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.

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“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..

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.

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.

It’s a simple plea, but Rosso Tierney’s “Feel” builds an entire rock song around its uncertainty. The York artist’s latest single turns a deeply human question about connection into fast-moving, guitar-driven alternative rock, drawing on the energy and emotional intensity of ’90s rock.

Right from the opening lines, “Thinking of the reasons why it’s time to cry / Thinking of the reasons why I should not say goodbye,” the song places us inside the uncertainty of a relationship that isn’t necessarily without love, but perhaps without the feeling of connection. Tierney captures the strange space between knowing someone cares and actually experiencing that care.

That tension becomes more pronounced as he sings, “And if I told you that I love you / It wouldn’t be a lie.” The problem isn’t whether the words are true. It’s whether they are enough. When he follows with “When I’m close to you / When I’m far from you / When I call you, love you, care for you,” the repetition feels almost like an attempt to prove that the relationship is real, before returning to the central question: “Tell me that it’s real / I want to feel.”

Musically, however, there is little hesitation. Distorted guitars and heavy drums push “Feel” forward with a punk-edged urgency, while a soaring guitar solo gives the track its release. Influences from ’90s alternative rock, particularly The Smashing Pumpkins, are apparent, but the song feels less like nostalgia and more like a contemporary take on familiar guitar-rock language.

The accompanying video expands that sense of scale, placing Tierney and his vintage 1970s Oldsmobile Delta 88 against a vast former WWII runway in Yorkshire. Warm yellow and orange tones give it a cinematic, road-movie quality that complements the track’s restless momentum.

Rosso Tierney’s “Feel” leaves its central question deliberately unresolved. “I just wanna feel / to make it real” becomes less a conclusion than a plea: asking whether love, without the experience of connection, can ever truly feel real!

A confident guitar riff opens the track, immediately giving it a sense of movement before Sloan’s arrangement begins to gather around it. Guitars grow increasingly dense, with fuzz and feedback creeping into the edges and creating an atmosphere that feels both expansive and enclosed. The production gives the song considerable weight without allowing it to lose its melodic centre.

Dow’s vocals provide the emotional anchor. Rather than simply following the guitar, her melody winds around it, giving the verses an uneasy quality that perfectly suits the song’s subject matter. Her delivery moves between intimacy and intensity with impressive control, carrying a sense of exhaustion without ever becoming passive.

The release sits inside the uncomfortable space between isolation and resistance. It explores silence, distance, and the fear of gradually disappearing, but this isn’t a song about neatly overcoming darkness. Its emotional core lies in continuing to reach for something real even when everything around you feels hollow. The chorus consequently feels less like a conventional triumph and more like a refusal to surrender.

“War Against Emptiness” by Rebecca Dow featuring David Sloan doesn’t promise that the void will disappear. Instead, it turns the struggle to remain present into its own form of defiance. Bruised, atmospheric, and unapologetically raw, the track stands firmly in its darkness; and refuses to let emptiness have the final word!

Listening to this song is as depressing as it is rage-inducing because I am still in disbelief that such an incompetent and evil person is in charge of the most powerful country in the world. That’s the exact space “Truck Fump” is built to sit in, an ugly, gloves-off attack with no interest in nuance, delivered with the kind of garage-rock urgency that makes the anger feel earned rather than performative. There’s something almost admirable about how unwilling Garvey is to hedge here; whatever side of the politics a listener falls on, the conviction behind the delivery is impossible to miss.

What makes Garvey’s whole approach even stranger is the process behind it: this track, like the rest of his catalogue, was built entirely inside Adobe Premiere Pro, video editing software rather than anything designed for music. It’s a fittingly DIY, against-the-grain method for an artist who treats every song as a multimedia project rather than just something for your headphones. “Truck Fump” isn’t aiming to change anyone’s mind so much as give people already furious about the state of things somewhere to put that energy, and it does exactly what it sets out to do.

Formed in 1998 by brothers Dan Wilson (bass) and Doug Wilson (drums) and completed by vocalist Kurt Lobdell and guitarist Joe Chichetti, No Drinks For Jimmy emerged from the Baltimore/DC rock scene with a clear mission: to make loud, authentic, emotionally resonant rock music. Drawing from the giants of ’90s and 2000s modern rock- Foo Fighters, Jimmy Eat World, and Stone Temple Pilots- the band has forged a sound that balances melody with raw power and genuine emotion while remaining distinctly their own.

“Broken” follows “Year of Me (The Brunswick Song)” and shows another side of the band while retaining the powerful guitars, memorable melodies, and emotionally direct approach that define No Drinks For Jimmy. As the band puts it, “When you’re Broken, you start your own 12-step program. This is a song about hitting rock bottom.”

