Review: Dorothy Tennov's tenuous concept of "limerence" has fuelled many an artistic outing and project, most notably in recent times an Yves Tumor star cut from the ineluctable PAN compilation, Mono No Aware. But it's UK rising indie star Jacob Alon's new and debut album, In Limerence - wuthering on the bloodied tips of his last 10" 'To Selene' and forerunning 7" 'Liquid Gold 25'- that perhaps really does the most thoroughgoing justice to the erotomanic, smitten concept of impossible, obsessive love. Bold electric modern folk reimaginings and wambling blears are brought out lovingly by speedy hothouser producer Dan Carey, ensuring Alon's ethereal vocals effuse over evocative storytelling on 'Fairy In A Bottle' and 'Confession'.
Tell Me I Never Knew That (feat Caroline Polachek) (4:39)
When I Get Home (5:55)
U R Our Only Aching (4:32)
Coldplay Cover (4:16)
Two Riders Down (6:40)
Beautiful Ending (5:16)
Review: One of many recent megabands to arise out of London over the past decade, Caroline return with Caroline 2, an assertive followup to their eponymous debut. A scribblier, pocketbook style is heard; where their first album toyed with minimalism and restraint, Caroline 2 leans into extremes, surging across hushed textures, acoustic detail and synthetic blur, perhaps best recalling the recent hyperdigital indie collages of Bon Iver. With a topical and tasteful feature from post-gloss pop singer Caroline Polachek on 'Tell Me I Never Knew That', the record is led up by a eerily ear-sieging hyperpop ballad, doing justice to the shared name, as if to revel in nominative fate: "it always happens, it always will be..."
Review: Sarah Mary Chadwick's ninth album drifts in on the smoke and hush of a late-night confessional. Half jukebox heartbreak, half art-song seance, we find a multi-talented but downcast musician tiptoeing the edge of a major life shift, as Chadwick sings of the moments before a commitment to sobriety. Hers is the kind of detoxified clarity that only hindsight allows; tremulous voices sing with candid exposure on 'I'm Not Clinging To Life' through subjects of age and lost time, backlaid by piano pitched so high we can feel vicariously the artist's vertigo. The New Zealand-born Melbourner recorded the album with Chris Townend, who reamped the full mix through a piano held open by a sandbag to create its strange, aspirant reverb effect heard throughout. The result is a record attenuated by granular bulks of memory and detachment; devastation, reframed with restraint.
Review: Donovan's iconic 'Hurdy Gurdy Man' album gets the re-issue treatment here, and what a collection of music it still proves to be after so many years. The mix of folk and psychedelia is almost the epitome of the late 60s spirit of exploration, rebellion, generational dismay and hope. The hyper-memorable title track sets the tone with its swirling melodies, jangly guitars, and Scottish-born Donovan's strangely sinister vocal, which moves between dreamy and intense. Released in 1968, the album reflects the counterculture era, with lyrics that explore themes of mysticism and transformation. The rest of the album drifts between moments of whimsy and introspection, with tracks like 'The Sun is a Very Magic Fellow' and 'Peregrine' showcasing Donovan's ability to blend folk simplicity with psychedelic complexity. 'Hurdy Gurdy Man' remains an important snapshot of its era, holding up as a timeless piece of sonic adventuring.
Review: Fine Glindvad Jensen's Rocky Top Ballads is an album that feels as though it's suspended in time, capturing moments that are both timeless and ephemeral. Fine's lyrics, often vague in their specifics, convey a sense of days slipping by, with an urgency to grasp reality through songwriting. Drawing from the Copenhagen scene, where she's collaborated with Erika de Casier and Astrid Sonne, Fine's music under her solo moniker defies easy categorization. While hints of Mazzy Star and a touch of "countrygaze" permeate the album, her sound is also rooted in the traditional folk music of her upbringing. Rocky Top Ballads is a deeply personal and intuitive collection, blending sample-based production with organic instrumentation. The result is a debut that feels both assured and strangely new. Tracks like "Days Incomplete" capture a yearning that is both fervent and detached, while 'Losing Tennessee' and 'Big Muzzy' explore themes of love, loss, and self-discovery. The album's beauty lies in its ability to evoke emotions and leave lingering questions, keeping listeners entranced.
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