For more than a decade, Melody Prochet’s songs have drifted through dream logic — language dissolving into texture, emotion refracted through haze. Unclouded, her fourth album as Melody’s Echo Chamber and third for Domino Records, doesn’t abandon that ethereal quality thanks to the arrival of the Swedish producer/songwriter Sven Wunder, best known for the lush psych-jazz soundscapes of his own dazzling discography. But here, Wunder grounds her pastel palette with something newly tactile: breakbeats, supple bass lines and strings that move like muscle rather than mist.

From the start, the rhythm section does as much storytelling as the lyrics. On opener “The House That Doesn’t Exist,” Love Örsan’s bass and Heliocentrics legend Malcolm Catto’s drumming lock into a groove that summons the home Prochet’s singing about — one built from motion and heartbeat rather than stone. “In the Stars” introduces Wunder’s calling cards with gliding strings, boom-bap beats and a melody that pirouettes between melancholy and delight. Lyrics about “finding a place I can call mine” land harder because the music itself sounds like a destination.

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That physicality animates the whole record. “Eyes Closed” and “Childhood Dream” surge forward with frenetic drumming and burbling bass, tracing the boundary between control and surrender like a chocolate mushroom trip along the French Riviera. Even when the drums on “Burning Man” become purposefully muffled so as to sound like they’re in a closet two rooms over, keyboard glissandos and a Per “Texas” Johansson flute solo keep the music moving on a heavenward trajectory.

There’s still mystery here, but it’s less about distance than transformation. Unclouded reveals how clarity can coexist with psychedelia and how groove can sharpen the emotional frame rather than smudge it. Wunder’s graceful, deeply felt arrangements are key to that proposition, as Prochet’s lyrics about impermanence and renewal, once opaque, now feel illuminated by the rhythm itself.

By the time the album winds down with the Stereolab-flavored “Broken Roses” and the resolute “How To Leave Misery Behind” (“please be kind,” she pleads), Prochet has seemingly mastered the art of staying present inside the flux and dancing within the blur instead of floating above it. Throughout Unclouded, the music breathes, the feelings land and the vagaries of life are evermore illuminated.

To see our running list of the top 100 greatest rock stars of all time, click here.

The latest Warp album from the New York composer/pianist Kelly Moran, Don’t Trust Mirrors, is the culmination of six years of work, and it sounds like a definitive career statement. In retrospect, 2024’s conventionally pretty neo-classical record Moves in the Field stands as an anomaly in her catalog. Its elegant, sprightly piano pieces diverge from more dissonant Moran albums such as Bloodroot (2017) and Ultraviolet (2018). Now, she’s back to making hypnotic compositions that subtly clank outside of polite society’s expectations.

A disciple of John Cage, Moran uses prepared-piano techniques — inserting objects on and between the strings, sometimes playing the strings with her fingers or an EBow — along with electronic-music treatments (she’s collaborated with Daniel Lopatin and performed in Oneohtrix Point Never’s band on the Age Of tour, and it shows). Time and again on Don’t Trust Mirrors, Moran tricks the listener into thinking the main instrument here is harp, which, if you’re a fan of Mary Lattimore or Brandee Younger, is a plus. This legerdemain reflects the title’s admonition that all is not what it seems.

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On opener “Echo in the Field,” bubbly synth percolates over harp-like accents and bass-y undercurrents, as a melody of cautious optimism, perhaps conceived as COVID lockdown was ending, emerges. With “Prism Drift,” Moran plucks a piano to fashion cyclical, icy tones, finessing them into a delicately beautiful melody. A savvy musical director should use it in a film to score the protagonist making a life-changing decision. “Systems” is a kinetic cut with engrossing counterpoint, like a Nala Sinephro jawn, but with a more robust attack on the keyboards. Mirrors closes with its most enigmatic and ambitious track, “Cathedral,” evoking the stained-glass gravity of a Goblin giallo soundtrack. This is a deceptively pretty album in which all of the experiments succeed.

