Category: MP3s

“Salt” – Passenger Lounge

Effortlessly engaging

“Salt” – Passenger Lounge

Easy-going and effortlessly engaging, “Salt” is precisely the kind of song that fuels my ongoing desire to keep doing what I’ve been doing here since (yikes) 2003. Passenger Lounge is an unassuming three-piece band, comprised of family members in New Orleans who make no effort to bowl you over with online hype. The email arrived without fuss or preening or reference to their streaming or follower numbers. (Aside: I don’t care about anyone’s streaming and/or follower numbers.) The music was more than enough.

“Salt” grounds itself in a strummed, backbeated groove then immediately establishes its distinguishing sound: the lead singer, identified only as J, with a voice that’s equal parts air and substance, singing a seesawing melody with strings of words that feel both inevitable and difficult to follow. As you settle in you begin to notice a male voice (this would be either Alec or Peter) in subtle accompaniment, and a wayward saxophone blowing in nearly atonal concurrence. The song presents a continual dialectic between resolution and irresolution, with each lyrical line seeming to start on a resolved note and to end unresolved, which creates an irresistible forward flow.

Things subtly alter around 2:10, as the song’s underlying momentum remains but with the music, now, staying unresolved for a good 40 seconds or so. Lyrics pile onto each other as the melody seems to run into a wall before a sense of release arrives around 2:56 as the original pattern returns, boosted by a new sense of urgency and the male singer pushing more to the front of the mix. Just as we’re reacclimated we get a whole new melody at 3:39, in a late-arriving bridge that’s really more of a coda, leading into an all-instrumental final section featuring even later-arriving electric guitar work that eventually dissolves in a puddle of electronics. The whole thing is captivating in a low-key but insistent way.

“Salt” is the lead track from the band’s debut, two-song EP. You’ll find it on Bandcamp.

“Church Street” – Martyrs

Percussive tempo, yearning vibe

“Church Street” – Martyrs

With (literally) no introduction, “Church Street” feels like a story joined in the middle. As the song unfolds, the lyrics solidify, somewhat, into a bittersweet, literarily-told tale of lost love, but it’s the music (steady rhythms, well-constructed melodies) and vocals (vulnerable tenor) that grab the ear independent of the narrative. The frisky, percussive tempo belies the melancholy in the air; the wistful call-and-response of the pre-chorus amplifies the yearning vibe, climaxing with the chorus and its central, unmissable lyric: “I said we live in a terrible world.” The story never completely coheres but its being told between the lines renders it all the more effective, to my ears.

There’s an instrumental break roughly in the middle, which not enough songs seem to do anymore. I like how the break ends with things going quiet for a moment or two (2:15) before we are launched into the second half. The drama is further enhanced by us hearing, now, the one and only mention of Church Street, which soon leads to these casual but finely wrought lyrics: “We parted in Cardiff/We knew it’d be hard but/We both felt like it was time.” Impressive combination of internal and external rhyming, that. We are in good hands all the way through.

Martyrs are the Welsh duo of Michael Hall and Jon Howells. They are passionate about their DIY ethos; the Welsh music site “God is in the TV” featured a post by Hall and Howells last month (subtitled “A Handy Guide To Making Zero Money As A Musician”) that took a deep dive into their refreshing stance. “Where we split paths with many bands,” they wrote, “is in the fact that we don’t have any interest in being a part of the music industry, nor any interest in popular or financial success.” I might second that thought here in Philadelphia, and in any case I completely vibe with musicians more concerned with music than fame and fortune. They seem to understand better than most that no one owes a musician a living–a harsh but inevitable fact of life here in the 21st century (and any time, really).

“Church Street” is the title track of a six-song EP the band released in April, an album that they describe as revolving around their hometown of Merthyr Tydfil. (“Merthyr” translates to “martyr” in English.) You can hear the whole thing and buy it (for one British pound) via Bandcamp.

