"Dead Man Walking" arrives sounding less like a debut single and more like a reckoning — the kind of track that seems to have been dragged, kicking and bleeding, out of its creator rather than written. Zach Adams has built something here that wears its influences the way a boxer wears scars: proudly, and as proof of survival. You can hear Metallica's thunderous discipline in the rhythm section, Alice in Chains' woozy, narcotic melancholy curling through the vocal lines, and Black Sabbath's tar-black riffage lurking underneath it all like a fault line waiting to slip. And yet, remarkably, none of it feels borrowed. It feels inherited — passed down and then set alight.

There's a particular kind of Englishness that curdles into rage so precisely mannered it could pass for politeness, and GLEET have bottled it. "Strident" — a stray offcut from the sessions for their forthcoming concept album *Thames Sea*, a record reportedly imagining London slipping beneath the waves over the coming centuries — is the sound of a band too restless to let a good idea wait its turn. It didn't fit the drowning-city concept, so out it came, fully formed, spitting.

Occasionally a piece of instrumental music arrives that refuses to explain itself, and thank heavens for that. "Bent Out of Shape," the second single from Peter Manning Robinson's forthcoming album *Excursions*, is one of those rare, disarming things: a piano piece that grins its way through the wreckage rather than wallowing in it.

"Arioul in Dub" takes the eponymous single from Syna Awel's forthcoming record and strips it down to its bones before rebuilding it in echo and smoke. The original "Arioul" was already a study in restraint — a Berber tale carried more by breath than by melody — but this reworking finds a different kind of patience. Where the album version lets David Aubaile's piano open the space, the dub mix hollows that space out entirely, leaving room only for a heartbeat kick, a ghost of bass, and Syna's voice arriving like a memory that refuses to fade on schedule.

Every so often a record arrives that feels less written than excavated, and Matsos's "Change" belongs firmly in that camp. This is a song built from dust and static, from the ghosts still rattling around the walls of New Monkey Studio, and it wears its haunting like a favourite coat.