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At a March Seattle gig, SML generated three epic improvisations of subtle groove science (the second piece even evoked the funky swagger of Average White Band’s “Schoolboy Crush”) and galvanic hypnosis. It was the best show this writer saw in 2025, and that it differed from the relative concision of the group’s records just proves SML can thrive in various modes. 

The 2024 debut Small Medium Large established SML as a fascinating new force in the jazz/improv underground. With traces of Jon Hassell’s uneasy, tranquil Fourth World music and ECM-style chamber jazz, the record vigorously hybridized elements into beguiling, novel shapes. How You Been (International Anthem) is a deceptively mundane title for an LP that ventures into shifty and rewarding sonic territory. You get the impression that these phenomenal players – bassist Anna Butterss, saxophonist Josh Johnson, guitarist Gregory Uhlmann, synthesist Jeremiah Chiu and drummer Booker Stardrum – don’t take themselves very seriously, yet the music they create is among the headiest in the land.

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Things really take off with “Chicago Four,” which jitters with the industriousness of ’90s-era Mouse on Mars. Uhlmann’s staccato guitar stabs through a peculiarly ambivalent synth melody that seemingly drifted in from a mid-’70s Chick Corea or Joe Zawinul LP, as Stardrum’s off-kilter martial beats tussle with Butterss’ probing bass line. “Daves” is kinetic post-jazz that moves with Cubist misdirection. By contrast,  it sounds as if a weird club banger is struggling to emerge in “Stepping In/The Loop,” but the polyrhythmic percolations seem more at home in the concert halls of academia. Paradoxical tensions rule.

The album peaks on “Taking Out the Trash,” the skewed, five-dimensional funk and bustling complexity of which recalls no less than Miles Davis’ On the Corner. Uhlmann and Butterss’ interplay is mesmerizing, while Stardrum’s metallic percussion adds a layer of tantalizing texture and Johnson peels off a frenetic yet poised sax solo. Throughout, the musicians seem to be cooking in their own worlds, but their parts fortuitously interlock and tasty grooves frequently arise. There’s so much going on in How You Been, and it’s all interesting.

To see our running list of the top 100 greatest rock stars of all time, click here.

Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska has been getting a lot of attention lately, with the Scott Cooper-helmed biopic Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere and Nebraska ‘82: Expanded Edition both released in October.

In 1984, Springsteen released Born in the U.S.A., his first political album, a commentary on national identity, disillusionment, and patriotism through the eyes of Vietnam veterans and the working class.

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In the 10 years after the success of Born in the U.S.A., Springsteen had been having an inner debate with himself, which centered around his place as a “rich man.” Now that he had amassed wealth and superstardom, what was his role? No longer among the working class, what work still needed to be done to address those who were less fortunate than him?

The Ghost of Tom Joad was his answer. Released on November 21, 1995, Springsteen’s 11th album is a companion piece to both of these earlier groundbreaking records, continuing his narrative-driven songwriting about the overlooked and forgotten.   Sonically, its stripped-down, acoustic-heavy songs are reminiscent of Nebraska, though, of course, with much more production. There’s also the literary element that inspired this album, much like Flannery O’Connor’s A Good Man Is Hard to Find helped inspire songwriting in Nebraska, so too did John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, with Tom Joad serving as the connection between the plight of Dust Bowl migrant workers during the Great Depression and the poor and marginalized in contemporary America and Mexico. 

Like Born in the U.S.A., The Ghost of Tom Joad reflects on political issues, most directly, illegal immigration—which is arguably more relevant now with thousands of ICE raids happening across the country—and national identity, with a corrupt government forcing Americans to choose sides.  

While some rightly argue that The Ghost of Tom Joad is a starkly depressing album, with songs such as “Straight Time,” about an ex-convict struggling to live a normal life, the decline of the Ohio steel industry in “Youngstown,” and “Sinaloa Cowboys,” about two Mexican immigrant brothers chasing the American dream, with dire consequences, Springsteen does offer hope.

