Formed in 2006, The Kiss That Took A Trip is the brainchild of M.D. Trello, the sole member and admitted factotum of the project. Thirty In Twenty is designed not just as a celebratory retrospective, but as a roadmap illustrating how the project’s music has mutated over the years—evolving from highly experimental, instrumental ambient post-rock into streamlined, electronica-tingled alternative pop/rock.

The double album features the absolute best of the project’s output, alongside exciting new additions:

• 3 Brand New Tracks: “We are what we protect,” “Forevermore,” and “Mimosa.”

• 2 Complete Reworkings: “Three girls” and “Vanilla killer.”

• 2 Remixed Tunes: “Amplification of the senses” and “Stock footage.”

• 23 Remastered Fan Favorites: Including the quirky, highly acclaimed cover of Q Lazzarus’s “Goodbye horses.”

The album’s rollout was spearheaded by the nostalgic piano ballad “We are what we protect,” followed by the official lead single and accompanying video for “Forevermore,” which launched on March 18th.

Operating entirely outside the conventional music industry, The Kiss That Took A Trip maintains a strict and unapologetic rulebook: completely independent, computer-based production (while vehemently rejecting the “electronic music” tag), zero live performances, and a commitment to Creative Commons, free-of-charge digital music. Trello champions a “pay only if you wish” model, prioritizing a consistent, lasting music catalog with high replay value over quick consumption. Furthermore, amidst the advent of AI, the project strictly spells out its stance in favor of human-crafted artistry.

“In an era obsessed with instant hooks and tidy playlists, The Kiss That Took A Trip remains a glorious anomaly.” — Chris Bound, Horror Vacui Review

Blending melody, atmosphere, drone, and dissonance, Trello’s signature sound will appeal to fans of The Church, Cibo Matto, Blonde Redhead, Depeche Mode, Mogwai, and Godspeed You! Black Emperor.

Weaving through an anxious person’s mind, trying to cope with intense thoughts, is what this song sounds like – and I know what that sounds like because this is how it sounds in my head when I’m trying to process thoughts that keep replaying. The sound design reflects that brilliantly. There is no single sound that surprised me or that I haven’t heard before, but the combination is so musical that it creates a genuinely mesmerizing atmosphere, especially when halfway through, there are space rock guitar lines merging seamlessly with the electronic cloud of sound.

The three-phase emotional structure – panic, reflection, recovery – gives the song a shape that you feel before you consciously register it, which is the mark of a well-constructed piece. The influences are honest ones: Neil Young in the guitar work, Pet Shop Boys and Kate Bush in the synths, Beach House in the haze. Bishop absorbed them and made something that sits in that tradition without simply replicating it. Worth revisiting when it drops at the end of May.

“Dogmatic” dives into themes of blind belief, societal pressure, and rebellion against imposed ideologies. Driven by punchy riffs, high-energy vocals, and a rebellious death metal attitude, the single captures the band’s signature sound while pushing their creative boundaries even further.

The release arrives at a milestone moment for the band. Diverted Disorder recently won their Wacken Metal Battle heat, securing a place in the upcoming Sub-Saharan Africa finals, where they stand a chance to perform at the legendary Wacken Open Air Festival in Germany.

This momentum builds on a growing list of achievements, including international radio airplay, nominations at the Afri-Indie Awards as an alternative act that doesn’t fit the mold, and recognition from the International Singer-Songwriter Association Awards. Since forming in 2022, the band has continued to gain traction both locally and globally with their relentless energy and distinct sound.

With rising international attention and a powerful new release, Diverted Disorder are proving they’re a force to be reckoned with—both on stage and across the airwaves.

“Dogmatic” is now available for exclusive radio play before the release on 29th of May and will be supported by upcoming performances, media appearances, and continued promotion leading up to the Wacken Sub-Saharan finals.

Formed in 2022, Diverted Disorder is a South African alternative metal band known for their high-energy performances and bold, thought-provoking music. Blending elements of punk, metal, and modern rock, the band continues to push boundaries while building a rapidly growing fanbase worldwide.

“Are You Ready?” opens the record mid-motion, bright and communal, carrying a sense of urgency wrapped in optimism. It doesn’t shout, it gathers. There’s something quietly insistent in its call for dignity, equity, and shared belonging, setting the tone for a journey that’s as collective as it is personal. That sense of release spills naturally into “Live It Up,” where ska rhythms bounce with ease and joy feels like a conscious act rather than a distraction. It’s carefree, but not careless, the kind of track that reframes celebration as something necessary.

