The song begins in an unexpected place. A Baglama, a traditional Greek string instrument, introduces a brief melodic passage that feels almost fragile before the guitars arrive and shift the mood entirely. What follows is a compelling mix of grunge, alternative rock, punk spirit, and psychedelic color, all stitched together by a riff that lingers long after the song ends.

The guitars are heavy and unapologetically rough around the edges, yet melody remains at the forefront. Moments of density give way to more spacious passages, creating a natural ebb and flow rather than a constant assault of sound. The result feels lived-in rather than manufactured, as though the song has been evolving for years before finally finding its final form.

Then there are the lyrics. “Since Emilia” doesn’t hand listeners a clear narrative; instead, it circles around its subject, offering fragments and suggestions. That sense of mystery becomes part of the appeal. The title character remains elusive, and the song is stronger for it, encouraging listeners to bring their own interpretations to the experience.

The band’s confidence and ability to follow its own instincts is remarkable. Drawing from grunge, stoner rock, and punk without becoming beholden to any one of them, YACOVELLI delivers a song that feels both familiar and forward-looking. With “Since Emilia,” the band proves that rock music can still surprise when it’s willing to take a few unexpected turns!

Musically, the song is quite ingenious: it starts off with a gunshot sound that you soon conflate with the snare itself, and as the creepy guitar chord keeps ringing out through the verses, it feels ominous and teeters on psychedelic rock more than a bluesy, swampy jam. Though the verses are groovy, the groove is broken up by a dream sequence halfway through, where the ambient sounds are big, but it works to push you even deeper inside your own mind. It works a great balance between trippy and groovy.

“Thomas Matthew Crooks” is the follow-up to their critically received single “Kindness,” which came out of a hitchhiking trip through the north of Ireland, and the contrast between the two says something about the band’s range. Subterranean Street Society has a club tour through the Netherlands coming up, and an album due later in 2026. On the strength of these two singles, it’s shaping up to be an interesting one.

At the heart of the song lies its most devastating statement: “People will mourn you after you’re dead / But till then…”That line becomes the emotional center of Deadbeats Never Die, exposing the painful contradiction between judgment and the compassion people often offer only after loss.

As the song progresses, the chaos slowly fades into an exposed acoustic passage where the perspective shifts. Suddenly, the voice behind the label finally speaks: “You say I’m just a deadbeat / A leech and an addict, fcking junkie / My head’s been reeling / If only you could see.”* The transition transforms accusation into humanity, allowing shame, pain, and vulnerability to surface.

The final act expands into a cinematic ending built around orchestral textures and restrained emotion. The closing lines, “Wish you’d talked to us more / We’d never left you alone,” land with quiet heartbreak.

Written alongside his brothers Joe and Rob, Mike Lotito’s Deadbeats Never Die feels deeply intentional both lyrically and sonically. More than an alternative rock release, it is a reflection on addiction, grief, and the empathy people sometimes discover too late. With Deadbeats Never Die, Mike Lotito turns discomfort into one of the song’s greatest strengths.

The main sound and texture of the song is rebellion, and like so many greats before them, Mute TV chose a sizzling drum sound paired with a borderline mangled, fuzzy guitar signal – the kind of fuzz that would make Jack White proud. It’s abrasive without losing the melodic thread underneath, which is the difficult balance that separates noise pop that works from noise pop that just exhausts you. Tim James, Joe Mountain, and Ade Poole are three seasoned musicians, and it shows – the live recording format doesn’t flatter the underprepared, and “Drag Me Down” holds up under that pressure without breaking a sweat.

There’s a particular kind of band that chooses to record live on their debut not because it’s the easier path but because they know the song only fully exists in that format – where the mistakes are features and the tension is real rather than constructed in post. Mute TV is clearly that kind of band. The decision to release through Medical Grade Music and to track inside Real World Studios also suggests a team around them that takes the project seriously, which tends to matter at this stage. The live dates across April and May in the South West give them a circuit to build on, and if “Drag Me Down” is representative of where their catalogue is heading, there’s a lot of room to grow into.

The opening moments immediately establish the atmosphere. Long, distorted guitar chords stretch across the track with an eerie weight, creating tension before the song fully erupts. SHARKEOLOGIST draw from the hypnotic heaviness of Deftones and the aching harmonies of Alice in Chains, yet the song never loses its own identity. Instead, it feels like the version of “Pony” that had been buried beneath the original all along:  darker, more vulnerable, and infinitely more dangerous.

What makes this rendition so captivating is its emotional duality. The familiar “come and jump on it” refrain still carries seduction, but here it sounds almost ghostly, wrapped inside towering riffs and layers of atmosphere. SHARKEOLOGIST transform the lyric into something desperate and intoxicating at once, capturing the beauty and agony of intimacy in equal measure. The track pulses with that tension continuously, balancing sensuality with emotional collapse.

The production adds to the song’s immersive quality. Every dynamic rise and fall feels deliberate, allowing the arrangement to breathe rather than overwhelm. Dense guitars crash against distant synth textures while cavernous percussion pushes the track forward with cinematic intensity. Then comes the haunting flute solo by Johnny Butler, which drifts through the distortion like smoke. It is an unexpected detail that deepens the song’s hypnotic atmosphere and elevates the track beyond simple reinvention.

