The first proper track ‘lens’ displays this fusion from the beginning. It bobs and bounces its way through its three-minute run-time while Freeman’s vocals anchor it in the personal, delivering reflective lines that belie the song’s easy instrumentation. “Build you up to be much better than you are,” she sings. “Guess I have myself to blame.”

The sluggish swing of ‘Not The One’ offers a kind of ironic romantic feel, while ‘Tongue In Cheek’ picks up the tempo in a moody and cutting style. The tracks are indicative of the album’s tone, positioned at that time of life where nothing is decided and everything is lost. When something ends, a multitude of new beginnings are possible, though it is just as easy to be paralysed by the developments.

Perhaps the emotional centre-point of Semi Sweet, ‘Middle Distance Runner’ is a track Freeman recorded at home on her computer (the other songs were reworked from demos and recorded with the help of Justin Roth of Soft Idiot). Like most of the tracks on the album it is set in that uncertain period of young adulthood, something that Freeman is constantly trying to figure out though her music.

“A lot of these songs though were emotional dump-sites even though it may not sound too emo at face value,” Freeman explains in an interview with Gold Flake Paint. “I would have a few things I was messing around with on the guitar and I would just keep playing until whatever was bothering me kinda spilled out.”

There’s a composed intensity about ‘Upswing’, Freeman’s vocals unfurling alongside guitar lines and bursts of percussion. “Caught myself in wishful thinking” she sings “is it you or what I’m drinking?” As its title suggests, ‘Mello Yello’ sounds as slow and lazy as a summer afternoon, while finale ‘Bloom’ is an acoustic track that takes he blueprints of the previous songs and strips it right back, just acoustic guitar and Freeman’s voice, a fitting finale for a very promising album.

I’ll watch for the flowers bloom in spring
I’m waiting for something that I can’t see

Semi Sweet is out now and you can get it on a name-your-price basis from the Highnoon Bandcamp page.

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To celebrate the album’s birthday, it has been reissued on limited edition double LP, and Mason is also hitting the road. One of the support acts on the tour is our friend Jake Bellissimo, songwriter and head of Drunk With Love Records. To further celebrate Mason’s influence, Jake has organised a compilation of covers on Drunk With Love that will be sold in benefit of an LGBTQ refugee shelter in Berlin.

Titled Comfort in the Question Mark: Songs of Jordaan Mason, the compilation brings together nine artists with their own takes on some of Mason’s best songs. It plays like both a celebration of and an homage to an important figure in the DIY music and queer communities. “Their music was important for me coming to terms with my gender identity,” Bellissimo explains, “a feeling I’ve noticed that’s shared among many other queer people.”

Although the release comprises of covers of just one artist, there is still considerable diversity across its nine tracks. It begins with a piano cover of ‘wild dogs: divorce’ (from divorce lawyers i shaved my head) by Providence, RI songwriter visibilities, taking the hectic emotion of the original and smoothing its edges without losing any of the feeling.

Bluffs replace the accordion of ‘Pink’ with shimmering curtains of synths, while Zurich’s Debutante initially maintains the hushed intimacy of ‘Static’, just lonely guitar and subtle effects that crawl at the edges like anxious thoughts. But soon the track thuds into life with drum machine and grainy distortion. There’s plenty of lo-fi fuzz too on Kowareta‘s ‘Avalanche’, juxtaposing nicely with the aching clarity of ‘It Does Not Get Better’ by Lady Queen Paradise.

The final track belongs to Bellissimo, a beautifully simple take on ‘Why Fit?’, quiet guitar and stirring strings buoying the expressive vocals which deliver lines that sum up the ethos of the compilation and Jordaan Mason’s music in general.

So why do we still want to fit
when the world
just just just just
rejects us?

Comfort in the Question Mark: Songs of Jordaan Mason is out now and you can get it on a name-your-price basis from the Drunk With Love Records Bandcamp page.

