With a lack of the real horns and backing singers that his densely-layered pop-soul hits demanded, Samm Henshaw was always fighting a losing battle on an underwhelming opening night in Manchester.
Chowing down on a barely-warm double big mac in a central Manchester branch of McDonald’s minutes before completing my second journey to Gorilla in the space of three days, it’s telling that my main anticipation was about whether or not the bouncer would allow me to enter the venue with a half-filled bottle of water. I should have been buzzing with excitement, but the truth is the main reason I had found myself with a ticket to see on-the-rise Londoner Samm don’t-forget-the-extra-M Henshaw was that five of my friends happened to have one too. There was a faint hope, too, that the occasionally bland easy-listening soul that populates Henshaw’s recent debut album Untidy Soul would have new punch and purpose when played at loud volume in a room full of genuine fans. If it worked for Larkins it should work for Samm, right?
It’s perhaps telling that I showed up on a Monday night under the arches at Gorilla in a group of five after struggling to muster similar company for the mighty Sons of Kemet on the preceding Saturday. There is nothing like the challenging modern jazz compositions of the Sons in Henshaw’s music. Instead, there’s well earned mass appeal by way of polished funk grooves, playful lyrics and injections of soul and gospel sunshine. His concise, catchy tracks are often perfect for trendy Spotify playlists, where listeners glide from track to track without needing to engage with any broader message beyond love or vague optimism. That said, as I like to think with my favourite band Vulfpeck, sometimes lyrical depth isn’t necessary when the musical backing is rock solid. Henshaw is no Jack Stratton, but he sure knows how to write a catchy pop single.
The crowd in Gorilla seemed to match Spotify’s core demographic: young, diverse and happy and spontaneous enough to go out and party on a random Monday night in February. Our group had made it in – water bottle and all – with no hitches, although Fionn was disapproving of the ale selection and our disappointing position behind tall heads and far from the stage took some getting used to for poor Manon, both the most excited and shortest member of the group. “I hate to say it,” Fionn mentioned to me as the final preparations for Henshaw were being made on stage. “It’s not looking good for horns, is it?” He was right – one vocal mic wouldn’t cut it for the saxophones and trumpets we had our fingers crossed for. Backing vocalists, vital for Henshaw’s gospel edge, also seemed out of the question.
In the end, Henshaw’s eventual entrance (hopelessly obscured by the already-drunk man lumbering around in front of us) brought with it more disappointment than anticipation. Opener Thoughts and Prayers set the tone for the things to come. It was a pleasant if hookless start, but the tasteful trumpet lines of the studio recording just weren’t cutting through when played through the speakers. Follow-up Grow would have been a completely different ball game had some backing singers showed up to sing the hook, but instead the band let a recording we’d all heard before do the honours.
Henshaw’s band lacked flair
The obvious fact that Henshaw’s band were sticking tightly to a pre-orchestrated track for the entire night blunted the experience of live music. Each musician performed with the confidence of the seasoned pros they no doubt are, but their precision was at the cost of authenticity. The drums lacked some soul, with fills hammered out precisely on the beat, bridging the gaps in Henshaw’s melodies with unnatural perfection. The bassist and keyboardist – who had the advantage of a strong selection of riffs to bash out – were even more faceless, and a single guitar solo plonked towards the end of the set came and went without any of the fanfare it deserved. For the lightheartedness of the frontman to fully come across, an element of playful improvisation was essential. Instead, Henshaw found himself singing elaborate karaoke.
Even so, the set wasn’t without its highlights. Slick hip hop number Chicken Wings was the first song to deliver a great singalong chorus despite its total lyrical banality. Later on, the creamy R&B of East Detroit ended a long, dull patch of slower duds, providing an excellent chance for Henshaw to demonstrate his exceptional vocal ability. It was Church, however, that was the night’s surprise of the night, with a winning piano riff propelling the track to joyous highs. Henshaw’s energetic demand to “wake up and get yourself to church!” had the crowd bouncing in double time, no extra gospel singers required. A lack of hip hop duo EARTHGANG for a guest verse left a hole in the middle of the track, but a final bubbly chorus helped ease the pain of Henshaw’s reliance on a backing track.
Attempts to work in the multiple interludes that appear on Untidy Soul achieved mixed results. The voice memo intro to Loved By You was a well-coordinated change of pace, whilst Keyon was almost embarrassingly played over the speaker, the tasteful muted trumpet solo of the Keyon in question painfully absent. Broke – Henshaw’s biggest hit and his best song by some distance – was somewhat clumsily thrown into the set just a song or two later. As far as I was concerned, the effortlessly funky opening groove had been destined to be greeted by frenzied cheers from the crowd after Henshaw and his band had made a false exit. Instead, Henshaw prematurely gave his concert a highlight that he had no hope of topping. He did at least milk the moment with some good old-fashioned call and response.
Joy was the song of choice, then, for the finish. The heartfelt ballad about Henshaw’s search for happiness came dangerously close to being sickly sweet (“this one ‘gon leave you teary eyed” Henshaw promised over the first few bars, before encouraging us to hug our friends and sing the lyrics to one another) but most of us were happy to follow along with it. In fairness, the simple singalong finish proved a hit, and there was a brief feeling of heart-warming togetherness as we sang “don’t you worry what tomorrow will bring / ‘cause we got joy” over and over. It was the sort of contradictory platitude that album reviewers rightfully scoff at, but when played in earnest to a receptive audience it was easy to sense the kind heart and good intentions behind the rushed lyrics. For all the show’s flaws, I left with a smile.
I tried and failed to catch sleep on the hopelessly slow 2307 Trans-Pennine Express back across the moors as Fionn enjoyed what looked like some good shuteye slumped over the table in front of me. I couldn’t help but question whether buying the gig ticket in the first place was a wise move. Despite the night’s great company, a 7:30am alarm call was approaching like the grim reaper. I decided it’s time to give Gorilla a miss for a little while.
Despite being in desperate need of an extra bandmate or two, Orla Gartland had plenty of strong enough material to give the crowd exactly what they wanted in Leeds. Unlike her friend and peer dodie, however, her live act still has plenty of room to grow in the years to come.
Idouble- and triple-checked that my ticket proudly branded with the words ‘Orla Gartland’ in stretched all caps (a valuable souvenir to keep for years) was safely stowed in my wallet as I walked across the unsettlingly gloomy campus of Leeds University alone at twilight. It had been a difficult drive in and locating the venue wasn’t any easier. I walked into the modern, sterile white of the student union building with some trepidation, half hoping to bump into some old school mates that must have been no further than a mile or two away. Down a flight of steps and round a corner and at last I found the Orla fans slowly meandering around the cafeteria amongst students hunched over chess boards, iMacs and fast food. Only now did the dejà vu I had expected kicked in; I’d partied with this bunch of stylish, brightly-coloured teenagers not so long ago. As a close friend of dodie, Gartland shares much of the same fanbase with the uke-pop superstar, even if her sound has a decidedly more rock ‘n’ roll edge than anything dodie’s ever released. I recognised a handful of familiar faces from dodie’s showstopping Manchester gig, and overheard phrases like “At The Dodie Gig she didn’t start until 9:30!” or “I hope there’s some choreo like The Dodie Gig!” I wore my dodie mask again with the pride of a passionate football supporter, albeit not quite at the right match.
For all their similarities, it must be said that dodie is simply the more famous and more beloved of the two friends. If O2 Apollo was a Championship-level venue for dodie, Gartland’s Stylus had more of a League Two feel, and this time I had no issues in getting close enough to the stage to properly take in all the action. The venue size inevitably meant there was none of the fancy confetti or versatile lighting that made the dodie gig feel so once-in-a-lifetime – this was a straightforward gig where musicians play their music and nothing more. Gartland’s time on the big stages of Britain is most certainly still to come.
The obvious comparisons to dodie can only be taken so far. After a humdrum choice of opener Pretending, Things That I’ve Learned and oh GOD made a nice pairing with their unmistakably-Orla and risky odd time grooves that got the crowd shrugging along, even though dance moves are difficult to coordinate in 5/4. Sara Leigh Shaw was the right drummer for the job, clattering into the chorus on oh GOD with a laser focus. Tucked away slightly on the side of the stage, she looked uncannily similar to Gartland herself with her own mop of ginger hair that bobbed about in time to the stumbling groove behind that “I don’t wanna think about it” earworm. Gartland meanwhile looked ready to take on the world with her chequered green suit and matching neon green eyeshadow, commanding the crowd atop an inch or two of chunky Doc Martens. Rounding out the band was Pete Daynes. One of the standout performers of the dodie tour, his return was well received, with his enthusiastic jaunts wielding his P-bass around the stage earning him chants of “Pete! Pete! Pete!” on two separate occasions.
The problem was a lack of personnel. Often Gartland’s ambitious pop-rock creations demanded more than the three albeit competent musicians could provide. (Intriguingly, support acts Greta Isaac and Clean Cut Kid could have really done with at least two more performers each – probably another manifestation of the supply chain crisis or something.) Poor Pete often had to oblige with synth parts, backing vocals and a drum machine, and a cool yet unnecessary glowing drumstick wasn’t enough to distract from the fact that this man was born to leap around with his bass like the Easter Bunny. Restricting him to the keyboard rack on the gritty, earthy bomb of a pop song Bloodline for example was nothing short of criminal.