The album’s title track—which Springsteen later re-recorded with Tom Morello in an almost eight-minute-long rock version (and also covered by Rage Against the Machine)—is an ode to those who fall prey to the contradictions of capitalism. Springsteen employs Steinbeck’s Tom Joad as a symbol of aspiration: “Now Tom said, ‘Mom, wherever there’s a cop beating a guy / Wherever a hungry newborn baby cries / Where there’s a fight against the blood and hatred in the air / Look for me, Mom, I’ll be there / Wherever somebody’s fighting for a place to stand / Or a decent job or a helping hand / Wherever somebody’s struggling to be free / Look in their eyes, ma, and you’ll see me’”

Thirty years later, The Ghost of Tom Joad reminds us that there’s still plenty of work that needs to be done in America, that it’s our job to give a voice to the voiceless, to stand up for what’s fair and right, and even during our hardest times, we as a nation must endure. 

To see our running list of the top 100 greatest rock stars of all time, click here.

I bought my first copy of Let It Be when I was 15 and it unlocked my lifelong love of the Replacements. Soon I was hunting down albums, bootlegs, zines, T-shirts—I even agreed to clean my high school biology teacher’s snake and guinea pig tanks for several weeks to borrow his VHS tape of a live performance at the Orange County Speedway from 1989. 

In the pre-internet everywhere days of the ’90s, searching for your favorite band’s live, unreleased, or rare music took this level of commitment. And the Replacements rewarded this madness. Digging through used CD stores was the only way to hear the band’s first B side and first great drunken ballad, “If Only You Were Lonely,” or one of their chaotically awesome (or awesomely chaotic) live shows. The Replacements broke up before I discovered them, and for years—outside of a solid B-side disc in the band’s Greatest Hits collection—it didn’t seem like there were enough of us fans to make anyone with access to the archives care. 

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Fast-forward to 2025, when Rhino is releasing a 4-LP (or 3-CD) box set of Let It Be, stocked with unreleased tracks, photos, essays, and an entire concert (plus a BONUS live show if you pre-order). But the weird part is… it’s routine at this point. Let It Be is the fifth Replacements deluxe edition from Rhino, following Rykodisc’s remasters of their entire catalog back in 2008. The band’s name turned out to be an omen to its fans, as I’m now replacing Replacements albums every few years. It’s almost too much of a good thing, except that it’s giving fans an in-depth look into the creative process of four Minneapolis guys who’d probably hate me using the words “creative process.” The magic of the band was their ability to straddle contradictions—smart and dumb, punk and pop, skilled and sloppy—with the ease of an inebriated tightrope walker. With these releases, we get to see the effort it took to seem effortless. 

As such, I couldn’t hardly wait for Let It Be. It remains my favorite ’mats album and my go-to answer for fave album ever, so I was eager to see what new insight or context this set would offer. After all, the Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash and Pleased to Meet Me sets allowed me to hear those albums with fresh ears, and the Let It Bleed and Dead Man’s Pop editions went even further, giving me new definitive versions of Tim and Don’t Tell A Soul.

Turns out, though, what makes Let It Be great is already on the album. That’s not a knock on the quality of the set’s material. This album holds up incredibly well. It remains a boldly emotional soundtrack for all the joy, fury, and awkwardness of growing up. “Unsatisfied” is as rallying an anthem now as ever, and it’s hard to believe songs as empathetic and accepting as “Androgynous” and “Sixteen Blue” were written 41 years ago. 

So by comparison, these newly released versions of the classic songs are fantastic, just not revelatory. Based on the alternate takes and demos, Paul Westerberg’s songs were pretty fully formed by the time they reached the studio. There are subtle differences—a rawer “Answering Machine,” a gentler “Androgynous,” a somehow cruder “Gary’s Got A Boner”—but my main takeaway is that by this this time, Westerberg had grown into a more confident songwriter and driving force.