“Billionaires” sharpens the mood without breaking the groove. Its laid-back delivery carries a biting irony, especially in the collective a cappella hook, turning satire into something almost theatrical. It’s playful on the surface, but there’s clarity in its question of excess and escape. That tension deepens in “Wake the Funk Up,” where the tempo eases and the band leans into reflection. The track feels like a conversation with the past, what would those voices of soul and protest say now? It doesn’t resolve the question, but it sits with it, letting the groove carry the weight.

“Good Stuff” brings the light back in, though now it feels chosen. The piano lines dance around the vocals with a kind of knowing playfulness, while the guitar adds just enough edge to keep things grounded. It’s joy with awareness, not innocence. Then comes “Strawberry Moon,” which softens everything into something more intimate. There’s longing here, and a sense of return, told with restraint. It feels like a quiet pause in the middle of the record, a moment of emotional clarity before the journey continues.

“Natural High” opens the space further, sunlit and unhurried, suggesting that escape doesn’t always mean leaving, it can mean slowing down. There’s a gentle critique of modern life in its ease, as if the song is inviting you to step out of the noise rather than outrun it. That idea takes a more abstract form in “Mission Control, Are You Receiving?”, where distance becomes both literal and emotional. The layered textures create a sense of drifting isolation, turning the astronaut narrative into something deeply human: regret, longing, and disconnection floating in open space.

“Radio” pulls things back into sharper focus with a return to a rock-driven sound, but there’s restlessness underneath. It plays with nostalgia while questioning it, reflecting on how stories are told and retold, and whether anything real still cuts through the noise. That tension resolves, at least partially, in “Give Love,” which strips things down to a direct and unguarded message. It’s simple, but it lands, especially after the layers that came before, it feels like a response, not just a statement.

“Your Body and Mine” shifts back into the physical, grounded in groove and immediacy. It captures that fleeting, electric connection between people in motion, bringing the album briefly back to the dancefloor but now with a deeper sense of what that connection holds. “Have Mercy” expands that idea outward, leaning into empathy and collective care. There’s something almost spiritual in its repetition, as if it’s less a song and more a shared intention.

By “Road to Mississippi”, the album has fully turned toward reflection. Grounded in the history of the Freedom Riders, it connects past courage to present responsibility, asking quietly what it means to act now. It’s a sobering but necessary close, one that reframes everything that came before it.

Hello, Earth by The Neybas resonates with its ability to move between joy and awareness without forcing either. The grooves remain warm and inviting, but they carry more weight as the album unfolds. It begins with movement, but it doesn’t end there. Hello, Earth feels less like an escape and more like a return; to each other, to responsibility, and to the idea that even the lightest moments can hold something deeper when you’re really listening..

Michael Thomas Brown has been around music for a long time. He studied Recording Production and Technology at Middle Tennessee State University, spent years teaching guitar outside Nashville, and eventually moved into orchestral composition, with instrumental works landing in TV productions internationally. This is his first traditional solo album, the first time he’s recorded his own voice, and he handled all of it himself – writing, producing, engineering, mastering, and playing nearly everything. Guitars, bass, percussion, synths, piano, and an assortment of sampled objects from around his house and yard: flower pots, soda bottles, a lawnmower, a fence. David Adkins contributes hand drums on one track, and John Shade plays the drum kit on another. Otherwise, this is entirely Michael Thomas Brown’s record.

The album sounds like its cover art, an acoustic guitar floating on a serene ocean, witnessing the sun rise. It’s like Michael Thomas Brown is impersonating the warmth of the guitar in his own vocals. The album blends musically because of that. It stays relatively warm and simple in its arrangements the whole way through, but each song becomes distinct because of its unique thematic impact. There is some really great songwriting here. Let’s go through some highlights.

“You’re Like the Sun” is a wholesome love song. The sun is the biggest star we interact with daily, and its rising every day is an intrinsically positive event because it signals the start of a new day. It makes perfect sense to draw a comparison between the sun, which gives everything life, and your lover. Michael Thomas Brown adds to the hook that the sun keeps the monsters away, which, in relation to a loving partner, can mean that the aura of love weakens monsters; it signals to predators that you are not to be messed with because your love fortifies you.