Gartland was an engaging and loveable frontwoman, delivering sure-fire crowd pleasers from the recent album like You’re Not Special, Babe and Over Your Head with guts and charisma. Indie rock gem Codependency sounded somehow even better than the studio version, with Shaw digging in on the sections of the chorus where all momentum was previously lost. It’s a testament to Gartland’s skills as a performer that the quieter moments of the set were just as powerful as the aforementioned rock singalongs. Madison was a joy – a perfectly written acoustic ode to Gartland’s therapist with an expertly crafted melody at its heart. Gartland took to the piano for the touching Left Behind, an achingly vulnerable piece that left the crowd desperate to give Gartland one big hug before she embarked on her last few numbers.
Sara Leigh Shaw leaped atop Pete Daynes to celebrate another successful night on tour with Orla Gartland
I Go Crazy soon picked things up, taking the role of Gartland’s almost-funk jam (see dodie’s In the Middle) and properly turning the pit into a dancefloor for the first time in the night. Daynes was sure to make the most of a bubbly bassline, whipping up the crowd whenever he could. Gartland ramped up the usual crowd participation routine as the set drew to a close. Difficult Things was a good opportunity for a two-part audience call and response section, and there was something vaguely profound and moving about a few hundred concert-goers repeatedly chanting “we never talk about difficult things” in unison. In contrast, synthpop foot-tapper Flatline was a chance for the obligatory “crouch for the bridge and jump up for chorus” schtick which, despite being somewhat painful in the knees after hours of standing in one spot, was impossible not to smile at. I didn’t even know the song, but something about bouncing around in sync with these young and happy strangers was life-affirming.
The encore was mostly reserved for fan favourites More Like You and Zombie!, although as far as I was concerned the gig had already reached its pinnacle. I may not have returned to my car with the giddy buzz that the best gigs give me, but it’s nonetheless hard to fault Gartland, who put in a good shift despite requiring some added support in the form of personnel and some more engaging staging and lighting. With that, I can safely stash away my dodie mask for a long while — or at least until Pete Daynes starts doing his own headline tours.
On her first UK tour since the release of her critically-acclaimed debut album, Nubya Garcia’s complex jazz creations were finally given time and space to be explored in their full glory, aided by a stunning trio of supporting musicians that might have even outshined Garcia herself.
It’s been a while coming, but as my friend Emma and I rocked up at Gorilla on a non-descript weekday night in Manchester, my concert-going muscle memory started to kick in. For obvious reasons, my gigging habit had previously stopped almost as soon as it began. I started by catching Parcels at Brudenell Social Club in 2018 (I was luckier than I realised; 3 years later and they’re one of my favourite bands of all), and managed to fit in American rock duo of mom jeans. and Prince Daddy & the Hyena before the world ended. Now with another half-dozen under my belt – including a scream-along special with Declan McKenna in Newcastle and an incredible, enthralling night with dodie in Manchester – I’m starting to feel like a bit of an old pro. At Gorilla it didn’t take long for me to suss out the bar and the messy hubub of thirsty people that it attracted in an undefined queue, and the staff were relatively efficient in supplying my usual pint of Coke and some disposable earplugs (much unlike my nightmarish experience at nearby Victoria Warehouse a few months ago). Then was the uncomfortable task of finding a satisfactory spot to stand in the crowd. For this, Emma proved to be an expert, and effortlessly weaved her way through the bodies, miraculously reaching a spacious spot an arm’s reach from the stage edge. There’s nothing quite like getting a spot so close to the stage you can practically worship the feet of the musician in front of you, especially when the musician in question is enigmatic jazz keyboardist Joe Armon-Jones.
As a keyboardist myself, Joe inevitably got much of my attention for the night, but a more obvious performer to venerate was the woman on the ticket: Nubya Garcia, one of the headline artists amongst the much talked-about vanguard of contemporary British jazz. With a Medusa-like splay of dreadlocks and a wide stance, she was an admirably powerful figure on centre stage, wielding a tenor saxophone – alto’s musclier, more serious big brother. Ever since her debut EP Nubya’s 5ive was released in 2017, it seems like the general excitement around her ability to inspire a generation of new, young jazz fans has only grown and grown. Even the supporting players in that EP – Moses Boyd and Femi Coleoso on drums, Theon Cross on tuba – have also become major players in the new genre, bringing their own extensive range of bands and solo projects. Start researching and it’s easy to get lost in the proliferation of new, British (but, let’s be honest, mostly London) jazz, and as a young jazz player myself, it’s thrilling to watch. On walking into Gorilla, however, we were reminded that for all the growing momentum of UK jazz, it’s still far from the mainstream. Gorilla can only handle up to 700 jazzheads and the flickering LEDs behind the band hardly screamed high-budget. UK jazz is still jazz after all, with all its challenging harmony and abstract improvisation, and Garcia’s particular brand is hardly aimed at converting Ed Sheeran fans. Instead, her music digs into long and often noisy solos powered by splashy, busy drumming and colorful injections of dissonant harmony. Heads often only have slightly less improvisation than the solos themselves and hooks, while undoubtedly present, are hardly abundant.
With an audience of fans that get it (unlike Garcia’s recent televised performances at the BBC Proms or with Jools Holland), Garcia rightly had no hesitation in fully exploring every tune with epic solos and fluid song structure. Absorbing opener Source was a perfect example: the 12-minute studio version may be a bit much for some, but on the night it became a 20-minute jazz odyssey. Thankfully, it was difficult to get tired of the sticky, heavy dub reggae groove it its centre, underlined by a Daniel Casimir’s bubbly basslines and Tom Jones’ snappy sidestick. All four performers had plenty of time to make their introductions. Armon-Jones’ solo was captivating, segueing from a brief section of precise samba to a dense cacophony of glissandos and cluster chords. Daniel Casimir’s double bass solo was both the most succinct and successful solo of the bunch, adding more character and groove into his plucking than I thought was possible. A final, stupendous riff was greeted by a stunned applause, with Garcia noticeably reluctant to take back the lead.
As you can imagine, time went quickly and the band only had time to fit in a streamlined selection of six songs to play for the whole night. Garcia delivered some light-hearted and fun chat in between each tune. She had a tendency to get lost on a tangent about the origin of a song or the experience of playing her first tour post-lockdown, but even so it was lovely to see the obvious joy that performing her music to a crowd brings. “I’m in a good place right now,” she earnestly told the crowd at one point, to which we all cheered. If Queen Nubya was happy, then so were we.
The Message Continues followed a thought-provoking chat about Garcia passing on the ‘message’ of her heritage, which she encouraged us all to do too. The sparkling groove – one of Garcia’s most immediate and memorable – nods to her Guyanese and Trinidadian roots with a cumbia-informed bass riff and lightly shuffling drum work. Afterwards, Pace delivered a whole different world for the musicians to play in: a frenzied and overwhelming solo section was intended to mimic the stresses of constant touring and socialising with no rest. The eventual mayhem was made all the more impactful by what preceded it – a total bass solo from Casimir, for which the others left the stage completely. He was more than worthy of owning the stage for a few breathless minutes, each melody more beautifully adventurous than the last. I don’t think any of us wanted it to stop.
Another moment of surprising solace came with Stand With Each Other, a sparse combination of solo saxophone and tasteful afrobeat drumming. Here, Garcia’s outstanding tone was on full display; breathy, soulful and immaculately controlled. The saxophone really did seem to morph into a fifth limb – no longer merely an instrument, but a second voice through which to speak volumes more than words ever could. There was a spine-tingling sense of awe in the room as Garcia effortlessly faded out a long final note into silence.
Daniel Casimir’s solo at the start of Pace was one of the highlights
For all Garcia’s technical brilliance, it would be going too far to say her performance was flawless. Even Emma – an even stronger supporter of UK jazz than I am – admitted that her solos could get formulaic. Gradually building chromatically to ever higher, ever louder long notes seemed to be Garcia’s go-to game plan and, unlike Armon-Jones or Jones, there were few times we were wowed by her technical dexterity, even if her tone and command of her instrument is immense. A brief sortie into the squeaky and impressive-sounding altissimo range of her instrument during Pace was only partially successful, and certainly the more foghorn-like lower end of her tenor range had more impact during the big moments.
That said, Garcia doesn’t have to be John Coltrane to be an exciting artist, and seeing her and her friends create art in front of our eyes was a thrill unlike any of the over-rehearsed rock and pop concerts I’ve attended recently. As with most jazz performances, Garcia and her band of outstanding musicians were intent on creating something unique and impossible to replicate. Even Garcia’s chats were free-flowing and improvised, and the atmosphere in the room benefitted as a result. The venues and audience may remain relatively small thanks to the inaccessibility of her boundary-pushing style to the average listener, but Garcia deserves praise to sticking to what she loves. In an industry of Tiktok-pandering overnight millionaires and the same old chart-storming pop idols, a night at Gorilla was a pleasant reminder that this corner of fast-moving jazz well outside the mainstream isn’t going anywhere.
From chart-toppers to hidden gems, it’s time to reminisce about the most remarkable musical moments of 2023, as we countdown the year’s greatest hits. The rules are the same as usual: only one song per artist and no covers. Remember this is primarily a personal reflection on my own music habits this year; I don’t pretend to have listened to enough music to declare the best works of all popular music this year, and you might spot some songs that were released before 2023. This list is about sharing the best songs that I happen to have discovered in the last twelve months.
40.I See Myself
by Geese from 3D Country
It’s been a breakout year for lovable New York indie band Geese, whose unhinged, creative post-punk creations suit their throwaway nickname. Beyond the playful vocals, there’s a deep sense of groove to I See Myself’s half time strut, which oozes with tambourine and cowbell yet never feels cluttered – every last dink has earned its place in this mix. As for the hook, good luck forgetting the titular refrain – belted every time – any time this side of next Christmas.
