The Julie July Band have spent the better part of a decade quietly building a reputation as one of the UK folk circuit's most compelling acts, and "All in Our Minds" – the standout track from their album *Flight of Fancy* – demonstrates precisely why their stock continues to rise. This is psychedelic folk-rock that understands the hyphen matters: neither pastiche nor po-faced reverence, but a genuine synthesis of influences that feels both timeless and distinctly now.

Paris has always been a city of amour fou and sartorial excess, so it's rather fitting that Hugo Sailer's Books Of Moods should emerge from that storied metropolis with a track that marries both obsessions so gleefully. "Fashion Romance" arrives as a fizzing, gloriously unhinged celebration of desire filtered through the prism of the boutique, and it's utterly irresistible.

Albuquerque's Train Conductor have crafted a piece of work that demands repeated listening, each pass revealing new dimensions within its densely woven sonic architecture. "Elephant Graveyard," the single from their album *Feeling Town*, arrives as a monument to the band's ambitions—a seven-piece ensemble whose expansive lineup includes the brass section known as the Brasstronauts, lending the track an orchestral weight that few contemporary psychedelic acts can muster.

The debut single from Lund's Törner Cryda arrives with the dusty perfume of a decade that refused to play it safe. This Swedish quintet has fashioned something peculiar and beguiling from the bones of prog rock and psychedelia, a track that feels less like homage than archaeological excavation – as befits a band largely composed of history and archaeology students.

The first thing you notice about "Born On a Train" isn't the music at all—it's the silence that precedes it. That pregnant pause before the acoustic guitar enters feels deliberate, almost confrontational, as if Hallucinophonics are daring you to settle into comfort before they systematically dismantle it over the next few minutes.

Zachary Mason's tenth single arrives with the sort of gleeful absurdity that recalls the glory days of Barrett-era Pink Floyd, yet filtered through a distinctly contemporary lens of self-aware irony. "The Funky Martians" operates as both cosmic comedy and genuine musical statement—a feat that requires considerable skill to pull off without descending into mere novelty.

Right, so András Barják is one of those proper musical magpies – the sort who's been in Hungarian post-hardcore bands, worked as an audio engineer for over a decade, moved to Sweden to develop software, and somehow ended up making indie pop that sounds like The War on Drugs jamming with Sufjan Stevens. On paper, it's the kind of CV that makes you think "renaissance man or dilettante?" But "Dancing Foam" settles that question pretty definitively.

Music born from separation and reunion carries a particular emotional weight, and Elephant Run's sophomore album Leftover Land thrums with exactly that kind of hard-won gravity. This transcontinental quartet—Swedish vocalist Amanda Wahlström Plantin and her Brazilian collaborators Ladislau Kardos, Fernando Coelho, and Renato Cortez—have crafted something genuinely arresting from the detritus of pandemic isolation and geographical impossibility.

In the unforgiving expanses of rural Australia, where civilization's thin veneer gives way to ancient wilderness, Coolonaut returns with his sophomore effort 'Dark Energy'. The Scottish émigré, moonlighting as both outback physician and analogue recording artist, has abandoned the introspective regionalism of his debut for something altogether more urgent and universal.

In the ever-crowding pantheon of modern psychedelia, where bedroom producers flirt with cosmic sounds whilst barely leaving their duvet-encased cocoons, Dan Gober's "Stoned Supreme" arrives like a meteorite crashing through the ceiling of convention.