Cover art by Ammy

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Speaking of language, every track on the debut Or Sobre Blau album, The Piri Piri Samplers, is named after a Portuguese phrase with a strong Catholic theme. The album was recorded in a studio in Alto São João, Lisbon, which just so happened to be opposite a large graveyard. “They remind me of the bleakness in that cemetery,” Leonard tells The Line of Best Fit of the songs’ titles, “the weird perseverance of its dark, devout language over people that are dead and structures that are in ruin.”

That thought serves as a good introduction to the record. These instrumentals are more akin to something put out by Lost Tribe Sound than the usual Memorials of Distinction fare, abstract soundscapes that crawl with claustrophobic drones and wiry guitars that come skewering to the fore from amidst a sense of atmosphere and tension. It’s like the soundtrack to some Euro acid western, playing against a backdrop of stoic hawks wheeling above the baked Iberian earth.

There’s a depth to ‘Do Menino Deus’, a kind of stereoscopic experimental track that pairs landscape-wide ruminations with picked guitar that feels a lot closer, like unseen creatures scuttling in the nearby scrub. The whole album continues like this, Serra and Leonard using their guitars to probe and search, creating something that’s unique in the way it combines the tense and the explorative, the ominous and the beautiful.

There’s wonder too in how the tracks are constructed, seemingly clashing guitars coming together in waves of constructive interference, creating a swirling whole that feels a lot more than the sum of its parts. Guitar is used as an atmospheric foil (‘Da Madalena’), as small blipped flourishes (‘De Passeio Pelo Alto De São João’), and even as pseudo percussion (‘Da Nossa Senhora Da Conceição’). ‘Mártires’ brings all this together in the album’s uneasy masterpiece, guitar as both taut mosquito-whir and deep moaning calls, evoking the feeling of watching strange lights flitting between moon-lit tombs, perhaps remnants of the martyrs of the title.

The Piri Piri Samplers is an impressive album, and one guaranteed to sound unlike anything else you’ll hear this year. Serra and Leonard make an odd couple, but as Or Sobre Blau proves, that can make for great music. “What do you find in the middle of noise and harmony?” asks label Memorials of Distinction. “A very old question, really. We know that the answer is usually endearing and a little tragic, like a bad translation.”

You can get The Piri Piri Samplers on cassette tape or name-your-price download from the Memorials of Distinction Bandcamp page.

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At the turn of the year, we like to make a big list of our favourite ‘name your price’ / free music on Bandcamp, in part because it helps us mention albums we didn’t get a chance to write about, but also because such releases are prone to flying under the radar and the process of scouring Bandcamp for new music is always fun and fruitful.

Last year we spoke about how paying artists makes for the best soil in which to sow creative seeds, and things are no different now. Indeed, with the dawn of Spotify and the all-powerful algorithms, it is more important than ever to support independent artists and labels, and in reality there are already enough free ways to consume music that we don’t need to encourage another.

So please delve into the below list, curated entirely by humans, and spend whatever is left of your Christmas money when you stumble across something you like. We can vouch for the quality of everything here, so don’t be afraid to judge a record by its cover to begin with.

If you missed them, we also posted lists of our favourite albums of 2018, our favourite songs of 2018 and our favourite books of 2018.

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Combining the ruminative atmosphere of a Lily Tapes release with the understatedly devastating writing of Talons’, Mount Eerie or early Trouble Books, Seventh Song Counts the Engines sees The World Without Parking Lots make something that’s equal parts sad and hopeful, bummed out bedroom folk songs for the twenty-first century.

The album opens with ‘Famous Horse Race’, a song that introduces this hushed and undeniably affecting vibe excellently. Opening with a despondent bus ride, things grow increasingly opaque, ending with murmured free verse that feels like an Impressionistic portrait of a thousand thoughts and feelings, lending new significance to the superimposed writing of the album’s artwork. “There’s a place where the lightness behind heaviness sits,” Parcell sings, “that I can only hold when the message hits behind an impulse and electric stay-awake but staying awake has it’s limits.”

There’s a lot of emotional abstraction in ‘The Inventor of Common Law Marriage’ too, Parcell’s words creeping sidelong at the edges of a situation, somehow saying nothing and capturing everything with its talk of narrow eyes and rodent-killing vultures.