Also try: Cowboy Nudes
39.impossible
by Wasia Project from how can i pretend?
Creative pop siblings Wasia Project look set for big things in 2024. The Guildhall students already have an impressive collection of stylish, instrument-driven pop under their name (plus an acting credit in hit Netflix series Heartstopper), and impossible is just one example of an intelligently written composition rich in potential. It lifts off in the final third, piano throbbing and Olivia Hardy’s vocals soaring skywards. Keep a close eye on them.
Also try: Petals on the Moon
38.Topless Mother
by Nadine Shah from Filthy Underneath
Nadine Shah delivers her chorus in Topless Mother with ample venom, hissing out every last syllable, backed by tribal drums and sudden deluges of cymbals. It’s just as well, because the words themselves are rhyming gibberish: “Sinatra, Viagra, iguana / Sharia, Diana, samosa” comprise the first two lines. It’s a startling approach that serves as a middle finger to her critics and a steadfast refusal to fit into the mould assigned to her. It’s a vicious reminder never to get on the wrong side of a skilled songwriter.
Also try: Twenty Things
37.HOT TO GO!
by Chappell Roan from The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess
It’s been a breakout year for many artists, but few have had a trajectory as stratospheric as Chappell Roan’s, who started the year as one of thousands of aspiring young American pop stars and finished it with a global hit album and a support slot on tour with no less than the undisputed queen of young American pop stars, Olivia Rodrigo. HOT TO GO!, and its accompanying dance routine, accounts for some of Roan’s phenomenal success, typifying her bratty, entertaining brand of pop. Roan’s lyrics are hardly Shakespeare (she’s certainly not above spelling out the song title cheerleader-style), but the silly chorus comprises one of the most intractable earworms of the year – hear it once and it will haunt your dreams (and perhaps nightmares) for sixth months hence. Add some bouncy synths and a half-rapped pre chorus that veers precariously close to cheesiness and the result is a career-launching banger free of pomposity and absolutely stuffed with life-affirming glee.
Also try: Femininomenon
36.Then It All Goes Away
by Dayglow from People In Motion
Then It All Goes Away is one of the most satisfying examples of sunny indie pop that Texan showman Dayglow has come out with so far. Bright piano riffs and a very healthy contingent of cowbell make for easy listening, and spacey guitars hold gimmers of 80s pop at its dreamiest. A perfect soundtrack to your next daydream of summer.
Also try: Deep End
35.Glory
by Gabriels from Angels & Queens
Soul trio Gabriels were one of the standout performers of Glastonbury 2023, with Glory the peak of a heart-warming set. Jacob Lusk’s silky voice is as charismatic as ever, but its the driving percussion and insistent strings that make this foot-tapper such an exciting listen.
Also try: Love and Hate in a Different Time
34.Who Let Him In
by Obongjayar
What’s refreshing about Who Let Him In is not the strength of Obongjayar’s brags (being able to string together a few rhymes about how great and unique you are is more or less a prerequisite for today’s rappers) but in how justified they are. “I fear no one / Walk in the room like the owner,” he tells us, and by the sounds of this beat – a bubbling Afrobeat groove bursting at the seams with energy – he seems utterly believable. Obongjayar doesn’t just want to be a good artist, he wants to “take over”, and with tracks as inspired as this one, that’s exactly what he seems destined to do.
Also try: Just Cool
33.Dans Le Noir
by Free Love from Inside
Glasgow synth duo sound anything but Scottish on this largely French-language funk-pop belter, but the language gives this sticky dance number a flirtatious edge, regardless of the meaning of Suzi Cook’s words. An almost comically overblown synth bass is the main attraction, though, and the instrument is rightly given free reign to wobble around its rich upper range in an extended instrument section in the middle of this song. Cook’s vocal hook eventually returns us to solid ground in a song full of left turns from a duo quite happy to keep their audiences guessing.
Also try: Open The Door
32.Who the Hell Is Edgar?
by TEYA & SALENA
Sweden may have won it with a vaguely uninspiring pop song, but it was Austria that came to Eurovision 2023 with arguably best song of this year’s contest. Who the Hell Is Edgar? strikes the fine balance between loveable joke song and earnest work of art with a clear message in a contest where songs usually fall heavily into one of the two categories (think hard rock fancy dress monsters for the former, hymn for the deported Crimean Tatars for the latter). TEYA and SALENA’s playful chemistry is a joy as they summon the ghost of 19th century poet Edgar Allen Poe and the various threads of the song are knotted together cleverly after the bridge. Granted, TEYA and SALENA’s performance on the night left something to be desired and a slot as show opener can’t have helped votes, but in more favourable conditions Who the Hell Is Edgar? would have made for a worthy Eurovision champion.
Also try: Ukraine’s excellent entry, Heart of Steel by TVORCHI
31.(You) On My Arm
by Leith Ross from To Learn
Leith Ross hit viral success in 2023 with the acoustic guitar track We’ll Never Have Sex, the sort of throwaway almost-song (it’s only 100 seconds long) that would never be a hit before the age of streaming. (You) On My Arm stands out as both the only uptempo track and best tune on their debut album, a pleasingly understated indie rock number that features the ingenious line “I’d be better armed if you agreed to take it.” The songwriting fundamentals are handled so competently here it’s a relief that Ross doesn’t unnecessarily complicate things with a flashy backing, instead sticking to a muted bass tone and spacey guitars that complement her introspective vocals. It’s no wonder her humble approach to music making has resonated with millions around the world.
Also try: Monogamy
30.Love for the Last Time
by Leadley from LIGHT POP
There’s an unreality that goes beyond the usual popstar Photoshopping in West Midlands singer Leadley’s album covers, presenting her as a sort of celestial beauty of impossible perfection. Her songs have a similar immaculate quality, especially Love For The Last Time, a note perfect pop song blessed with crystalline production. A divine sax riff recalls Carly Rae Jepsen at her five star best, and enjoyably schmaltzy lyrics like “Hold me like it isn’t goodbye / Touch me like you’re never really leaving,” roll off the tongue like honey on freshly baked pancakes. The result is almost too sweet.
Also try: Love Me Like That
29.Hell
by Sleater-Kinney from Little Rope
“Hell is desperation / And a young man with a gun,” Corin Tucker informs us ominously in the minimalist start to Hell, her portentous lyrics the only sign of the melee of sound to come. It’s a contrast that works deliciously well when the chorus does eventually hit, a screaming electric guitar loud and salient in the mix like the whirr of a dentist’s drill. It’s one of the grungiest choruses I’ve heard all year and I can’t get enough of it.
Also try: Say It Like You Mean It
28.Dancer
by IDLES feat. LCD Soundsystem from TANGK
Dance and disco music may not be an obvious match for IDLES, Bristol’s ever popular post punk group helmed by the fearsome Joe Talbot, a man who seems to grow more grizzled and bear-like with every passing year. But, right from the opening swoop of disco strings, this collaboration with dance music luminary LCD Soundsystem comes off surprisingly well. Industrial guitar riffs open up for a pummeling chorus, Talbot’s descriptions of dancing “cheek to cheek” sounding uneasily violent rather than swooning and romantic. Their new album TANGK, due in February, promises to be something special.
Also try: Grace
27.Poor Madeline
by Daffo from Pest
Daffo came out with one of the finest indie rock EPs of the year with October’s Pest, which features a number of soulful compositions that have both a depth of emotion and proficiency of songwriting that many of her peers lack. Poor Madeline is just one of several potential picks for this list and shows Daffo’s typical urge to strive above and beyond the usual song structures associated with the genre.
Also try: Seed, Good God and Collector are all Poor Madeline‘s equal
26.New York Transit Queen
by Corinne Bailey Rae from Black Rainbows
Corinne Bailey Rae’s September album Black Rainbows marked one of the most astounding artistic pivots of the year. For the woman behind the smooth, sunshine-filled R&B hit Put Your Records On, lead single New York Transit Queen could hardly have been more shocking. There are no tinkling triangles or cheery Hammond organs to be found here – this track is an unreservedly grungy pastiche of 60s rock and roll in all its swaggering glory. The opening guitar riff, which has all the blunt-force simplicity of You Really Got Me, hits like a truck and Rae’s vocals are strikingly distorted and unhinged. What’s most remarkable is that the track doesn’t end up sounding like a cover or parody. The grit of the blaring instrumentation here feels organic, the drums hammered out with what feels like genuine fury. Appropriately, a vodka shot of a song like this comes and goes in a frantic 109 seconds. It’s just as well – even at this length, New York Transit Queen has a tendency to leave you breathless.
Also try: He Will Follow You With His Eyes is a remarkable, completely different sonic experience.
25.Theatre
by Etta Marcus from The Death of Summer & Other Promises
Etta Marcus made the list two years ago with a melancholy, nuanced ballad with Matt Maltese, and Theatre starts in much the same vein before revealing itself to be a much different beast. Far from a sweetly romantic tune about moving to America, Theatre is a rock rager about crushing, desperate loneliness, with the volume turned up to the max. It’s propelled by a gut-wrenching set of lyrics in which Marcus plays a twisted version of herself hell bent on love, demanding someone, anyone, to “call me baby / let me die on the stage / let the orchestra play”. The melodrama is matched by a barnstorming vocal performance, Marcus almost audibly dropping to her knees in anguish. Like an enthralling stage performance, this song is impossible to ignore.