“Beginnings” – Chloe Violette

Spirited and relaxed

“Beginnings” – Chloe Violette

I am something of a sucker for songs with this kind of starkly articulated, tom-based drumbeat, reminiscent of something delightful by Paul Simon. Add crisp acoustic guitar pickings and a rich vocal style and we have a winner. The vibe is spirited and relaxed at the same time, the organic sound an apt match for ongoing lyrical references to the natural world. Another piece of craft I appreciate is when a song has the nerve to interrupt its own flow, which happens here, first, at 1:28. This works especially well given the allure of the aforementioned percussion, which kicks back in after the interruption, allowing the listener to re-appreciate its laid-back vigor.

The singing voice is a highlight here, but how, I still wonder, after all these years, to effectively describe a voice? Comparisons are at once helpful and slightly lazy. Yes, there’s something of Phoebe Bridgers in Violette’s semi-smoky mezzo, but also something rounder or maybe chestier to it, maybe? I guess the best I can do is to encourage you to listen for yourself and see what her lovely instrument conjures.

A singer/songwriter based in the Gippsland region of Australia, in the state of Victoria, Chloe Violette has in recent years made the transition from teacher to musician. “Beginnings” is the opening track on Colourfast, her debut, which was released back in February. Recording began in March 2023; the process, she says, was not rushed. Note that the birdcall that opens the track is from an Australian songbird called the superb lyrebird, recorded by Violette, as was the sound of the river that flows near her home in the country. You can listen to the album, and buy it, via Bandcamp.

“Us and the Moon” – Tugboat Captain

Amiable melancholy

“Us and the Moon” – Tugboat Captain

A sad and persistent keyboard figure provides the sturdy backbone for this subtly well-constructed tune. The keyboard melody is soon handed off to a violin, and those two instruments proceed to intertwine with great countermelodic purpose, continually augmenting the vocal melodies without ever matching them. Tugboat Captain’s front man, identified only as Sox, sings with a tenderness that accentuates “Us and the Moon”‘s amiable melancholy, lyrics floating by just beyond full comprehension. As you continue listening, an elusive logic nearly but not quite reveals itself, something possibly to do with that unflagging instrumental motif. The song is a mood, an escape hatch, a benediction.

Tugboat Captain is a five-piece band from South London; they’ve been around nearly 10 years, albeit with shifting personnel–only Sox and bassist Joshua Cobb remain from the original lineup. “Us and the Moon” is a track from their latest album, All At Once. The band was previously featured on Fingertips in April 2023 for the song “Flash of Light.”

“Chrysalide” – Cédric Dind-Lavoie

Fetchingly tactile instrumental

“Chrysalide” – Cédric Dind-Lavoie

Instrumentals don’t often sneak through the gateway here, largely because my ears seem to need a human voice in the mix. Mind you, I don’t need to understand what the voice is saying–I don’t in fact pay too much attention to lyrics as a general rule–but I seem somehow to require words with my music, at least in the realm of the non-classical. (With classical music, for me, it’s the reverse: no words is the preference. Go figure.) When a song has no vocals I seem to lose my bearings a bit; I find it more difficult to delineate what sparks the ineffable joy that I seek in music, which for 20-plus years has driven my desire to post what I post.

But here is “Chrysalide,” from Canadian composer and multi-instrumentalist Cédric Dind-Lavoie, and it definitely trips the mysterious inner wire that says “Share this.” I think it begins with the nearly three-dimensional soundscape that greets us as the song gathers itself in the opening moments. We get a stark keyboard drone (perhaps a harmonium?), quickly joined by a bass and fully three-dimensional percussion that fetchingly mixes electronic and organic sounds. It’s a rhythm section you can all but reach out and touch. Some dreamy synth flourishes add to the texture; and when the acoustic guitar joins in it’s almost as if it’s sitting in your lap so tactile and crystal-clear is the sound. “The goal is not grandeur but proximity,” says Dind-Lavoie’s press material, “an enveloping sonic environment that invites listeners inward.” That’s unusually well-stated for press material, not to mention accurate.