Perhaps the saddest song you’ll ever hear about the “ever entertaining jewels” of colourful TV, ‘Cartoon’ is stripped right back, just gentle guitar and barely-there vocals. The whole thing is infused in sombre melancholy, but it’s the last line that stands out, a starkly beautiful piece of poetry that somehow feels like the perfect ending, a glimmer among the subdued hues.

“Grey estate, golden age blood moon
tear my winter coat in two”

Rattling around for a minute or so, ‘The Petition on the Emptier Parts’ eventually finds its rhythm as Parcell sings from a post-industrial malaise. “He’s reopening all the old factories,” he sings, “and this town could really use it right now.” ‘Seventh Song’ is a gentle instrumental interlude, guitar softly chiming beneath a layer of radio crackle, before closer ‘Sorel & Mare’ arrives in the rhythmic sway of guitar. Typically oblique, the song is seemingly simple but rendered dense and cryptic with the addition of Parcell’s poetry, packing a huge emotional punch in the process.

“and he counts the engines
one by one by one by the sound alone
by one by one by one
and he weighs his bringings
one by one by one hand alone”

Seventh Song Counts the Engines is a beautiful collection of songs, one which somehow makes a bold statement in a circuitous whisper, deceptively complex instrumentation and ambiguous lyrics capturing decidedly unambiguous emotion. Quite where Parcell takes The World Without Parking Lots next is left unclear, though we cannot wait to find out.

The album is out now and you can get it as a name-your-price download from The World Without Parking Lots Bandcamp page.

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Now, Nice Try are back with another album (another self-titled album, at that), and not too much as changed in the meantime aside from the addition of Jake Alexander on bass. Robinson is still making super sweet pop songs that don’t outstay their welcome, and the songs still form a winning blend of reflective and carefree attitudes.

The album opens with ‘Waves’, a song about coping through motion, avoiding difficult times by jumping on a bus and riding it ten hours south. It’s a great introduction for the uninitiated, elastic guitars wrapped in just enough fuzz as Robinson delivers her gently candid lyrics.

‘Soft Rock’ paints a little impressionistic scene, floating in a lake beneath the hot dry air of an approaching storm, small anxieties wriggling into even the nicest moments. “Inevitably the internal shout,” Robinson sings, “am I good enough for you or anyone else?”

‘Angry’ is a minute-long blast of lo-fi pop that’s bursting with a need to share true feelings, looking for someone to be the deep and cool plunge pool at the bottom of a waterfall of fears and frustrations. ‘Smart’ is another bouncy indie rock song that feels like the sequel, although as is often the case, things seem to have moved on to something equally uncertain and confusing. “Shut my mouth for nearly a year,” Robinson sings, “when I told you how I felt, you said it was weird.”

Robinson yearns from an old friend on’ ‘Micah’, someone who has moved on to new jobs and houses and dogs, but who (clearly) still means a lot. It’s also a song about stasis, our narrator asking “what do I have to show for the last year? I’m older and wiser but I’m still just right here.”

‘No Good’ is reminiscent of the soft pop of Free Cake For Every Creature, as smooshy and sleepy as a bedtime phonecall to a loved one, while closer ‘Relax’ creates a sense of golden gladness from small meaningful moments. It’s the perfect finale to the album, ending on a kind and hopeful note that murmurs away the worries that have come before.

“I could walk you home
or wave to you across the road
and either way it goes I’ll be satisfied to know
our paths are in line
and I’m just happy to be somewhere
I don’t feel like I’m wasting most of my time”

You can get Nice Try on LP or a name-your-price download from the Nice Try Bandcamp page.

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The album opens with one of the aforementioned singles, ‘Something to do with a mouth’, what we described previously as “like a purply-pink orb that morphs and melds across the four and half minute run-time, constantly shifting in perfectly fluid pop perfection.” And that last bit is important, because if there’s one thing you should take from this review it’s that Frankie Valet can write pop songs. Like, really well.

Which isn’t to say there’s anything formulaic about the sound. Rather, the band explore other styles through a pop lens. Take ‘April’ as an example, sounding almost like Parts & Labor if they had made shimmery pop, the track building towards a big bombastic chorus, all slapped drums and near-yelled vocals.