As for the session’s outtakes, they’re gems, yet at the same time, I would not swap any of them onto the album over the songs already there (though  to the defiant anthem “Who’s Gonna Take Us Alive” comes closest to being a candidate). Moreover, these unreleased gems have already been released to us die-hards, on the 2008 reissues and those 1990s bootlegs. So if you’re looking for fresh discoveries, reset your expectations.

Instead, focus on the set’s live shows, which fully deliver on my teenage desire of time travel. Goodnight, Go Home is a 28-song concert at the Cubby Bear in Chicago a month before the album’s release. It’s sourced from an audience recording, proving that even in our modern era, it’s still Replacements fans taking care of each other. The sound quality is fuzzier than the live shows on Rhino’s other Replacements’ sets, but that makes you feel inside the venue, or at least listening to a dub from your friend’s cool older sibling. The band opens with “a new one,” a rollicking early draft of “Can’t Hardly Wait,” setting a tone of wonderful unpredictability. The setlist ranges from early standouts (an explosive “Kids Don’t Follow,” the best “Shiftless When Idle” ever) to Let It Be numbers (a fun, shambling “I Will Dare”) and an eclectic mix of covers. One of which best represents the set as a whole: three-minutes into “Help Me Rhonda,” just as it’s getting sloppy and you can feel the audience slipping, Bob Stinson’s falsetto kicks in and the band turns on a dime into an incredibly electric “Little GTO.” This is the band balancing their sharpest and messiest impulses.

The bonus show was at Trenton, New Jersey’s City Gardens from February 1984 and, while only six songs, showcases a full emotional arc. “I Will Dare” opens the set and sounds like a promise to the audience. Then Westerberg starts cursing at the venue’s lights during the second song, an anger that leads to a slow-burn, growling version of “20th Century Boy.” But his fury dissipates as they deliver on that dare by playing an extended version of their shockingly tender rarity “You’re Getting Married.” The crowd could revolt… but they’re into it, which even surprises Westerberg, who says, “At least you fuckers ain’t enemies, that’s nice to know.” So they reward the audience by playing their requests. It’s a beautiful showcase for this band’s range.

These two shows, together with a crystal clear remaster of the original album and enlightening liner notes from music journalist-musician Elizabeth Nelson and the band’s original manager Peter Jesperson, make this latest version of Let It Be worth it for fans like me. All of these sets are a teen me’s dream come true, even if the archives are starting to feel a little depleted. So do I need an expanded Stink or Hootenanny? No. But if they’re released? I will dare.

To see our running list of the top 100 greatest rock stars of all time, click here.

Who knew that the Americana ambassadors the Avett Brothers and the thoroughly modern maniac Mike Patton had the same threads woven into their respective freak flags?

Scott and Seth Avett have been enchanting the folk contingent for most of this century with a discography of stripped-down and heart-bursting recs. While Patton is known primarily as the frontman for Faith No More, he’s got his underground bona fides in order, collaborating in outfits such as Mr. Bungle, Dead Cross and various permutations of John Zorn’s ensembles. But does Patton’s penchant for sonic deviance mix with the Avetts’ dustbowl populism? 

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Hell yeah, y’all. The plaintive spirit of the Avetts adheres endearingly with Patton’s aural adventures. AVTT/PTTN begins with the “Dark Night of My Soul,” where the trio’s voices mesh surprisingly well and Patton gets a little sinister (“I want to hurt somebody / just to let somebody know / the way I’m feeling”). Meanwhile, “Heaven’s Breath” is the ’70s cop-show theme that will make you forget the Eagles of Death Metal for a spell, “Too Awesome” is a love song gone sideways and “The Things I Do” is a lush and majestic exercise (slightly channeling the spirit of the late David Lynch associate Angelo Badalamenti) that’s underscored by Patton’s delivery (“You don’t need to be reminded / when you fucked it up”).

“The Ox Driver’s Song” is probably the most pearl-clutching, monocle-dropping track here, as a flaming orchestra and an aberrant drum machine open up a hellmouth while a banjo keeps time in the mix. In 1969, Cream’s bassist Jack Bruce wrote “Theme for an Imaginary Western.” Fifty-six years later, the Avetts and Patton actually created one.