What makes the release especially significant is its completely independent creation. Each member recorded remotely across multiple states- Arizona, Florida, North Carolina, and Maryland before the band handled all mixing and mastering themselves. No outside producers, engineers, or artificial intelligence were involved. The result is a pure collaborative effort that captures the group’s unshakeable chemistry and DIY ethos.

“Broken” is more than a new single; it is a reaffirmation of the band’s modern rock roots and a testament to their commitment to honest songwriting. Whether blasting through arena speakers or providing solace through headphones, the track is built to resonate.

No Drinks For Jimmy look ahead to several live shows in 2027 as they continue connecting directly with fans, reviewers, and curators.

About No Drinks For Jimmy

No Drinks For Jimmy is a collaborative rock powerhouse from Columbia, MD, founded by brothers Dan Wilson and Doug Wilson and completed by Kurt Lobdell (vocals) and Joe Chichetti (guitar). Known for energetic live shows and a wide-ranging mix of hard rock, alternative, and melodic influences, the band has released the EP Find the Fourth (2017), the full-length Verse•Chorus•Rise (2021), the live EP Three Live Pours (2024), and singles including “Not The One” and “Year of Me (The Brunswick Song).” Their most recent live highlight includes a performance at the legendary Whisky a Go Go in Los Angeles.

“Broken” is available now on all major streaming platforms.

“Crack It Open” finds its sweet spot between grit and melody. There is an unmistakable ’90s grunge sensibility in its raw energy and guitar-driven sound, but the track never feels like it belongs entirely to another era. Its grungegaze textures add a softer, dreamier layer, giving the song room to breathe while keeping its edge intact.

That balance is perhaps what makes the track work so well. N.O.M.O.S. understand that revisiting a familiar sound does not necessarily mean recreating it. Instead, Alex and Letícia draw from the emotional directness of grunge: its vulnerability, urgency, and sheer physicality, and filter it through a more contemporary sonic lens. The result feels nostalgic without being overly sentimental.

There is also something refreshing about the simplicity of the track’s premise. There is no elaborate story behind the release; it is ultimately about the sound itself; and sometimes, that is more than enough. “Crack It Open” is music that asks to be felt at full volume: guitars hitting hard, melodies cutting through the haze, and the energy itself is carrying the track.

As the first glimpse into their forthcoming album File: Unsaved, “Crack It Open” by Not Old Memories Only Sound makes for an effective introduction; rooted in the noise of the past, wrapped in the haze of the present, and leaving plenty of room to wonder what comes next!

That last point matters more than it might seem, because the band recorded, mixed, and mastered “Broken” entirely themselves, with no outside producers, engineers, or AI involved anywhere in the process. For a genre built on grunge and hard rock’s DNA, that’s not just a technical detail; it’s basically the whole point. Grunge and punk have always run on the idea that you make the thing yourself, flaws included, rather than handing it off to be smoothed over by someone else’s system. A band leaning on AI to write or polish a song about hitting rock bottom would undercut the entire premise. You can’t be a rebel if you’re conforming to the very tools and shortcuts the genre exists to push back against, and No Drinks For Jimmy clearly understand that.

Lyrically, “Broken” is about exactly what the title suggests, described by the band as the moment you start your own 12-step program because you’ve hit rock bottom. The Foo Fighters, Jimmy Eat World, and Stone Temple Pilots influences are audible without the song feeling derivative, and the emotional directness that’s defined the band since its beginnings carries through here, whether it’s blasting through a car stereo or landing on someone alone with headphones in.

“Broken” doesn’t reinvent anything, and it doesn’t need to. It’s a well-built, honestly made rock song from a band that’s clearly more interested in getting the work right than getting it easy, and in 2026, that’s very commendable.

The first single from the band’s upcoming second album, Lions and Ore, the track introduces its heavier side without giving away everything that comes later. The rhythm feels almost mechanical, while the guitars gradually fill the space around it, turning repetition into tension rather than predictability.

The lyrics add another layer of unease. “All dialtone / One two now gone / We don’t belong / Leather stains the bone” moves through fragmented images of leather, summer heat, bodies, and things slipping through cracks. Nothing quite forms a straightforward narrative, and that ambiguity works in the song’s favor. Instead, the fragments create a strange, tactile landscape of decay and displacement.

The repeated “We don’t belong” eventually stops sounding like a conventional chorus and starts feeling like a mantra. It is simple, but the repetition gives it weight, especially against the song’s increasingly claustrophobic instrumentation.

There are recognizable echoes of Joy Division, Interpol, and Protomartyr in its dark rhythms and emotional restraint, but The House Flies bring in enough noise rock, goth, shoegaze, and alternative-rock texture to keep the track from feeling like post-punk nostalgia. The quieter passages also give the heavier sections room to hit harder.

As an introduction to Lions and Ore, “Derelict Crawl” by The House Flies works precisely because it does not explain everything. It gives us grit, repetition, heat, and alienation, and leaves us wanting to know what lies underneath!