“I’ve been killing four years
waiting for this shit to fall in line
and when I find it’s all I wanted
will I give up again?”

One of the standout aspects of the album is the way Frankie Valet alter the tempo within songs, like the way they slam on the brakes in ‘Holes in Your Story’, morphing from shoegazy pop to something slow and insular, or the pulse-quickening little pockets of acceleration that dot the aforementioned ‘something to do with a mouth’ like whitewater rapids in a river.

As we’ve described previously, lead single ‘Why blue’ is part throwback pop, part shoegazy indie rock, with an uncanny habit of finding tempo and melody when you least expect it. Just as things seem to settle into a somnambulant shuffle, driving drums kick in and the song rides a little eddy of energy to somewhere entirely new. The result is something equal parts fun and sad, twin emotions tied together in nostalgic fuzz.

‘Fall in 2’ pulls a similar trick, although perhaps a little more conventionally. The first two thirds are all sweet pop, the near-whispered vocals thick with a sense of infatuation, before giving way to a big crunchy finale. This atmosphere of devotion continues into ‘mint 2’; “This is so new,” they sing, “but I feel like I’ve known you for a thousand years,” over slinky surf pop and steady pounding percussion.

The final proper song ‘Concert Pad’ feels like a dreamy oasis adrift at the end of Stop apologizing, pretty acoustic guitar and subtle vocals conjuring the most intimate atmosphere across any of the eight tracks. The effect is one of a soothing balm, welcome sedate relief after the frantic energy of the previous songs, and it’s a lovely way to round off the album.

Stop apologizing is out now on It Takes Time Records and you can get it via their Bandcamp, or digitally from the Frankie valet Bandcamp page.

Also – The band were kind enough to answer some questions about the album and their creative process. Check out their answers below!

Hi, thanks for speaking to us! You’ve just released your debut full-length, Stop apologizing. How does it feel to finally share it with everyone?

It feels like excited relief. It’s a good time capsule of what we’ve worked on for the past months, during times of turbulence and excitement and fear, as our lives are continuously shifting.

What can people expect from album?

I think there’s something for everyone, centered around lush production and simple songwriting. Some guitars and some keyboards and other goodies. All swirled together, it feels like uneasiness made still.

The album feels like an indie pop patchwork of lots of different styles and genres. What/who would you consider its biggest influences?

As far as songwriting goes, Felix was listening to a bunch of classic dream pop at the time. Cocteau Twins, slowdive, a lot of 4AD stuff. There’s also lots of new wave in this release but also undercurrents of ‘90s rock like Dinosaur Jr. and REM. Gram cites Radiohead as a big influence. Overall, it’s hard to pinpoint influences, because like you said, it’s a patchwork, and all of our experiences and perspectives came together on this album to make it what it is.

The lead vocalist swaps across the album’s eight tracks, so how does that work, and who writes the songs?

At this point, we try to write collaboratively as much as possible. This new record is a product of the beginning stages of that process; ‘April’ was written full band and Jack took lead for example. For another, our producer Pete asked Alison to sing ‘Concert Pad’ because her voice works well for the song. It often depends where the song originated. If someone came up with a melody and then brought it to practice then they generally get dibs on vocals, but if it originated via a jam then we usually talk about who is gonna sing. The next record will have more of an organic approach, similar to how ‘April’ was written.

You’re releasing the album via it takes time records, how did that partnership come about?

We’re good buds with Mickey and Jordan! Good kids.

Finally, would you be so kind as to name a few artists (say, 4 or 5) that you’ve been listening to lately?

Felix: Aphex Twin, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Staple Singers, Jeff Rosenstock, Prince, Ride
Gram: Castlebeat, Nai Palm, Cool American, Florist, Big Thief
Alison: Florist, Emily Yacina, Radiator Hospital, Corbin, Strange Ranger
Jack: Cool American, Illuminati Hotties, Strange Ranger, Ratboys, Sonic Youth

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The EP opens with ‘Pretty Bad, Man’, which serves as a great introduction—an indie rock song with some sunny pop thrown in for good measure. Lyrically, the track exists in that space after a breakup, and although our narrator seems to be doing well (“My skin is cleared and I am cured / I’m getting ten hours of sleep at night”), there’s still a lingering sense of yearning.