AVTT/PTTN is incredibly fascinating and sincere with not a whiff of irony, kitsch or inside-jokiness. A curious collab from some unlikely bedfellows, these nine songs carry the propensity to become a gateway drug to discover legendary works from Lee Hazlewood to Scott Walker to Ennio Morricone to such modern askew prairie- and desert-dwellers as Jim White and Giant Sand’s Howe Gelb. It’s not a genre exercise as much as a celebration of the creative osmosis and sincerity these three gents bring to both the process and their friendship. C’mon – you’re not holdin’ yer breath for a Morgan Wallen collab with Autechre, are you?

To see our running list of the top 100 greatest rock stars of all time, click here.

John Darnielle has explored “soft rock” and all of its modalities on recent albums. While his lyrical obsessions (survival, breaking free, and more) have persisted since he began recording under the Mountain Goats moniker more than 30 years ago, his music has changed from the lo-fi-voice-and-guitar-to-tape beginnings to something more sonically rich. But with new album Through This Fire Across from Peter Balkan, out November 7, Darnielle investigates a different musical mode: the showtune.

The title, taken from a dream Darnielle had, serves as both a murky missive from the subconscious and a dedication to longtime bassist Peter Hughes, who recently left the Mountain Goats after more than 20 years of service. Featuring backing vocals from Lin-Manuel Miranda on four tracks, the album tells the story of survivors of a shipwreck on a remote island. As their resources dwindle, so does their grip on reality.

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Darnielle has always painted his lyrics with an abstract brush, and those looking for a linear story à la Hamilton won’t find it here. We know there are three survivors: an unnamed narrator, the concussed and delusional captain Peter Balkan, and Adam, the ghostly end of the triumvirate who vanishes into the sea. But Darnielle, always a cryptic lyricist, presents us with a challenge to parse what is real and what is fantasy.

Freedom has long been a lyrical obsession for Darnielle. On “This Year” he sang, “I broke free on a Saturday morning,” while in “Isaiah 45:23” he wrote, “And I won’t get better but someday I’ll be free / Cause I am not this body that imprisons me.” He even wrote a song titled “Never Quite Free.” But as Through This Fire Across from Peter Balkan ends with “Broken to Begin With,” Darnielle strikes a different tone as he sings about “the day we finally get free.” What other liberation is there from a deserted island than death? Is this what he’s been on about all these years?

Musically, Darnielle experiments even when some of the songs fall back into classic Mountain Goats arrangements. For example, the acoustic guitar-led “Rocks in My Pockets” could easily slot into The Sunset Tree. However, opening track “Overture” is fully instrumental, featuring instruments such as French horn and strings. Meanwhile, “Armies of the Lord” feels like that Broadway showstopper when the entire cast takes the stage before the end of an act. 

The record features Mountain Goats members Jon Wurster on drums and Matt Douglas (who also produced and arranged) on everything from woodwinds to keyboards. And while Cameron Ralston takes Hughes’ place on bass, Tommy Stinson of Replacements fame guests on “Cold at Night” and “Dawn of Revelation.” The Mountain Goats may have once been Darnielle alone, but more than 10 people play on this record. 

Though we are unlikely to see a stage version of Through This Fire Across from Peter Balkan, Darnielle makes good on crafting a full-on soundtrack in many ways. He did call his prior album Jenny from Thebes (2023) a “fake musical.” However, there is nothing fake here. Just more heartfelt music from John Darnielle that challenges and surprises while aching to break free from the cages we make for ourselves.

To see our running list of the top 100 greatest rock stars of all time, click here.

It seemed inevitable that Anna von Hausswolff would make an album inspired by This Mortal Coil, the 4AD collective that covered songs by Gene Clark, Alex Chilton, and more, injecting them with its gothic touch. Iconoclasts, the sixth album by the Swedish musician out October 31, may feel more like conventional music to those accustomed to von Hausswolff’s solo droning pipe organ compositions. However, Iconoclasts is easily her most exhilarating and emotionally wrenching album yet. 