“Universe” talks about the connection between the internal and external universe. We are museums of everything we have ever loved. Like the “real” or outer universe, our internal universe expands all the time and will continue to expand till the very end. Michael Thomas Brown highlights that it’s not just good things that get added to our internal universes, but also every tragedy, but he wouldn’t change a thing about it because life is to be experienced as a whole, and the tragedies are fundamental to the complete experience.

“Into the Deep” does wonders for the immersion into the listening experience of this album, as there are samples of beach and ocean sounds as the guitar melodies lull us into the deep end of the ocean. But it’s not a terrifying experience; on the contrary, it’s very soothing to swim in the dark with the stars as your only light. I personally found it very calming to meditate to this song.

“The End” is suitably the final track on the album. It’s much more atmospheric than anything else on the album. The ambience is done masterfully, and there is this Pink Floydian quality to the melodic approach of the entire song, but especially the guitar solo. Overall, this is what music plays when you drive into the sunset, which is how this album ends in my mind. It starts with the sun rising and ends with it setting. Thematically, the song is about how at life’s end, there are no regrets because we found love and hope on the journey, and that’s more than enough.

For a debut vocal album, made alone in a bedroom while undergoing cancer treatment, Dreams, Monsters, and the Universe carries itself with a quiet confidence that a lot of more resource-heavy records never quite find. The RIYL comparisons to Peter Gabriel and Pink Floyd are not idle – there’s that same sense of music being used to process something real, without letting the processing become the whole point. Michael Thomas Brown said he wanted a place to set down the weight of the heavy things. That’s exactly what this album sounds like, and it’s worth your time.

Brown’s own words set the stage better than any description could:

“I began writing and recording this concept album in my small bedroom studio while undergoing treatment for Stage IV metastatic cancer. It became my own kind of therapy. A place to set down the weight of the heavy things, free my mind and focus on something I could control. In those moments, I learned to face my daily fears, acknowledge the people I love, and ponder the big questions — what life is, what it means, and how we all must accept that it doesn’t last forever.”

The album’s guiding philosophy is Newtonian in its elegance — for every action, an equal and opposite reaction. A dropped ball bounces back. Planets are pushed and pulled by gravity’s endless dance. Happiness and sadness, love and heartbreak — all part of the same rhythm. The bad things that happen to us, Brown argues, can become the catalyst for something extraordinary. Dreams, Monsters, and the Universe is his proof of that proposition, made flesh in nine songs.

Recorded entirely by Brown himself — guitars, bass, percussion, synths, piano, and an extraordinary array of found sounds sampled from objects around his house and yard, including flower pots, soda bottles, fans, his lawnmower, and a fence — the album achieves a sonic world that is both intimate and expansive. The only additional musicians are David Adkins, who played hand drums on “You’re Like the Sun,” and John Shade, who played drum kit on “Universe.” Every other note, texture, and layer is Brown’s alone.

For fans of Peter Gabriel, Pink Floyd / David Gilmour, and Blue October, the record will feel immediately familiar and entirely fresh at once — alternative and indie rock at its core, with progressive structure and indie pop sensibility woven throughout. It is the sound of a man who has spent decades studying music from the inside out, finally bringing all of it to bear on something wholly his own.

Dreams, Monsters, and the Universe is Brown’s first traditional solo album, his first time committing his singing voice to record, and the first project he has written, produced, engineered, and mastered entirely himself. For an artist with his background, that combination of firsts carries considerable weight.

“It was a labor of love,” he says, “met with humility.”

Brown grew up in rural Alabama, playing KISS and AC/DC songs on a Sears guitar — the classic origin story of a kid who found something in music and never let go. He later studied Recording Production and Technology at Middle Tennessee State University and, while teaching guitar outside Nashville, began studying orchestral composition. That path led to his instrumental works being licensed for use in television programmes around the world.

Today, he lives in Crystal River, Florida with his wife and best friend Lori, occasionally performing fingerstyle guitar covers of 80s New Wave music at local restaurants. He remains, in his own words, forever a student — as long as he is playing, he is learning.

He is also still in the fight. And he is optimistic.

“I’m optimistic about the future because I’ve come to believe the harder you fall, the higher you bounce back. At least that’s what Sir Isaac said.”

The song feels less like a linear composition and more like a carefully built atmosphere. The guitars don’t simply carry chords, they breathe, layered with tape saturation and subtle degradation that give the sound a tactile, almost physical presence. Melody is still there, but it doesn’t dominate; instead, it dissolves into the surrounding textures, becoming part of a wider sonic landscape rather than sitting at the forefront.