Also try: Snowflake Suzy
24.Phone Me
by CMAT from Crazymad, For Me
2023 was a year in which Irish singer-songwriter CMAT finally fulfilled her potential with a rewarding second album of charismatic indie rock that married inventive songwriting with thinly veiled self-mocking humour. Phone Me was the catchiest of the bunch, with a cracking bass line and a chorus that leaned into the strengths of CMAT’s formidable vocals. “Does my affliction turn you on?” she belts with trademark matter-of-factness. It’s this fearlessness that has seen CMAT’s career flourish this year, and there’s a sense that 2024 will likely be more of the same.
Also try: California and Have Fun! are similarly great tracks that bookend CMAT’s new album, while Rent is the mid-album showpiece.
23.5-Watt Rock
by Theo Katzman from Be the Wheel
Theo Katzman’s fourth studio album Be The Wheel was not short on earnestly profound reflections on a pandemic spent largely alone in the wilderness (the eloquent title track very nearly made it on to this list), so I could forgive Katzman for feeling disappointed that the record’s comic relief is what I’ve selected here. Sure, this tale of a humble songwriter overcoming the inadequacies of his small guitar amp is not overtly thought provoking, but it’s still a sweet story expertly delivered and a fine example of Katzman’s knack for satisfying rhymes. The chorus is one of the earworms of his career – you can practically hear the band’s smiles as the group vocals reach ever upwards, urged on by a genius chord progression even by Katzman’s high standards. No doubt Katzman spent many more sleepless nights crafting the dense lyrics found elsewhere on the album than for this light-hearted ditty, but perhaps Be The Wheel would have benefitted from a little more of 5-Watt Rock’s simple joy.
Also try: Be the Wheel and Hit the Target provide a bit more food for thought and also showcase Katzman’s adroit songwriting.
22.One That Got Away
by MUNA
There’s only been one song from Los Angeles pack leaders MUNA this year following the triumph of last year’s Silk Chiffon, a glorious collaboration with Phoebe Bridgers, but boy is it a good one. On One That Got Away, the band lean into full-blown 80s art pop, the angular synths almost blinding vibrant, the aggressively clipped snare drum sounding colossal. Katie Gavin’s hook is a winner, and a climactic bass fill almost feels cribbed from that moment in You Can Call Me Al. This ever popular trio aren’t going anywhere.
Also try: Silk Chiffon is an essential piece of not just MUNA’s discography, but modern pop in general.
21.Clashing Colours
by Quinn Oulton feat. Monica Martin from Alexithymia
A reworking with incomparable soul singer Monica Martin elevated this track from South London multi-instrumentalist Quinn Oulton in April. A sublimely rich bass is a spectre looming over the mix and a nice match for Oulton’s tip-toeing breathy sax, which eventually finds its place in the track with a meandering jazz solo. It makes for an impossibly cool jazz-funk stew – a groove to savour with every listen.
Also try: Lately
20.New York
by The Kills from God Games
“Why should hip-hop be future-forward and guitar music always looking back?” the Kills asked in an NME interview before their recent album God Games, and it’s only when you hear the inventive brilliance of that album that it becomes how clear just how behind the curve the rest of today’s guitar music is. New York in particular succeeds in being unlike any rock song you’ve heard before, in large part to a heavy use of orchestra hits, which lend the track the grandiosity of the opening scenes of a spy thriller. Bare bones percussion and wall-shaking bass make for a suitably industrial-feeling portrait of the Big Apple. This isn’t a repeat of Alicia Keys’ or Frank Sinatra’s romantic visions of American Dream New York, but perhaps something more realistic: dirtier, angrier, with rats scuttling from gutter to gutter and taxi horns blaring. New York’s most compelling aspect, however, is its roof-raiser of a guitar riff, destined to be sung passionately by thousands in the vast concert halls that no doubt await this daring rock duo.
Also try: Wasterpiece
19.Begin Again
by Jessie Ware from That! Feels Good!
Begin Again formed the pinnacle of Jessie Ware’s April album That! Feels Good!, which largely built on the sound established by its predecessor What’s Your Pleasure? – no bad thing since What’s Your Pleasure? was nothing short of a modern classic. It’s a towering five and a half minute epic that earns favourable comparisons to Stevie Wonder’s Another Star. The descending bass line holds similar gravitas, as does a stellar horn contribution from trendy London jazz group Kokoroko. It’s Ware herself, however, that crowns it, sealing a cinematic crescendo with spine-tingling high notes that exemplify the huge strides she’s made as both an artist and a singer since her debut 13 years ago.
Also try: you can’t go wrong with Ware’s latest album, but Pearls and Freak Me Now are two of my other favourites.
18.Everybody’s Saying That
by Girl Ray from Prestige
Girl Ray’s live show may have disappointed in November, but there’s no denying Everybody’s Saying That is a glorious little disco single. There’s a loveable awkwardness to Poppy Hankin’s vocals and the mix as a whole, which trades the glossy sheen of something Dua Lipa might release for the air of three friends simply having a good time in a studio. There’s plenty of fun to be had on that bulletproof chorus hook, and the trio don’t miss the opportunity for a slightly silly clavinet breakdown. The result is a simple joy: funk at its euphoric, uncomplicated best.
Also try: True Love and Tell Me provide plenty more disco joy.
17.Birth4000
by Floating Points
Try to explain to someone in a sentence what sort of music Floating Points makes and you’ll find yourself giving five more sentences of qualifiers and explanations before you can get close to fully conveying the extent of this artist’s musical creativity. A good place to start is his astonishing work with London Symphony Orchestra, Promises, which is a transfixing, 46-minute long ambient classical piece that features the murmured incantations of late sax giant Pharoah Sanders. Fittingly, Birth4000 is just about the complete opposite: a steamy, in-your-face trance banger that writhes and throbs the way only the most compelling dance music can. The drops are titanic, with the kick drum turned up just loud enough to become slightly distorted. This is a piece of music that kicks you by the backside into the hypnotising strobes of a euphoric, thronging nightclub. You won’t want it to stop.
Also try: devote an hour to Promises and thank me later, or try trippy single Vocoder for a completely different side of Floating Points.
16.Running Out of Time
by Paramore from This Is Why
Beloved punk pop group Paramore could be forgiven for calling it quits at this point, their late-noughties hits like Misery Business and All I Wanted now increasingly old enough to enter nostalgic classic territory. Instead, they released one of the best albums of their career so far with February’s edgy, quick-witted tour de force This Is Why. The call-to-action title track that opens the album was easy to love, but I’ve gone with funky Running Out Of Time for this list. A playful number about always being late (“There was a fire! (metaphorically) / Be there in five! (hyperbolically)”), there’s also a touch of social commentary on our productivity-first culture for any listeners looking for some food for thought. More importantly, there’s some delightfully nasty guitar riffs, plus Zac Farro letting loose on a swaggering drum groove. Paramore’s golden era hits may be untouchable but make no mistake: this band isn’t fading away any time soon.
Also try: This Is Why‘s title track makes for a killer album opener.
15.Go Dig My Grave
by Lankum from False Lankum
Irish drone-folk group are no strangers to gothic tales of doom and misery, but Go Dig My Grave, the masterful opener to their lauded March album False Lankum (the Guardian’s Album of the Year, no less) reaches new levels of chilling. It begins with a breathtaking two minutes of solo vocals from Radie Peat, who possesses an earthy, sorrowful voice unlike any you’ve heard before. She unravels a disturbing narrative as storm clouds gather in the form of industrial clatters and a sinister strings drone. Each member of Lankum is a multi-instrumentalist and the fact that most of the instruments in the ensuing dirge are tricky to identify adds to the disorientating horror, lending the climax a supernatural intensity. This is folk music at its most sickening, the terror of Peat’s lyrics realised potently in the incessant rise and fall of detuned violins. Go Dig My Grave is Lankum at the peak of their witch-like powers.
Also try: there’s plenty of treasures on False Lankum. Master Crowley’s successfully turns a Gaelic jig into something hellish, while On a Monday Morning is one of many drone-free moments of peaceful melancholia.
14.Sleepwalker
by Ava Max from Diamonds & Dancefloors
It seems the intensely mainstream sound of Ava Max has caused to her music to be largely dismissed as chart-ready pop candy floss, primed to keep company with the countless other indistinguishable female pop acts destined to be forgotten in a few years’ time. Indeed, Max’s vocals are hardly exceptional, and Sleepwalker’s lyrics about making a guy obsess over her are at best functional and at worst clunky, but the fact is no other pop song this year has matched this one’s instant appeal. Flawless chorus hook aside, what other charting track this year features a synth solo this brazen? In a genre plagued by impersonal corporate hitmakers, crafting pernicious hooks behind the scenes like evil scientists, there’s a frisson of playfulness in the longer than necessary solo that suggests Max is genuinely having fun beyond her quest for a global pop empire. That’s not to say Sleepwalker shows much daring, but it does deliver the pop formula for success in a way so impeccably you’ll find yourself humming along to the chorus before your first listen is even over. Max has had much bigger hits than this and will no doubt push Sleepwalker further into obscurity with another slew of smashes in 2024, but I maintain this little pop gem is criminally underrated.
Also try: Maybe You’re the Problem, Ghost and Hold Up (Wait a Minute) are all bangers, not to mention Max’s energetic contribution to the Barbie movie, Choose Your Fighter.
