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.
The story of one music video
One November morning, I went to the antique shop 'LOT ONE TEN'. I loved taking a walk in autumn London after a snack at McDonald's and a large serving of black coffee. I felt in good spirits and even the gray rain could not interfere with my daily ritual, so Walthamstow greeted me with genuine indifference, as if inviting me to take a walk on the favorite street of the designer William Morris, whose mansion-museum was around the corner.
Tom Wills x Sholz-Y – Laid
Some cover versions arrive as acts of vandalism. Others arrive as acts of love. Tom Wills' reimagining of James' 1993 cornerstone *Laid* belongs firmly in the second camp — and then goes several steps further, treating the source material not merely with affection but with the kind of forensic devotion that suggests he has spent considerable time thinking about precisely *why* this song matters, and to whom.
Frederick James – Under The Clocks
Let us begin with the numbers, because they are genuinely staggering and because, in music criticism as in life, context is everything. Frederick James — songwriter, Perth resident, apparent obsessive — has written over three hundred songs. More than two hundred and thirty of them arrived in a single six-month window. He played over seventy-five open mic nights in 2025 alone. Before you reach the music, you are already confronted with a portrait of someone who has made discipline into a kind of religion, who treats the writing of songs the way a distance runner treats the road: not as a destination but as a daily confrontation with the self.
Annika Bellamy – Palm Tree
The Pacific has always had a complicated relationship with popular music. From the surf-drenched mythology of the Beach Boys to the languid psychedelia that washed through Californian studios in the late sixties, the West Coast of America has perpetually promised listeners a kind of salvation by sunshine — the notion that somewhere, just beyond the horizon, the living is easier and the air smells of salt and possibility. Annika Bellamy, a Las Vegas-born, Long Beach-based singer-songwriter with Dutch, Indonesian, and European Spanish blood running through her veins, understands this mythology instinctively. "Palm Tree," her latest single, doesn't merely nod to that tradition — it plants itself squarely within it, stakes its flag, and dares you to feel nothing.
MUTE TV – Drag Me Down
The South West of England has never been the most obvious breeding ground for music that draws blood. You think of Bath and you think of Georgian terraces, Roman spas, tourists photographing cobblestones. You do not, instinctively, think of three men locked inside Peter Gabriel's Real World Studios complex attempting to peel the paint off the walls. And yet here we are.
Cozy Pebble Songs – Songs of Friendship and Kindness (volume 1)
**The lullaby has always been humanity's first act of artistic mercy.** Long before the stadium anthem, before the concept album, before the twelve-inch remix, a parent leaned over a child in the dark and invented music on the spot — desperate, tender, entirely sufficient. Eran, a single father from Israel, has done something quietly radical: he has refused to let those private moments dissolve into memory. Instead, he has caught them, mid-air, and pressed them into a record.
The Forrius – Power of Rebirth
Rock music has always been at its most vital when it carries the bruises of genuine experience — when the distortion is not mere aesthetic choice but the sound of something actually breaking and then, with considerable effort, being put back together. The Forrius understand this. Their title track and EP centrepiece, *Power of Rebirth*, is not a record that flatters the listener with easy catharsis. It earns its emotional conclusions.
Arpatle – Stalacs
**Patrick Bossink, recording as Arpatle from his base in Utrecht, has delivered something genuinely unsettling with this four-track EP — a record that operates less like music and more like geology made audible.**
Tár – Dancing On The Event Horizon
There is something audacious about naming your creative principle after a scientific inevitability. An event horizon, for the uninitiated, is the threshold beyond which escape becomes physically impossible — the point at which gravity wins, and everything that once had forward momentum surrenders entirely. That Tár, the Szczecin quartet who have been quietly detonating in Poland's alternative underground, have not only embraced this metaphor but chosen to dance at it tells you everything about their particular brand of doomed romanticism.
Rusty Reid – All Through My Days
There is a peculiar audacity to the cover version, when done with genuine artistic intent. Not the karaoke audacity of note-for-note reproduction — that wan exercise in nostalgia which serves only to remind us how much better the original was — but the audacity of reinterpretation: of taking another writer's beloved architecture, respectfully demolishing a few load-bearing walls, and rebuilding something that illuminates both the source and the interpreter simultaneously. Rusty Reid, Seattle-based Texan by birth and temperament, has constructed his entire fifth album, *Lone Stardust: Masterworks of Texas Songwriters*, around precisely this kind of courageous creative audacity. The album's lead single, "All Through My Days," demonstrates just how deftly that gamble can pay off.
Julie Paschke – Flying Above
Delusion is an unfashionable subject. Pop music, in its perpetual race toward the hyper-confessional and the algorithmically optimised, tends to mistake self-deception for weakness — something to be overcome swiftly, narrated briskly, monetised and moved on from. Julie Paschke is having absolutely none of it. On Flying Above, her new single and accompanying visual, the Melbourne-based artist treats self-delusion not as a flaw to be corrected but as the very texture of human experience — the fog we agree, collectively and privately, to breathe every day. It is a quietly devastating proposition, and she handles it with the kind of unhurried confidence that most artists spend entire careers pretending to possess.
Nemesis Uncle – The Sword
Darren Purvis has built himself a bunker. Not metaphorically — literally. Somewhere in the Forest of Dean, one of England's oldest and most peculiarly atmospheric woodlands, a man has locked himself away with his instruments, his tea, his cake, and his obsessions, and has emerged with something that sounds like it was recorded at the precise moment the ancient oaks outside decided to lean in and listen.
Ron Morven – Paper Sun
Ron Morven arrives with little fanfare and considerable nerve. *Paper Sun*, his debut single, does not ease you in. It drops you, blinking, onto a Los Angeles freeway at the precise moment the heat becomes something more than weather — when the asphalt stops being infrastructure and starts being a psychological condition. That is a bold gambit for any debut, let alone one aimed squarely at dance floors and streaming playlists. Morven pulls it off with the confidence of someone who has been writing long enough to know that the gap between a mood and a song is smaller than most producers are willing to admit.