‘Say No’ is equally fun, despite its talk of faked suicides and graveside flowers, while ‘The Princess and the Queen’ offers a twist on the lovesick pop trope. ‘Clueless Vibes’ is tinged with disappointment, a lean indie pop song where van Kampen’s lines are laced with previous hurt, before finale ‘Somewhere’ looks back on a tumultuous relationship and forward to a better future.

“Somewhere
It’s better
Somewhere”

You can get Dinner Party on cassette via Z Tapes or a name your price download from the Elsa Lester Bandcamp page.

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Opener ‘bad song’ introduces the museum food court sound, sparse arrangements of acoustic guitar and sad and yearning vocals. The lyrics follow suit, lines repeating as if gathering energy or confidence from their own sequences. As such, the tone rises to something like assertion, though whether this is a fake-it-’til-you-make-it product of the repetition or a genuine feeling is unclear.

Second track ‘fingernails’ clocks in at less than 80 seconds, again just soft acoustic guitar and understatedly emotive vocals. As you might expect from a song so short, the lyrics are nothing more than a flash frame of a situation, leaving us to pick up the pieces and conjure the situation around the moment, though the affective sound is more than enough to encourage the filling in of gaps.

I’m remorseful that I couldn’t pick up the phone
a few more times
now you’re above me thinking less of me
if heaven does exist
I’m sorry you have to see me like this

The power of these songs lies in their simplicity, their ability to make you feel feelings with the most basic of equipment. It’s also a reminder of the power of the internet, the fact you can feel those feelings after stumbling across two short songs made by a stranger in their bedroom, halfway across the world. It’s what Various Small Flames is all about.

Get parchment paper on a name-your-price download from the museum food court Bandcamp page.

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Perhaps unsurprisingly then, it’s a difficult album to categorise. Snyder herself describes it as “a careful step outside her bedroom. It is a series of bad haircuts. It’s fist-clenching exercises. It’s a butterfly stitch. It’s stuck on a chain email. It’s smothered, covered, and peppered. And it’s listening to you too.”

‘Being Up Lately’ serves as a disconcerting prologue, the instrumentation ominously dissonant, the vocals just snatches of answerphone recordings garbled by interference. The track ends by amping up the discomfort, morphing into what sounds like the shrill warble of an alarm, before segueing into the relatively gentle guitar and drums of ‘Take Care’. But this track isn’t simple dreamy bedroom pop, there’s so much going on, drawing on the aforementioned diversity of instruments to create something that sounds at once introspective, angry and triumphant, the chorus spiking with the embittered lines.

“you would take care of me
you would take care
you would take care of me till i turned blue”

‘Habit’ opens with some hushed lo-fi atmospherics before the onset of strummed guitar and Snyder’s vocals, delivering four repeated lines interspersed with more distorted samples. The insistence and repetition creates a sense of free-falling emotion, not wholly unlike the slowcore of Low. The song’s echo then passes on into ‘The Rest is Gravy’, which feels claustrophobic and surreal with it’s shuffling drums and gaudy streaks of guitar. This atmosphere is heightened by the audio clip from a suicide documentary.

‘Visitor’s Hour’ follows strange and hushed, built on stark guitar and the increasing jangle of pots and pans, growing like paranoid thoughts in the synapses of your brain, while ‘No Man’ moves in clumsy undulations, the lyrics an opaque depiction of difficult but ultimately triumphant recovery. “But for now you and I must part ways”, Snyder sings, “I’ll go ’cause when I see you I know one day I’ll be whole”.

Penultimate track ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’ begins taut and reserved, before erupting into a chorus full of fervour, while finale ‘Blue Light’ is a slice of swirling instrumental drone pop, a song so rich and textured it feels like it’s own microclimate. It’s the fitting end to an intriguing collection of songs.

You can get Too North now, on cassette and name-your-price download, from the jenno snyder Bandcamp page.

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