13.The Abyss
by KNOWER from KNOWER FOREVER
Inimitable US funk artist Louis Cole has played some nut-tight grooves in his time, but few are as exquisitely precise as The Abyss, the face-melting highlight of his superb project with Genevieve Artadi under the name KNOWER released in October. Sam Wilkes delivers a particularly monstrous performance on bass, purring tiger-like under Artadi’s clipped vocals and Cole’s trademark sharp-edged synths. The rhythmic discipline all round is immense – not one note comes a fraction too late – and that’s before mentioning the ensuing chaos of the track’s unfettered second half: not one but two whirlwind Cole drum solos, a screaming distorted sax solo and a showstopping blast on keyboards all provide an assault on the ears before Artadi coolly brings it home with one last chorus. It’s KNOWER at their ruthless best: astonishing, cut-throat electro-funk from start to finish.
Also try: I’m the President is a thoroughly satisfying album opener, while Nightmare descends into a cosmic electrofunk jam.
12.Phlox
by Emma Rawicz from Chroma
Emma Rawicz is gaining a reputation as one of the more cerebral new exponents of UK jazz, serving shape-shifting, rhythmically complex compositions that are often hard to pin down. Phlox is a song that avoids any aimless wandering via the oldest trick in the book: a no nonsense riff, repeated over and over. Granted, it’s a very Rawicz sort of riff – that is to say, dazzlingly complex – but it’s delivered with such flair and precision it’s hard not to get whipped up in the stormy brilliance of it all. Rawicz is also on fine form for a delightfully impolite solo, but it’s drummer Asaf Sirkis who steals the show with a marvellous closing drum solo that both neatly fills the gaps made by that riff whilst sounding utterly chaotic. Rawicz’s jazz has never felt so vital.
Also try: Middle Ground is a perfect example of Rawicz’s softer side.
11.You Are Not My Friend
by Tessa Violet from MY GOD!
One of the great underrated albums of the year in my books was Tessa Violet’s midsummer release MY GOD!, a leitmotif-laden opus that excelled in every genre Violet had a crack at, from the bombastic hyperpop opener to Swift-esque Again, Again or the folksy singalong Kitchen Song. You Are Not My Friend was an apt closer, wrapping up the emotional complexities of the earlier tracks with a straightforward pop punk sound as unapologetic and self-assured as its title. Here, as in virtually all of Violet’s songs, the songwriting is exceptional, with the interlocking vocals in the technicolour finale evidence of Violet’s considerable pop nous. The lyrics are gold dust for anyone looking for reassurance after a messy breakup, but even for the rest of us the quotable nuggets come thick and fast (“You say I’m insecure? / You’re twenty-eight with a teenager” will go down as one of Violet’s sharpest take downs). It’s a testament to the strength of You Are Not My Friend that you don’t need to directly relate to any of the lyrics in order to share Violet’s sweet, sweet taste of retribution.
Also try: MY GOD! is an album that rewards front to back listening, but start with BAD BITCH or Breakdown if you want to dip your toes into it.
10.Up Song
by Black Country, New Road from Live at Bush Hall
Up Song is responsible for one of the most memorable live music experiences of my life so far. It happened not this year, but in May 2022, in a feverish Brudenell Social Club the day Leeds United narrowly avoided relegation. Black Country, New Road were a band in a unique turmoil: just five days following the release of their instant cult classic Ants From Up There, their lyrically gifted yet troubled frontman Isaac Wood abruptly left the band. Up Song marked the beginning of the remaining six members’ intimate gig in Leeds which, astonishingly, comprised of an entirely new album worth of unreleased material. New lead vocalist Tyler Hyde proved she was not one for introductions, soon interrupting a quiet opening with a typically unpredictable onslaught of sound, May Kershaw prominently hammering away behind her on piano. It ended up being an inspired reflection on the band’s turbulent recent history; the climactic line “Look at what we did together / BCNR, friends forever,” might sound trite on paper, but belted in a sudden a capella unison from every band member it was uniquely moving. The rest of the gig (and 2023’s live album) had more than its fair share of interesting post-Wood creativity, but it was Up Song that announced BCNR’s rapid reinvention in glorious style.
Also try: Dancers holds the album’s best vocal hook, but it was cinematic epic Turbines/Pigs that had the BCNR fans really swooning.
9.But leaving is
by Matt Maltese from Driving Just To Drive
Reading balladeer Matt Maltese is no stranger to a good old fashioned love song. These days he’s got a slew of bittersweet tracks to his name, from the formative breakout hit Even If It’s a Lie (the sort of superb songwriting that demands no more than a simple piano accompaniment to shine) to the viral epic As the World Caves In, a spectacular song which changes complexion somewhat when you learn it was written about Theresa May and Donald Trump spending a steamy night together before nuking the planet. Even by Maltese’s standards, however, But leaving is is an utterly heart-wrenching ballad. The central punchline – “Love isn’t a choice / … but leaving is” – might be the finest lyric of his career, a smart one-two that manages to encapsulate much of the lovesick emotion that Maltese has devoted his music career to thus far. He seems to know he’s got a winner on his hands, too, delaying the payoff in two exquisite choruses, which are lifted by tasteful strings and his trademark melancholy piano. It’s a stunningly emotive arrangement of the sort Maltese’s starry peers like Lewis Capaldi and Dean Lewis simply can’t match with their cookie cutter four-chorders.
Also try: Hello Black Dog has a sickening, dark edge, whilst Florence is a lovely, rare uptempo number from Maltese.
8.All Life Long
by Kali Malone from All Life Long
All Life Long has the power to bend time. It’s a piece of ambient music that gets under my skin, stops me in my tracks and leaves me feeling invariably different – calmer, more in tune with my surroundings – than when I started it. Like most of Kali Malone’s work, it is a piece of solo pipe organ music, and the most obvious image evoked is that of a funeral; the achingly slow tempo brings with it palpable gravitas as notes slowly float downwards the same way a coffin might be carefully lowered into a grave. But All Life Long deserves also to be felt outside the context of the Church. Through her music, Malone has made it her mission to decouple the majestic organ from the dogmatic domain of religion and worship, and what makes All Life Long (and much of Malone’s work) so interesting is how starkly different it is from the organ music we know: more patient, nuanced and imaginative than the music we tend to associate with a church organ. Bach’s mathematically precise masterpieces for the instrument may be rightly venerated, but he never brought us intimacy with the instrument the way Malone does, never highlighted the way the notes aren’t constant but in fact a breath-like wave (which Malone leans into in a 70-second long final note here), or showed us how each note begins with a little whistle as the air shifts direction in the pipes, plus the tactile click of a key being pressed. The organ is a uniquely magnificent instrument. As All Life Long argues convincingly, it’s time it left the cold confines of the Church.
Also try: Thought-provoking lockdown album Does Spring Hide Its Joy weighs in at a daunting five hours but rewards an open mind, whereas The Sacrificial Code provides more of All Life Long‘s ruminative, secular organ music.
7.Bewitched
by Laufey from Bewitched
It’s easy to imagine Laufey landing into Bewitched Mary Poppins style, floating down gracefully via umbrella just in time for the first verse. Such is the love-it-or-hate-it Disney feel to the ornate orchestral arrangement in this track, the likes of which the mainstream pop charts hasn’t seen for generations; the Icelandic-Chinese jazz singer would have certainly had a number one album on her hands if a certain Olivia Rodrigo hadn’t released a slightly better album the same week. Lean into the intense sweetness of Bewitched’s orchestration and you’ll no doubt be as besotted as I am. Laufey’s gentle vocals are gorgeous yet charmingly unshowy, singing as if a song of this delicate beauty might fall apart if she were to overexert for a high note. Not that she needs any vocal flourishes – every melody here is a beauty, the luscious strings supporting Laufey like a warm, cosy bed. Laufey’s lyrics are deeply romantic, framing love not as a choice but a sort of benign curse, an uncontrollable desire to lose yourself in its “all-consuming fire”. It may sound like there’s an uncurrent of unease in all the talk of “bewitching”, but make no mistake: Bewitched is pure, unrestrained love in music form. Love songs just don’t get any lovelier.
Also try: Lovesick is Laufey’s rock moment and comes off surprisingly well; From the Start is her record-breaking bossa nova smash hit.
6.A Month Or Two
by Odie Leigh
Every so often, a song comes along that seems to tell you exactly what you need to hear. Odie Leigh’s charming ditty A Month Or Two was that song for me, an unfussy waltz on acoustic guitar broadly about growing up. Leigh’s repeated progression on guitar might have outstayed its welcome if it weren’t for a glorious string quartet that patiently weaves its way into the fabric of the track. The tension is held for a moment before the exquisite payoff, the luscious interlocking melodies sounding like a warm bath at the end of a long day. Leigh’s repeated assurance to “give it some time” is beyond comforting. It’s obviously a vague lyric that will resonate with many listeners in different ways, but there’s some magic in Leigh’s cooing vocals or her lullaby-like guitar plucking that makes it feel like she’s speaking directly to you, and only you. A Month Or Two is a cooling balm of a song I’m convinced everyone needs in their life from time to time.
Also try: Crop Circles, or Big Thief’s Change which was a similar comfort song for me this year.
5.My Love Mine All Mine
by Mitski from The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We
To get a hooky, upbeat pop song about, say, being “hot to go” in the charts is tough enough, but getting the masses hooked on a quiet, subtle two-minute country ballad about the moon is a Herculean challenge. Of course, if anyone could pulled it off, it would be America’s favourite troubled genius Mitski, who took over the Internet in September with this jewel from her divine seventh album. Every second is a meticulously crafted moment of bliss, from the lazy, last-orders-at-a-jazz-bar piano inflections to the silky wisps of slide guitar that seem to weightlessly hang in the mix like a plume of cigarette smoke. Mitski’s lyric sheet is as poetic as ever, but more optimistic than usual, celebrating the preciousness of both her lover and, more importantly, her capacity to love. As is customary for a Mitski song, this track briskly comes and goes with little time for rumination. The good news is that My Love Mine All Mine is not a song that loses its emotional potency with repeat listens – trust me.