Von Hausswolff is no stranger to controversy. When a blogger once called her the “high priestess” of “satanic harmonies,” Catholic protesters prevented her from performing at churches in Paris and Nantes. But fans may be the ones who are surprised this time, as Iconoclasts defies expectations for an Anna von Hausswolff record.

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Take “Aging Young Women,” which features Ethel Cain. If Iconoclasts is truly von Hausswolff’s This Mortal Coil record, then “Aging Young Women” is her “Song to the Siren” in its melancholy yet earwormy, beauty. Meanwhile, Iggy Pop turns up to duet on the devastating “The Whole Woman,” his appearance adding a deep level of cred to the musician who is nowhere near a household name.

At 12 tracks and nearly 75 minutes, Iconoclasts is a challenging but deeply rewarding listen. Instrumental opening track “The Beast” features saxophonist Otis Sandsjö who tears in, here and on many other songs, like John Zorn possessed. Meanwhile, “The Iconoclast” is the record’s centerpiece, an 11-minute cri du cœur that alternates between shimmering instrumentals featuring Sandsjö’s saxophone and von Hausswolff’s impassioned vocals. “Can I be your dream?” she asks. “Can I change your life?”

Yes, Iconoclasts does feel like a life-changing album in its richness and beauty. Von Hausswolff has not made a conventional record by any means, as the songs surprise with their intensity and shifting directions. This feels like music that the artist has dumped everything into, an emotional journey that isn’t always easy. Those familiar with von Hausswolff’s organ drones will recognize a similar quality of disorientation and maximalism in these 12 songs.

From the propulsive drumming on “Stardust” to Sandsjö’s burbling sax on “Facing Atlas,” Iconoclasts is a record about discovery. Not just musical rabbit holes, but the emotional tunnels von Hausswolff is willing to explore. Like the best Dead Can Dance tracks, the songs on Iconoclasts burrow deep into the soul, remain constantly surprising, and inspire repeat listens. This is what the best music does, and Iconoclasts places Anna von Hausswolff in the conversation for the year’s greatest record. 

To see our running list of the top 100 greatest rock stars of all time, click here.

On the surface, and let’s be honest, underneath the surface too, Chat Pile and Hayden Pedigo make unlikely collaborators. The intersection of DIY noise rock and instrumental guitar soli (as John Fahey called it) has been a lonely crossroads, but somehow the Oklahoma City musicians make it look like a fruitful place to cut deals and hatch plots. 

Both Pedigo and Chat Pile have some things in common—locale being the most obvious, since Hayden grew up in the Texas Panhandle. And both have clearly figured out how to attract an audience to their usually marginal styles of music, in ways that go beyond talent—there are plenty of turbulent weirdos and skilled Fahey acolytes out there in the dingy burgs of the fading frontier, but few have headlined Dutch heavy-music festivals (Chat Pile) or modeled on a fashion runway (Pedigo). In the Earth Again (October 31) provides a look at what makes each of these artists stick out, and what might bind them together.

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At least since Metallica’s The Black Album, it’s been no secret that heavy dynamics can pair surprisingly well with melodic elements. Chat Pile tweaks the formula by hinting at consonance while jettisoning commercial metal’s production values. With Pedigo’s cleanly picked yet brooding lines supporting their corroded textures and raw nerves, Chat Pile’s sound achieves a new kind of sweep. Pedigo’s studied approach, meanwhile, gains an unsettling focus often lacking in his sometimes overly streamlined compositions. Hardcore fans of either band might object first—on tracks like glittering instrumental opener “Outside,” Chat Pile’s violence has been curbed, while the pummeling howl of cuts like the “Never Say Die!” submerge Pedigo’s thoughtful starkness underneath a wave of numb, mutilated fury. 