This is where the analog approach becomes essential, not decorative. The use of reel-to-reel machines and cassette recording doesn’t just add warmth, it introduces instability, softness, and depth. The slight imperfections, the blurred edges, the gentle warping of tone all contribute to a listening experience that feels alive, shifting. It’s a sound that resists digital sharpness in favor of something more human, more fragile.

Beneath this textured surface, “Let Us In” carries a weight that contrasts its sonic lightness. Lyrically, it reflects on how quickly we categorize others, especially those navigating mental health struggles, and how that instinct to label creates distance rather than understanding. There’s a quiet tension here: the music opens outward, expansive and almost uplifting, while the message turns inward, asking for reflection.

What stands out most is how naturally The Shrubs hold these contrasts together. The track never feels overloaded, despite its density. Instead, it moves with a kind of quiet confidence, each layer serving a purpose, each sonic choice reinforcing the emotional core. Miguel and Sophie treat texture not as background, but as narrative itself.

“Let Us In” by The Shrubs indeed feels like a subtle but important evolution. Not louder, not bigger, but clearer in intention; a deeper commitment to a sound that exists somewhere between memory and immediacy, between clarity and blur. It provides a soundscape that is unresolved, gently pressing, and difficult to fully shake!

The album’s lead single, “Airspace,” has been singled out by critics as a masterclass in tension and release. Indie Dock Music Blog describes the track as a “majestic” entry that “announces itself with the quiet confidence of someone who already knows they’ve won the argument.” The track is anchored by a formidable bass presence and “lived-in” guitar tones, reflecting Abrol’s seven-month immersion in the studio to refine the album’s sonic architecture.

The Good Static explores the concept of “positive friction”—the idea that the static and noise of life are necessary components of finding true clarity. This theme is woven through a narrative of distance, return, and the passage of time, shaped by Abrol’s journey across two continents.

Rock Era Magazine praised the record’s emotional depth, noting that “Abrol returns not with urgency, but with clarity… distills and delivers something that feels both immediate and long in the making.” The album balances anthemic drives like “Waking Up” with moments of vulnerable introspection found in “Unadulterated Love Song” and “Stars.”

⇒ Read the full review here.

Produced with a commitment to restraint and precision, The Good Static avoids the clichés of nostalgia, instead utilizing the grammar of mid-nineties alternative rock to build something entirely modern. As Indie Dock Music Blog concludes, the record is “cinematic in its scope, human in its detail, and alive with controlled energy.”

The Good Static is available now on all major streaming platforms, including Spotify and Bandcamp.

PJ Abrol is an alternative rock artist whose music explores the intersections of geography, time, and emotional resilience. After two decades away from the industry, his return with The Good Static represents a homecoming to a sound that is as disciplined as it is expansive.

“They Tell Lies” by The Sunmills immediately locks into a pulsing groove that carries the track forward with unwavering momentum. The bassline acts as an anchor, while the arrangement unfolds with clarity and purpose. Instead of overwhelming the listener, the band crafts a sonic space that feels expansive yet grounded, allowing the track to breathe while maintaining a persistent sense of drive.

There are echoes of Muse and The Killers in its atmospheric reach, but the identity here remains distinctly its own. The vocals cut through with a composed urgency, reinforcing the song’s underlying tension rather than competing with it.

What gives that tension its weight is the idea driving the track.The song emerges from a moment of real-life contradiction: two people, equally thoughtful, arriving at completely opposing interpretations of the same reality. That dissonance becomes the emotional and conceptual backbone of the piece. “They Tell Lies” doesn’t frame this as a simple disagreement, but as something more unsettling: the realization that we are often navigating entirely different versions of truth, shaped by the systems and narratives surrounding us.

This idea is woven seamlessly into the music. The steady pulse, the controlled build, the clarity of the vocals: all mirror a world that feels coherent on the surface, yet carries an undercurrent of instability. Nothing collapses, but nothing fully resolves either. The song lives in that in-between space, where certainty begins to slip.

Production-wise, everything is sharp and cohesive. The pacing is consistent, the transitions feel seamless, and the overall finish gives the track a strong sense of replay value. It’s a song that settles in gradually, revealing new layers not through complexity, but through presence.

With “They Tell Lies,” The Sunmills step further into a darker and more cinematic sonic landscape; one that prioritizes clarity, atmosphere, and intention. In doing so, The Sunmills deliver a track that doesn’t just reflect a distorted world, but quietly challenges how we come to believe in it..