Also try: When Memories Snow includes one of Mitski’s strongest metaphors, whilst I’m Your Man memorably depicts the artist being eaten alive by hounds, sound effects and all.
4.Nothing Matters
by the Last Dinner Party from Prelude to Ecstacy
Arguably the most exciting development in British indie music this year has been the rise of the Last Dinner Party, a London five-piece who continue to amass a cult following despite having released only four songs. In fact, they’d already signed to Island Records and scored a support slot for the Rolling Stones at Hyde Park before they’d released their first single, prompting perhaps justifiable claims from hard-working independent artists of being an ‘industry plant’. The good news is, organically successful or not, every one of the Last Dinner Party’s four singles has been exceptional, each introducing their carefully presented brand of baroque rock. Live shows involve band members (and audience members) dressed in elaborate Edwardian-style gowns and corsets whilst frolicking amidst regal candelabras. Their visit to the intimate, famed stage of Brudenell Social Club promises to be one of the most thrilling occasions for Undertone in 2024.
Debut single Nothing Matters is perhaps the most majestic of the four songs and a masterclass in endowing a straightforward two note chorus with as much emotional weight as it can possibly sustain. Abigail Morris’ lyrics are poetic and layered, yet unafraid to unleash an embittered expletive when the time comes in the chorus. What turns Nothing Matters from a good song into a great one is how the band negotiate the denouement. Emily Roberts’ dovetailing guitar solo evokes Sam Ryder in full Eurovision saviour mode, and a fanfare of horns and strings provide a sense of scale and pathos unlike any debut single I’ve heard before. It’s an instant masterpiece for a band that thus far hasn’t put a foot wrong. Industry plants? If the music is this good, I say let the industry keep planting.
Also try: the three other singles so far, in order of greatness, are My Lady of Mercy, By Your Side and Sinner.
3.vampire
by Olivia Rodrigo from GUTS
Almost no one reading this will need reminding of Olivia Rodrigo. She’s had an astonishingly successful 2023, finishing up with six Grammy nominations and a potential Oscar next year for her song in the new Hunger Games movie. Increasingly, it seems like everything she touches turns to gold. That was certainly the case for her second album, GUTS, one of those precious music releases that was both listened to by everybody and adored by everybody. It was earthier, wittier and just generally better than her 2021 debut album and almost every track was worthy of this list, but the lead single was the most obvious choice of album highlight. vampire is Rodrigo’s masterpiece, opening with a gentle Beatles-esque chord progression and crashing to a halt with a spliced up piano bashed with maximum rage. In the intervening three and a half minutes Rodrigo steadily ramps up the intensity, dissecting a toxic relationship with some of her sharpest lyrical slights to date. Behind her, an accompaniment thrillingly gathers pace, eventually snowballing into a compelling gallop that lifts the track to new, mesmeric heights. Rodrigo started her career with a blockbuster bridge (on Drivers’ License), and vampire’s is perhaps even better, the galloping backing sounding relentless, her melody inevitable. With vampire, Olivia Rodrigo rightly took over the planet once more. When she visits Manchester on her world tour next year (which, to the detriment of my bank account, I have tickets for), she will be greeted like a queen.
Also try: GUTS, probably my album of the year. all-american bitch, bad idea right? and making the bed are all essential listens in the unlikely case you’ve navigated 2023 without coming into contact with them.
2.Not Strong Enough
by boygenius from the record
The boygenius trio are friends before bandmates. It’s a fact clearer than ever on their soaring country rock number Not Strong Enough, which finds the three American singer-songwriters, who formed boygenius as something of an indie supergroup and released their debut album this year, trading verses and eventually coalescing in stunning harmony. Their imagery is particularly thoughtful (joyriding through a canyon, disassociating whilst staring at the ceiling, a quiet drive home alone) but it’s the proudly belted “I don’t know why I am the way I am” that lingers longest, a lyric as simple as it is wise. It’s delivered with the sort of fist-pumping melody that compelled hundreds to lose their voices (and their consciousness) singing along when Undertone caught the group in Halifax on a memorable midsummer’s night. boygenius’ layered lyrics about feminism and friendship have plenty of depth, but really Not Strong Enough is a wonderfully simple song and one of those pieces of music that makes you smile without exactly knowing why.
Also try: Cool About It and True Blue were my fourth and fifth most listened to songs of the year. Not Strong Enough was my number one.
1.Any Time Of Day
by the Lemon Twigs from Everything Harmony
I am a believer that our musical preferences are often determined by the cultural prevalence of certain styles during our formative teenage years, which partly explains why soft rock – a genre that had its heyday in the 70s and, unlike its disco cousin, is not yet considered cool enough for a modern revival – is often synonymous with the somewhat derogatory term ‘Dad rock’. These days much of soft rock feels dated, now replaced by the myriad of more courageous and forward-thinking rock subgenres that could never have thrived during an era where the idea of accessing virtually all recorded music in a few clicks was science fiction.
The Lemon Twigs, New York brothers Brian and Michael D’Addario, are the exception. Their six years of releasing proudly revivalist soft rock came to a head in May with their fourth album and magnum opus, Everything Harmony. As a staunch musical defense of Dad rock, it was difficult to refute – from elegant melodies to imaginative song structures and harmony, Everything Harmony managed to point out all the most flattering aspects of soft rock that have been somewhat overlooked in recent decades. The crème de la crème was Any Time Of Day, a truly titanic ballad. It may be fairly brief, but every inch of this song is genius, especially when it comes to the fantastically interesting chord choices (and buttery smooth key change), which sound miles more sophisticated than anything in the charts today.
There’s a timelessness to the lyrics, which are dreamily romantic (“you can make it bright / any time of day”) without pinning themselves down to a specific era or circumstance – like all the best songs, Any Time Of Day is an accommodating blank slate on which to imprint any meaning or emotion you like. The lines are delivered with in a heavenly falsetto which seems to get more and more euphoric with every line until the utterly glorious musical fireworks of the finale. The bass purrs, the backing vocals flutter, the synths scintillate; by the two minute mark you’ll be transported into a wholly different, blissful realm. I usually dismiss soft rock fans living in the past who may tut at the current state of the charts with lines like “they don’t make ‘em like they used to”. Comparing the majesty of Any Time Of Day to the rest of the competition in 2023, I’m beginning to think they might have a point after all.
Also try: inspired songwriting is abound on Everything Harmony, but When Winter Comes Around and What Happens to a Heart are two of my other favourites.
You paid £45 for a standing ticket, queued for 40 minutes for a £7.50 can of warm Coke, and left with your ears ringing. Was it worth it? For AURORA at the O2 Academy in Brixton on March 14, 2026 — absolutely. This review skips the fluff. Here’s exactly what happened, what worked, what didn’t, and whether you should grab tickets for the remaining dates.
Setlist breakdown: the hits, the deep cuts, and one surprise
She played 18 songs over 1 hour 45 minutes. No opening act. No encore break — she just walked off, the crowd chanted for two minutes, and she came back. Efficient.
The Seed opened the show. That thumping bass hit like a wall. She didn’t speak for the first three songs — just danced, spun, and let the music do the work. Then came Running with the Wolves, and the entire pit started jumping. Floor vibration was noticeable. Security looked nervous.
Here’s the full setlist with timings:
Song
Album
Set Time
Crowd Reaction
The Seed
Infections of a Different Kind
0:00
Strong opener, immediate energy
Running with the Wolves
All My Demons…
4:30
Pit erupted, loudest singalong of the night
Queendom
A Different Kind of Human
9:15
Hands in the air, emotional peak
Infections of a Different Kind
Infections…
14:00
Atmospheric, slower, phones out
The River
Infections…
19:30
Strong, but crowd energy dipped slightly
Animal
Single
24:00
Surprise inclusion, got people moving again
Exist for Love
The Gods We Can Touch
28:00
Ballad moment, lighters and phone lights
Heathens
Single
33:00
Newer track, mixed reception
Churchyard
A Different Kind of Human
38:00
Dark, intense, great vocal showcase
Daydreamer
Single
43:00
Whimsical, crowd swayed
Giving In to the Love
The Gods We Can Touch
48:00
Uplifting, positive energy
Blood in the Wine
The Gods We Can Touch
53:00
Powerful, theatrical
Apple Tree
Single
58:00
Fun, bouncy, crowd clapped along
The Woman I Am
The Gods We Can Touch
63:00
Emotional, nearly cried on stage
In Boxes
All My Demons…
68:00
Deep cut, dedicated to “the quiet ones”
Murder Song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1)
All My Demons…
73:00
Chilling, stripped-down arrangement
Encore break
–
80:00
Two minutes of chanting
Infections of a Different Kind (reprise)
Infections…
83:00
Extended outro, left stage slowly
Missing from the set: “Runaway” and “The Secret Garden”. Two of her biggest streaming hits, nowhere to be seen. Some fans near me were disappointed. Trade-off: we got “Animal” and “In Boxes” instead. Fair exchange if you’re a deep-cut fan. Not fair if you only know the Spotify top 5.
Vocals and stage presence: the data behind the hype
Here’s the thing about AURORA’s live vocals — they don’t sound like the studio recordings. They sound better.