The piece is brisk and engaging, unfolding in a manner both well-ordered and ongoingly unpredictable, up to and including those electronic burbles that materialize in the final 40 seconds or so. You’ll find “Chrysalide” on the album Collages (2019-2022), which was released in April and finds the composer revisiting music he had previously written for contemporary dance and documentary film. You can check the whole thing out on Bandcamp. Dind-Lavoie is based in Montreal and has one of those multi-faceted resumes that you’ll often find amongst musicians who hang out in avant-garde circles. I tend to like it when such folks tip-toe into offerings that grab the ear without needing an advanced degree to appreciate.

“Whenever You Want Me Too” – The Greenberry Woods

Timeless power pop

“Whenever You Want Me Too” – The Greenberry Woods

Power pop is one of rock’n’roll’s most elusive genres, as well as one of its most enduring: it was never quite born, never quite arrived, and has never quite gone away. At its best power pop takes rock’n’roll and filters away the dross and excess and macho rebellious posturing and gives us only songs memorable for their hooks and their heart. At the same time it’s a genre dependent on tone, songwriting mechanics, and melodic prowess, as opposed to being identified by a particular decade and/or an overriding sonic characteristic; difficult to describe succinctly, the genre is subject more than most to “I know it when I hear it” recognition. Personally, I point to unerring melodicism, a particular sort of shimmering guitar tone, delightful chord progressions, (bitter)sweet-sounding choruses, and yearning vocals, often featured in harmony, as hallmarks of the genre.

Surely “Whenever You Want Me Too” qualifies. The guitars jangle, the chords gratify, the vocals yearn, and the melodies are sweet without being sugary. No new ground is being covered, but that’s one of the beauties of power pop: at its best the genre self-generates via the easy appeal of its timeless elements. But don’t overlook the subtle songcraft involved in making something this effortless-sounding. One random example is the unexpected chord heard at 2:24; this is the third time we hear the chorus but this one quick wrinkle enhances the song if only because of the care on display, the knowingness to make such a subtle alteration in the first place. Even the more-clever-than-it-initially-looks title, “Whenever You Want Me Too” speaks to attentive craft.

The Greenberry Woods have power-pop bonafides dating back to the ’90s, when the Baltimore-based band were signed to Sire Records by the legendary Seymour Stein (he who also signed the Ramones, Talking Heads, the Pretenders, and Madonna, among many others). The first album, 1994’s Rapple Dapple, garnered decent attention but the follow-up, Big Money Item, in 1995, suffered from both internal tensions within the band and inconsistent promotion, Sire having been recently taken over by Elektra. The band was dropped from the label and disbanded in 1996. They initially reunited in 2018 to release an album of previously recorded but unreleased material. And now, this year, the Greenberry Woods are, against all odds, releasing a long-awaited new album, called It’s All Good, Sugar…, complete with that ellipsis.

“Radio Player” – Josaleigh Pollett

Dynamic mini-journey

“Radio Player” – Josaleigh Pollett

Dramatic and expansive, “Radio Player” builds, over a pulse-like beat, to the sort of catharsis you don’t hear much in algorithm-land. The song gets under your (i.e., my) skin, delivering an affecting amalgam of sound and texture, underpinned by evocative noise and incisive beats. The end result is something at once sharply contemporary in its soundscape and staunchly old-school in its attention to craft. Let it play a few times and see how it grows in stature.

At the center of “Radio Player” is a deft transition from an electronic/synthesizer-oriented palette to an acoustic-guitar-centric section, achieved via a pensive interregnum from about 2:10 to 2:27. We land in a place at once totally different than where we were and yet somehow logical. Through it all, Pollett’s vocals range from tender to penetrating and prove an expert guide on an unexpectedly dynamic mini-journey. If you sense a hint of Kate Bush in the air this is not a bad thing.

Josaleigh Pollett is a singer/songwriter based in Salt Lake City. “Radio Player,” released in October, was crafted together with producer and co-writer Jordan Watko, with whom Pollett has worked regularly over the course of her 15 years as an independent recording artist. Check out her work on Bandcamp.