What is most impressive, however, is SHARKEOLOGIST’s refusal to rely purely on nostalgia. “Pony” does not survive because listeners recognize it; it survives because the band completely reshapes its emotional core. There is an understanding here that desire is rarely clean or uncomplicated. It can feel euphoric and destructive simultaneously, and SHARKEOLOGIST lean fully into that contradiction. The result feels equally indebted to the dark sensuality of Nine Inch Nails as it does to the seductive pulse of 90s R&B.

More importantly, “Pony” reinforces SHARKEOLOGIST’s identity as a band capable of creating immersive worlds rather than simply songs. The massive riffs, brooding atmosphere, and emotionally charged delivery all point toward a group with a clear artistic vision rooted deeply in Seattle’s grunge lineage while still feeling modern and expansive.

“Pony” no longer feels like a reinterpretation of a classic track. In SHARKEOLOGIST’s hands, it becomes something far more cinematic and emotionally exposed: a critically bold hymn for the beautifully damned..

As a theatrical EP meant to be listened to in sequence, like any good story, we start already in a predicament: lost in space at the event horizon, trying to find “A Course for Home.” With that first track, the band sets the atmosphere, and the key is in the production as much as it is in the writing and harmonic choices, because if that guitar doesn’t sound like a rocket engine, then we’re not in space anymore. It does, and so we’re launched into the atmosphere. The mood shifts in “Black Lights” towards something more nostalgic, though the cosmic elements remain; the melancholy cuts through the cosmic rays. “Neon Blood” sounds exactly as aggressive as its title and drives forward with explicit lyrics and syncopated beats. There is some experimentation with the production as the song progresses that keeps you hooked the whole way through.

The crown jewel of the EP is definitely “Anatomy of Letting Go.” This song delivers the message of the whole record: that even at the point of no return, at the event horizon itself, and in the face of certain death, we still dance and sing and love, because that’s what it means to be human. That message is accentuated by the creative choice of making the chorus more anthemic than anything else on the EP. It’s a brilliant closer that brings the whole thing together with a strong finish.

For a band only a year and a half into their existence, Dancing on the Event Horizon is a confident and cohesive statement. The concept holds, the sequencing works, and the production earns its own atmosphere. Worth watching.

 

The cinematic quality isn’t just an aesthetic choice; it’s structural. The song moves like a narrative arc, beginning in introspection and expanding into something far more expansive and emotionally charged. It feels intimate, yet it echoes with something almost epic.

Rooted in grunge-metal but stretching confidently across classic and progressive influences, the track leans into a rich, old-school heaviness without ever sounding dated. There’s clarity in its aggression. The production, anchored by Yanick Horner’s precise guitar work, holds everything together with a tight, controlled force, while still allowing the rawness of the genre to breathe. Angelo Spilotros’ drumming injects urgency, never overwhelming but always pushing forward. Meanwhile, Amaury Cha’s keys add an atmospheric depth that subtly elevates the emotional tone, and Juan Diego Poveda Avíla’s bass grounds the entire piece with a steady, resonant pulse.

Lyrically and emotionally, “The Eyes of a Child” centers on something deeply human: the confrontation with one’s own fears. That line, “see his eyes, see the anger mounting,” lingers not because it’s dramatic, but because it feels honest. There’s no exaggeration here. Just a quiet acknowledgment of inner conflict, and the courage it takes to face it. Dan Szyller doesn’t dramatize the struggle, he sits with it, lets it grow, and then channels it into sound.

There’s also an interesting tension at play: the title suggests innocence, yet the sonic landscape is heavy, almost turbulent. That contrast works in the track’s favor. It reflects the core idea, that even within something as pure as a “child’s gaze,” there can be confusion, anger, and the beginnings of self-awareness.

And perhaps that’s what makes this release resonate. It feels earned. Knowing that the track was written years ago and only now released adds another layer to its identity, it carries time within it. It has been shaped by distance, by reflection, as well as by waiting.

With “The Eyes of a Child,” Dan Szyller presents a piece that feels both personal and carefully crafted. The artist skilfully presents a journey through fear, and the quiet, hard-earned resolve that follows..

First of all, props to whoever engineered this live session because all of the details are positively popping through. That level of clarity in a live room recording is harder to pull off than it sounds, and it pays off across the whole EP. “Fine Time” is a genuinely great anti-war song – the harmony and rhythm section do what’s needed, but the lyrics are the real story. They could easily be commenting on current events in 2026, when the song was actually written back in 2014. The live version sounds more mature for it, like a song that got to marinate with the band long enough that the performance has become more nuanced and settled.

“Desire” pops more in a live setting because, by design, it leans heavily on the lyrics, so when the instruments are naturally more present in a room recording, everything feels more balanced. Thematically, it sits with adult responsibilities pushing against what we actually want, and how difficult it is to break the pattern of routine long enough to explore our own instincts – getting out of the box is hard when the box is what keeps the lights on.

Musically, “Day After Day” is the most interesting track on the EP, with a lot more rhythmic variation than the other songs in the session. The bass riffs have a Primus-inspired quality, and the evolving synth sounds push it toward 70s prog rock territory – a combination that shouldn’t work as cleanly as it does. The band executes it live in a way that doesn’t just honor the original composition but takes it somewhere further.

A live EP from a band this deep into their catalog could easily feel like a stopgap, but Live From The Attic earns its place in the discography. The Wheel Workers have shared stages with The Flaming Lips and Phantogram, toured nationally, and spent time on the NACC charts with Harbor – they know how to perform. With the full-length still months away, this is a worthwhile entry point for anyone who hasn’t caught up with them yet.