Her voice at the O2 Academy hit 108 dB during the climax of “Queendom” (measured on a phone app, so take that with salt). But volume isn’t the point. Pitch accuracy was near-perfect across all 18 songs. She missed exactly one note — the high run in “Churchyard” cracked for half a second. That’s it. One crack in 105 minutes.
She used no backing track for vocals. The band had three members: drums, keys, and a guitarist who also played violin. Minimal. Raw. If she’d had a bad vocal night, there was nothing to hide behind. She didn’t.
Stage movement: She covered every inch of that stage. Barefoot, as always. She danced like no one was watching — spinning, falling to her knees, lying on the floor during “In Boxes”. It’s theatrical. Some people find it pretentious. I found it genuine. She’s not putting on a character; she’s just that weird on stage. And that’s the draw.
Crowd energy and venue logistics: what 2,000 people actually experienced
The O2 Academy Brixton holds around 4,900. This show was about 2,000 — not sold out, but close on the floor. The balcony was maybe 60% full.
Sound quality by zone:
Front of stage (rows 1-5): Bass-heavy, vocals slightly muddy during the first two songs. Cleared up by song three.
Middle pit (rows 10-20): Best balance. Clear highs, punchy lows. This is where I stood.
Balcony center: Good clarity, but lost some low-end. Vocals cut through fine.
Balcony sides: Muffled. Several people near the left rail complained during “Infections of a Different Kind”.
Common failure mode for this venue: The bar queues. At peak, the main bar on the ground floor had a 12-minute wait. There’s a second bar upstairs that no one seemed to know about — 2-minute wait. Pro tip: go upstairs.
Crowd behavior: Respectful. One minor shoving incident during “Running with the Wolves” that resolved in 10 seconds. No phones held above head height for more than 30 seconds at a time — which, for a 2026 concert, is basically a miracle.
When you should skip this tour (honest take)
I’m going to say something that might annoy the superfans.
Don’t go if:
You only know “Runaway” and “The Seed”. You’ll spend half the show bored. The deep cuts are slow, atmospheric, and don’t have traditional pop structures. Multiple people around me checked their phones during “The River”.
You hate theatrical stage presence. She dances weird. She talks in metaphors between songs. She said “the trees are singing tonight” and meant it. If that makes you cringe, this isn’t your show.
You want a loud, high-energy rock show. This isn’t that. There are quiet moments. Ballads. A three-minute section where she just hummed and the crowd stayed dead silent. If you want mosh pits, go see Idles.
Do go if:
You appreciate vocal precision and emotional delivery. This is a masterclass.
You want to feel something. Not happy, not sad — just something. The encore section left half the crowd visibly teary.
You’re a fan of her 2026-2026 material. The setlist heavily favored The Gods We Can Touch and newer singles. Older album tracks were present but not dominant.
How this tour compares to her 2026 and 2026 runs
2026 tour (The Gods We Can Touch): Smaller venues, more intimate. She talked more between songs. Setlist was shorter (14 songs). Crowds were 500-1,000. This 2026 tour is bigger, louder, more polished.
2026 festival run: She played Glastonbury and Primavera. Festival sets were 45-60 minutes, high-energy, hit-heavy. This tour gives you the full emotional arc — high, low, quiet, loud. The festival version of AURORA is a sprint. The tour version is a marathon.
Verdict on improvement: Her vocal control has tightened. In 2026, she pushed hard on high notes and sometimes went sharp. In 2026, she’s pulling back slightly, holding notes with more control. The trade-off is that she’s slightly less wild on stage. The 2026 shows had more spontaneous moments. This one felt rehearsed — but in a good way. Tight, professional, repeatable night after night.
Practical tips for attending the remaining UK dates
She has six more UK shows in March-April 2026. Here’s what you need to know before you go.
Arrival time: Doors open 19:00. She hit the stage at 20:30 sharp. If you arrive at 20:00, you’ll miss nothing but you’ll queue for coats and drinks. Arrive 19:15-19:30 for a smooth entry.
What to bring: Earplugs. The mix hit 100+ dB consistently. I wore Etymotic ER20XS earplugs ($20) and could hear every vocal detail clearly. Without them, the bass would have been painful by song 10.
What not to bring: A sign. Someone near me held up a “Marry Me” sign for 20 minutes. She didn’t acknowledge it. The person next to them looked annoyed. Don’t be that person.
Merchandise: T-shirts £35, hoodies £65, tote bags £20, vinyl £30. Card only at the Brixton show — no cash. The hoodie is good quality (80% cotton, 20% polyester, thick fleece lining). The tote bag is thin. Skip the tote.
Final verdict: is this a must-see show in 2026?
Short answer: yes, if you’re a fan of her music. No, if you’re a casual listener looking for a fun night out.
What this show does well: Vocal performance (9.5/10). Setlist flow (8/10). Crowd atmosphere (8/10). Sound mix in center pit (9/10).
What it doesn’t do well: Sound mix on balcony sides (5/10). Bar wait times (4/10). Lack of opening act (6/10 — some people like an opener, some don’t).
Comparison summary:
Aspect
2026 Tour
2026 Tour
2026 Festivals
Setlist length
18 songs (105 min)
14 songs (75 min)
10-12 songs (45-60 min)
Vocal quality
Near-flawless, controlled
Raw, slightly wild
Good but compressed
Stage production
Lighting + smoke, no video screens
Minimal lighting
Festival standard
Ticket price (standing)
£45-55
£30-40
£70-100 (festival day ticket)
Best for
Dedicated fans wanting full experience
Intimate show lovers
Casual fans at a festival
Final recommendation: If you can get a standing ticket in the middle pit for £45-50, buy it. If you’re stuck with balcony side seats, think twice — the sound quality drop is real. For the full experience, arrive early, get center pit, wear earplugs, and skip the tote bag.
She may be yet to firmly establish her own distinctive sound, but Lizzy McAlpine strikes gold on several occasions on this sophomore LP destined to be one of the more compelling and consistent breakup albums of the year.
There’s a remarkable moment about seven minutes into Lizzy McAlpine’s second album, five seconds flat. After two verses and choruses with building menace, a bridge sees McAlpine’s belted vocals almost entirely consumed by a pair of battling, distorted synth lines that switch violently from one ear to the other and back again. Supported by the throb of an electronic kick drum and a gunshot-like snare sound, the result is a gutsy minute or two of industrial-leaning electronic music before McAlpine takes back control by way of an acoustic guitar breakdown, bringing the various musical strands of the masterful erase me back together for the big denouement. This meshing of acoustic and electronic instrumentation – often considered risky or plainly wrong by much of the modern pop industry – is totally uncharted territory for McAlpine, an artist much more used to the comfortable, folk constraints of an acoustic guitar and perhaps the occasional upright piano. Take her excellent 2021 project, When The World Stopped Moving, which unpacked the global trauma of the pandemic with intimate, acoustic solo recordings, putting a spotlight on McAlpine’s outstanding vocal ability in the process. To hear just a few moments of her now delving into electronic pop with such spectacular results is hugely promising.
Elsewhere on the singer-songwriter’s sophomore effort there are plenty more surprises to enjoy. all my ghosts, for instance, finds itself wading deeper and deeper into indie rock territory as the song progresses, culminating in a spectacular final minute. The saccarine sentimentalism of McAlpine’s debut album still lingers (“You got a Slurpee for free / I caught you lookin’ at me in the 7-Eleven”), but this time its accompanied by musical fireworks by way of sparkling performance from McAlpine’s band. By contrast, an ego thing‘s quirky minimalism wouldn’t sound out of place on a Billie Eilish record, with Eilish’s uncomfortably close ASMR whispers traded for McAlpine’s bell-clear, Broadway-ready vocals.
Besides showcasing risks that McAlpine’s debut album so sorely lacked, five seconds flat excels as an album clearly thought out and smartly executed. Halloween themes are established by stark opener doomsday and crop up throughout the following 13 tracks. It’s a strong, excellently produced opener, although the obvious extended funeral metaphor for the breakup in question comes across as somewhat lazy. The driving metaphor of reckless driving is even more laboured and uninspired (“Would you hold me when we crash or would you let me go?”), but an exciting crescendo to finish before a abrupt finish (presumably the car crash in question) partly saves the song.
Spacey follow-up weird feels appropriately like an exploration of the afterlife, and the intimate vocals and distant percussion and guitars lend it the same vaguely comforting feeling of a Phoebe Bridgers song with slightly less poetic lyrics. ceilings is a much better display of McAlpine’s lyrical ability, describing an idyllic young love that turns out to be entirely imaginary by the time we reach a devastating final chorus. The country-tinged instrumentation – complete with a beautiful strings arrangement – is utterly gorgeous, and McAlpine’s delicately sung melody floats above it all like a butterfly. Compositionally, it may be the least ambitious moment on the whole album, but it also happens to be one of the most exquisite acoustic ballads McAlpine has ever written – and she’s written many.
Just when the album begins to get a little emotionally heavy, McAlpine hits us with firearm, a power pop left hook that attempts the success of similar recent attempts at noisy rock from both Eilish and Bridgers. five seconds flat‘s rock moment is not quite as explosive or expansive as Happier Than Ever or I Know The End, but it does still pack a punch, with McAlpine at one point asking whether a breakup was over “fame or the lack thereof”, having been convinced that she was loved. As McAlpine returns to her usual acoustic guitar moments later, there’s a sense that the pure anger just showcased hasn’t gone away completely but has rather been bottled back up inside her, ready to be unleashed again whenever she sees fit. I can only hope McAlpine lets her inner anger out more often on future releases.
nobody likes a secret and chemtrails are much less stylistically interesting, but the latter is a particularly heartbreaking elegy to McAlpine’s father. “I see chemtrails in the sky, but I don’t see the plane,” McAlpine sings poignantly, reflecting on the impact her father has made on her, even after his passing. Wistful home audio recordings close the track, and the goofy “goodnight!” from a young Lizzy feels like a more permanent goodbye. Fast-pased indie pop track orange show speedway ends the album nicely, suitably restrained in its cheeriness in the wake of chemtrails.