“Your Colours” – Absolute Losers

Power pop homage

“Your Colours” – Absolute Losers

This Canadian trio, featuring two brothers and a close friend, have a sound that tap-dances knowingly through all three major power-pop eras, from the antecedent mid-’60s through the genre’s new wave rebirth in the late ’70s and further into the alt-rock iteration of the ’90s and early ’00s. The Beatles, the Jam, Fountains of Wayne–they’re all packed into the sound heard throughout In the Crowd, the band’s second album (the title itself a nod to Paul Weller’s old band).

“Your Colours,” however, harkens back most of all to the innocent sounds of 60-some years past, with its carefully articulated guitar lines, just-so melodies, well-etched harmonies, succinct bridge, and satisfying resolutions. The musical ache in the minor-to-major chorus is positively Beatlesque, and while we have traveled far into pastiche territory here, there’s something in the earnest construction and performance that wins me over. And then there’s the final quarter of the song, an extended coda, launched by a modulation at 2:34, which shifts the sound and feel forward in time while remaining true to the musical core.

Absolute Losers hail from Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island. You’ll find their albums and singles over there on Bandcamp.

“Colder” – Jo Davie

Quick and easy appeal

“Colder” – Jo Davie

There are hooks in songs (sometimes!) and then there are what I rather limply call “moments”: specific places in a song that perk the ear up and alert you to something subtly special going on in the songwriting, the arrangement, or the performance, or any combination thereof. I hear such a moment in Jo Davie’s “Colder.” The song quickly appeals via its concise, suspended-chord introduction and a fast-opening verse flavored by lyrics angled onto the three beat; but then we get the moment: when the melody cycles to its third iteration (0:21), at which point it starts a sixth higher than previously, Davie’s voice briefly hitting a new, crystalline register. It happens quickly; it isn’t a hook but it is a place that solidifies the song’s easy appeal.

Another part of the appeal lies in the songwriting sleight of hand on display. The blurted, somewhat breathless verse that opens the song is actually never heard from again; neither is the one-line pre-chorus (0:29), which serves as an agile passage into the chorus with its contrasting half-time melody. Note too the shifting chords underlying the slower melody: on the resonant lyrics “In your arms/It’s colder than/It ever was without you,” the shifts accelerate from “arms” to “than” to “was” and “without” and then, staying there, leaves the “you” both musically and symbolically unresolved. The extended instrumental section, beginning at 1:46, likewise features some engaging chord progressions, and sets up a lyrical twist: when the chorus returns, the line is now: “In your arms/Was colder than/I ever am without you.” The story has progressed in real time; the narrator has left the relationship. Good for her.

Jo Davie is a singer/songwriter based in Brisbane. “Colder” is a track from her debut EP, Nothing Comes Free, released back in May. (Yup I can be a bit slow on the uptake.) Check it out on Bandcamp.

“Nice to Know You” – Ash Molloy

Fully-formed confidence

“Nice to Know You” – Ash Molloy

“Nice to Know You” exhibits a fully-formed confidence that flows through all aspects of the song: the melodies, the arrangements (including the assertive bass line), the anthemic chorus, and maybe best of all, Ash Molloy’s assured and wide-ranging vocal presence.

One of the song’s subtle assets is its use of an instrumental counter-melody beneath the main melody. You can hear it first, if quietly, around 0:31, underneath the lyrics that begin with “And the way you say you’re sorry.” It’s that sing-song-y synthesizer line that leaps up and then back down; a clearer version recurs around 1:10 as Molloy repeats “Nice to know you.” Coming full circle, Molloy herself sings the counter-melody as a coda starting around 3:33. Let’s just say I appreciate the craft, especially as it is couched within something of a ’90s-early-’00s alt-rock vibe; or, think Sky Ferreira for you Sky Ferreira fans.

Ash Molloy is a singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist originally from Newfoundland; she’s been recording since 2023. “Nice To Know You” is her tenth single. You can hear them all on Spotify. Oh and she writes her melodies on her fiddle and has an undergraduate degree in behavioral neuroscience, so there’s that too. Keep an eye on this one.