Hall of Ukrainian Rock’n’Roll
In our traditional support of the Ukrainian rock scene, we would like to offer you a story about a remarkable event that took place in western Ukraine in the small town of Manevychi. Every year, at the end of May, all the world's museums hold a night at the museum, and such a night took place in Manevychi, where at the same time the soft opening of the first hall of the future Rock Capital museum took place. The hall is called The History of Ukrainian Rock and Roll and is the first of seven planned halls of the Rock Capital Museum. Perhaps it would not have been so attractive if the Rock Capital Museum had not truly been the first rock museum in Ukraine.
Do you know at least one Ukrainian punk rock band?
Do you know at least one Ukrainian punk rock band? Of course, no one asked me such a question, but I sometimes ask it to my friends. Talking about the glorious traditions of Ukrainian rock n roll, I don't want to miss punk itself. The first thing that comes to my mind is the band Borshch. Some people will say it's not punk rock, and maybe they're right. But musically and lyrically, Borshch has a spark that only lives in this style.
David Bowie’s first address
It remains interesting that even such alien rock stars as David Bowie had his parental home on our unfortunate planet. The future star lived the first 6 years of his life in 40 Stansfield Road, Brixton, London.
Formation of the Ukrainian rock n roll scene
2022 has become too difficult for one of the largest countries in Europe. It is about Ukraine and its heroic people. The passing year has brought devastation and tears, pain and suffering to the country. In its fight against the invaders, Ukraine is choosing its freedom and the right to a democratic future. Today we wanted to remember the glorious past of this musical nation and especially, we are interested in the development of the rock scene in Ukraine, in a country with its ancient roots and culture. How it was and how it was born.
Matt Law – Made Up Construct
There is a particular strain of British rock criticism that delights in catching a young band somewhere between aspiration and arrival — close enough to greatness to taste it, far enough away that the taste is mostly ambition. Matt Law's debut single "Made Up Construct" lives squarely in that bracket, and it does so with a swagger that suggests nobody in Strathaven told this lot they were supposed to be modest about it.
Blind Man’s Daughter – Say it Again
Ashley Wolfe has built a career out of refusing to behave herself, and "Say It Again" is the sound of an artist doubling down on that instinct rather than smoothing it out for easier consumption. As Blind Man's Daughter, Wolfe writes, performs, produces and records alone, which in pop music usually means one of two outcomes: a vanity project that collapses under its own indulgence, or a record that finally sounds like the person who made it. This single lands firmly in the second camp.
23 Fields – I’ll See You Soon
Guilt, that most British of currencies, has rarely sounded so handsomely produced. "I'll See You Soon" arrives wearing its conscience on its sleeve, and credit where it's due: 23 Fields wears it well. This is a single built entirely from the small, gnawing arithmetic of adult life — the missed call, the rescheduled visit, the phone left to ring out while something less important wins the day. It's a theme songwriters return to with the regularity of a guilty conscience itself, yet rarely with this much restraint.
Skar de Line – Personal Martyr
Pop stars used to drown themselves metaphorically in strings and reverb. Skar de Line has gone one further and had himself photographed face-up in wet sand, arms flung wide like a man who's just lost an argument with gravity, while a drone circles overhead like a buzzard deciding whether he's worth the trouble. It's a cover image that does most of the talking before a single note arrives, and thankfully the record inside it doesn't waste that advance.
Pocket Lint – Wunderkammer
Mark Heffernan, recording under the name Pocket Lint, has always behaved like a man rummaging through a junk drawer for treasure, and on *Wunderkammer* he finally builds the cabinet to put it in. The conceit is a cabinet of curiosities, each song a glass case, each glass case holding something slightly unsettling that catches the light. It is a tidy organising principle for an artist whose previous work scattered its ideas like loose change, and it suits him. Heffernan has stopped emptying his pockets onto the table and started arranging the contents.
Leather Laces – Intercontinental Ballistic Music
Subtlety was never going to be on the rider, and thank goodness for that. Leather Laces arrive masked, militarised and entirely without irony, and their second full-length swings its riot shield with the conviction of a band who know precisely what they're for. *Intercontinental Ballistic Music* is exactly the album its title promises: a nine-track bombardment delivered with such gleeful precision that it's hard not to surrender to it completely.
Mercy Kelly – Summer of Silence
Oldham has given us many things, but rarely has it given us a band quite so determined to sound like four decades of post-punk and stadium-rock distilled into a single, sweaty rehearsal room — and rarely has the gamble paid off so handsomely. Mercy Kelly, once a five-piece, have shed two members and emerged leaner, hungrier, and considerably more thrilling for it. *Summer of Silence* is the sound of a band finding exactly the shape it was always meant to be in.
Dorian – THE COLLECTION
Twenty tracks is a lot of evidence to submit on one's own behalf, and Dorian, an independent artist who has built his following one TikTok clip and one streaming playlist at a time, submits it without flinching — and the evidence holds up. *The Collection* arrives billed as a "best of," a claim usually reserved for careers with rather more grey hair attached to them, but pop's timeline has compressed so dramatically that a few years of consistent, well-loved releases now genuinely earns a victory lap. Played end to end, the record makes its own case convincingly: this is a catalogue worth gathering up, not padding out.
Aurealis – Cursed
Pop music has always loved a haunted house, but few artists bother to furnish the rooms. Aurealis does. "Cursed" arrives not as a single but as a séance, summoning every doubt you've ever swallowed and handing it a microphone.
Janger – Interspace
It takes a particular kind of nerve to drag Underworld's most over-quoted vocal fragment out of its glass case fifteen years after Trainspotting turned it into shorthand for chemical bliss, and have the cheek to make it sound like a discovery again. Janger, a CalArts product with a half-decade gap in his discography and apparently no fear of ghosts, pulls it off — mostly by treating the sample less as a totem and more as debris, something washed up and half-dissolved rather than triumphantly restored.
Keesha Blair – Truth Always Shows Its Face
There is a particular kind of song that arrives not to entertain but to confront, and Keesha Blair's "Truth Always Shows Its Face" belongs unmistakably to that lineage. It is neo-soul built less for the dancefloor than for the long drive home after a difficult conversation, the kind you have with yourself in the rearview mirror. Blair, the songwriter and creative director behind Divine Purpose Music, has built her short catalogue on exactly this premise: that healing is not a hook but a process, and that pop music can still afford the patience to trace it properly.
Rootless – Dam Mast Qalandar
There is a particular kind of ambition that announces itself not through volume but through lineage, and Rootless — the Glasgow-based collective who have made a virtue of being from everywhere and nowhere at once — wear theirs like a second skin. Their new single, "Dam Mast Qalandar," takes on one of the most over-recorded, over-sampled, near-untouchable pieces in the qawwali canon — the song Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan turned into a kind of devotional Big Bang — and dares to ask what happens when you run it through a Roma fiddle and a Glaswegian postcode. The audacity alone deserves a hearing.