight returning, and the realization that not every triumph needs to be loud to matter.

Hope sits at the center of the track, but it arrives quietly. “Easy Times” is less about grand declarations and more about reassurance, about believing that difficult seasons can end and that softer days still wait on the horizon.

With “Easy Times,” seeTrees craft a song that carries both nostalgia and renewal in equal measure. Beneath its retro glow lies a hopeful heart, and it is exactly that balance that allows “Easy Times” by seeTrees to leave its lasting impression.

This song is a true traveller’s song; it carries on the ancient tradition of the troubadour telling stories alongside musical accompaniment, and in this specific case, the music is very rich in harmony. Though the rhythm is simple, it’s very engaging with all of its complementary layers, each one adding texture without crowding the space the vocals need to breathe and land.

What strikes most about “inside this song” is how rooted it feels. The folk and blues foundation gives it a timelessness that a lot of genre-blending music struggles to achieve, and Casey’s delivery carries the weight of someone who has actually lived through the things he’s describing rather than observed them from a distance. The title is quietly self-aware: the song is its own subject, and the invitation to step inside it feels genuine. As an opening statement for Traveller’s Songs, it sets a high bar for what the rest of the collection might offer.