But even when disappearing in service of the other artist, both Chat Pile and Pedigo come off somehow stronger. Their shared vision of the forgotten Southwest, curdled cowboy illusions, and grubby rural-suburban dystopia packing a powerful punch. Some effective blends do occur, merging Pedigo’s forlorn twang with Chat Pile’s unhinged bluster, as on doomer anthem “The Magic of the World,” or “Demon Time,” which features exquisitely bleary vocals from Raygun Busch and a thorny Pedigo lead, all set off by tolling death-chords from Chat Pile guitarist Luther Manhole and bassist Stin. And the contrast of CP drummer Cap’n Ron’s remorseless, wet-cement rhythms with Pedigo’s barbed burble (check out the deranged “Fission_Fusion”) always delivers a jolt. The track with the best title on the album, “I Got My Own Blunt to Smoke,” shows Pedigo at his unadorned best, while the middle section of “Radioactive Dreams” is a blast of chugging ache—pure, uncut Chat Pile. 

The real surprise, though, lies in how this collaboration reveals the feral streak that has always run through Pedigo’s acoustic guitar meditations, and the thwarted tenderness that lies at the heart of Chat Pile’s wounded roar. Wordless country-blues and scarred, sludge-laden laments both turn out to be different strains of Americana, a hopeless, disfigured shadow country that might form the republic’s true face.

To see our running list of the top 100 greatest rock stars of all time, click here.

Pulling back the curtain for a moment, one of the perks of reviewing albums is that when you fall in love with a new album, you have an outlet to shout about it. But sometimes it’s a double-edged sword, as writing a review also forces you to put into words why you love an album beyond, “It’s awesome. You should listen to it.”

I share this because my immediate reaction to hearing the Belair Lip Bombs sophomore album Again is simply: It’s awesome. You should listen to it.

A big reason for this is that Again is a big tent, crowd-pleasing album that I could recommend to just about anybody. You don’t get indie rock with this kind of wide appeal all that often these days. Many artists (understandably) play to their niche, their genre. The Belair Lip Bombs seemed to be playing that game too, on their 2023 album, Lush Life. It’s a solid debut, full of hooky songs with earnest vocals, but it’s also squarely post-punk. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Many great bands have long, fantastic discographies solely in that lane.

But Again finds the Belair Lip Bombs ditching genre allegiances to create songs that, frankly, would’ve been alternative and even mainstream radio hits in the 1990s. This is Buzz Bin rock for 2025. They still have their established propulsive rhythms and angular riffs, and now have added shimmering guitars, soaring vocals, and joyous melodies that you’ll be bopping to in your head for days afterwards. 

Put all together, the songs feel like new old friends. You recognize elements, but the band isn’t aping any one particular artist or era. Like the song “If You’ve Got the Time” feels like if Sheryl Crow and the Beths collaborated on a summertime anthem, down to the post-chorus handclaps. “Back Of My Hand” is a jangly, rolling Waxahatchee-esque love song that—spoiler—goes on to feature crunchy Weezer guitars. It’s refreshing to hear an indie rock band that’s not afraid to go this big and inviting, and it’s great that they’re able to do so on their new label, Jack White’s Third Man Records. Hopefully it’s the right fit for such ambitions.

At the same time, the band keeps Again from ever feeling like a calculated major label sell-out album—a real danger for Buzz Bin bands!—thanks to the open-hearted yearning of lead singer Maisie Everett. Her melodic vocals keep the songs honest and grounded at all times, whether it’s a powerpop look at the ex you can’t shake (“Cinema”), an expansive new wave take on what could’ve been (“Another World”), or even a cathartic rocker like “Don’t Let Them Tell You (It’s Fair).” Her voice keeps these songs feeling equally ready for both your headphones and an outdoor amphitheater, or even an arena.Here’s hoping the band gets that chance. Again shows the Belair Lip Bombs finding their voice, and they know it. You can hear their bold, bright confidence on these songs. So one more time: It’s awesome. You should listen to it.

To see our running list of the top 100 greatest rock stars of all time, click here.