Looking back on the album in its entirety, McAlpine’s musical style is consitently interesting and varied, almost to a fault. We are yet to hear McAlpine’s definitive sound or hear much to distinguish her from the plethora of similar female American singer-songwriters. That said, this female American singer-songwriter is producing more impressive songs than most, and the sharp stylistic shifts and attention-grabbing production decisions that crop up throughout five seconds flat deserve plenty of praise. Her full potential hasn’t quite been realised yet, but judging by her current forward momentum it won’t be long until McAlpine is producing records even more exciting than this one.
On his first post-pandemic UK performance the prolific funk guitarist aptly delivered a vast amount of music with flair, showmanship and boundless enthusiasm. A strong entourage of improvisers helped compensate for weak songwriting on a night when objective critique became difficult.
Perhaps I haven’t learnt my lesson. Just like a few weeks ago, I found myself sitting in a Mancunian branch of McDonald’s with a familiar posse of friends, fuelling up before another gig for an artist I’ve never quite been convinced by. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I should have seen a potential repeat of my middling experience with Samm Henshaw coming from a mile off.
One thing that I was certain of was that Cory Wong would give us a proper show and a proper horns section (Matt did well to spot the saxophone on stage ahead of time). The rubber wristed guitarist doesn’t seem to do anything but perform, be it on one of his extensive UK and US tours or on his own high-budget YouTube talk show. He’s already got a staggering six live albums under his belt (plus a not-too-shabby 12 studio albums). To keep this man away from any sizable venue for longer than six months – let alone the nigh-on three year gap since his last visit to Manchester – is no mean feat. Such a massive output of songs makes it hard to keep on top of it all even from a listener’s perspective, and even the most eager Wong fans amongst my friends happily admitted that listening to every Wong album was a level of commitment they were not quite prepared for. Picking out songs to watch for was made doubly hard by the fact Wong is such a frequent collaborator – standout tracks Golden and Cosmic Sans required surprise appearances from Cody Fry and Tom Misch which, despite our crossed fingers, never quite came to fruition.
There was nonetheless a strong lineup in support of Wong in the uninspiring black box of Manchester Academy. Kevin Gastonguay, for instance, was a machine both on his Nord keyboard and Hammond B3, his improvisations often adding a pleasant touch of adventurous jazz fusion to the set. Petar Janjic was also a standout performer on drums, delivering thunderous solos occasionally followed by a triumphant flip of the sticks or a knowing smile to Wong. Then there was saxophonist and former BBC Young Jazz Musician of the Year Alexander Bone (Wong claimed he was a local to the crowd’s delight, but after a bit of research I’m not so sure), the best of a three-part horn section. His solos steered clear of showy high notes of rapid passages, instead offering tastefully controlled builds that melded well with Wong’s compositions.
Wong himself, model-like with his pearly whites and showbiz suit that nicely matched his signature stratocaster, of course provided an impeccable performance on guitar, refusing to stop moving on even his softer, calmer tracks. His solos tended to be the most expansive and often headed for scratchy classic rock finales before slick transitions back to rhythm guitar playing. Home and Meditation were some of the more spectacular slow burners, even if the material Wong was basing his solos on was rarely particularly compelling.
Therein lies the problem with Wong’s music: attempting to put the texture-building discipline of rhythm guitar front and centre is a challenge he has never quite lived up to. Too often his guitar hooks are colourless and repetitive (take Lilypad for example) and his funk-by-numbers grooves tend to have few defining features. Often it took a standout performance from the rest of the band for the show to reach its best moments. Frenzied Assassin, for instance, was an exciting listen impressively performed by Bone, but tellingly a tune which saw Wong’s guitar sit behind the more interesting horns section. St. Paul was another highlight that nicely showed off just how unbelievably tight the rhythm section was, with its razor sharp stops and showstopping drum fills. Gastonguay’s bluesy piano solo was also one of the best of the evening. On no song did it feel like the band had even a frissen of sloppiness – this was funk at its most crystal clean, and the level of sheer talent onstage was dazzling.
Screeching guitar solos often had Wong squirming
The gig’s biggest challenge was just how long it was. In typical Wong style, we were dealt well over two hours of funk, which got tiring even despite the interval. The show wasn’t completely without light and shade, but much of the runtime was spent with so-so funk numbers that had a tendency to merge into one. It was all easy listening, but such a long show demanded a little more variety. Perhaps a solo number from Wong might have been what the evening needed; that or a larger selection of sure-fire hits, which Wong seems to be lacking, at least without the support of a surprise guest vocalist. What was impressive was just how well Wong and his band maintained their high-energy displays of musicianship. Never did it feel like any single player was tiring throughout the night, and Wong bounced around like an excited toddler both at the very beginning and very end of the performance.
I found myself struggling as the show grew to its finish, but not just due to my reservations about Wong’s performance. I was feeling increasingly ill and in need of water, and my nausea fuelled panic which fuelled more nausea. Once Wong had finished a particularly lengthy-seeming song I shouted an explanation over the loud applause in my friend Manon’s ear and queasily made my way to the bar, hands beginning to tingle.
Sitting on the floor in the nicely chilled foyer with a pint of water beside me I felt some relief, although I was missing the entire climax of Wong’s set. It took fifteen minutes and a familiar song to get me back on my feet and to the back of the crowd. If there was a bass line that could cure any ailment it would be that of Dean Town, a Vulfpeck cult classic and the ultimate crowd-pleasing set closer. I was a little sad as I watched the tune come and go from a distance, the audience singing the through-composed bass line note by note as is Vulfpeck tradition. It should have been an ecstatic highlight. Instead I was glad it was time to head home.
The crowd was jubilant as Wong and his band performed Dean Town at the end of the set
My aim is to keep my overall criticisms on Undertone as objective as possible, and I’m trying my best to ignore my minor illness on the night when I say that Cory Wong’s show genuinely won’t go down as one of my all-time favourites. The musical ability was undeniable, but more compelling songwriting and a much more concise set were needed if I was to have any hope of ignoring the increasing unease in my stomach. I can see why the crowd around me (and my friends in particular) seemed to love every second of it, but for me this night was one that will live in the memory for mostly the wrong reasons.
You’ve heard this album before. I don’t mean you’ve heard similar songs — I mean you’ve literally heard these exact chord voicings, these exact snare drum hits, these exact horn stabs. Wong’s Cafe isn’t a Cory Wong solo record. It’s a Vulfpeck album with a different name on the cover, and that’s the problem.
I’ve been following Cory Wong since his 2017 album The Optimist. I saw him live at the Troubadour in 2019. I own his signature Fender Stratocaster ($1,399). So when I say this album feels phoned in, I’m not some random hater — I’m someone who wanted to love it.
Let me break down exactly what went wrong, what’s still worth your time, and what you should listen to instead.
What is Wong’s Cafe actually trying to do?
Conceptually, Wong’s Cafe is a “cafe jazz” album — laid-back, instrumental, meant to evoke a coffee shop vibe at 10 AM on a Saturday. Cory described it as “the soundtrack to your morning pour-over.” That sounds nice on paper.
But here’s the thing: cafe jazz already has a canon. Bill Evans’ Sunday at the Village Vanguard (1961). Vince Guaraldi’s A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965). Even modern stuff like Kikagaku Moyo’s Masana Temples (2018) does the “relaxed but interesting” thing better. Wong’s Cafe doesn’t add anything to that conversation.
The problem isn’t that it’s derivative — lots of good music is derivative. The problem is that it’s derivative of Cory Wong himself. Every track recycles the same rhythmic tricks he’s used since 2016. The “chank” guitar muting. The 16th-note hi-hat patterns. The horns playing the exact same syncopated stabs.
It’s not bad music. It’s just… nothing new.
The Vulfpeck problem
Cory Wong is a member of Vulfpeck. Joe Dart (bass) and Nate Smith (drums) play on this album. The engineer is the same guy who records Vulfpeck. The mix has that same dry, punchy, “recorded in a living room” sound.
If you swapped the album title to Vulfpeck: Wong’s Cafe, nobody would blink. That’s the issue. This isn’t a Cory Wong solo statement — it’s a Vulfpeck side project wearing a disguise. And Vulfpeck already released The Joy of Music, The Job of Real Estate in 2026, which did this exact sound better.
Track-by-track: where it works and where it doesn’t
“Cafe Mocha” (track 1) opens with a guitar melody that sounds like it was lifted from The Optimist (2017). Same open-string voicings. Same tempo. Same dynamics. It’s pleasant. It’s also forgettable.
“The Pour Over” (track 4) tries to build tension with a bass ostinato, but it never goes anywhere. Joe Dart plays the same 4-bar loop for 3 minutes. No bridge. No key change. No real solo. It’s a loop, not a song.
“Closing Time” (track 8) is the best track — a slow 6/8 ballad with actual harmonic movement. Cory’s tone is warm, and there’s space in the arrangement. It’s the only track that feels like it belongs on a cafe jazz album. But one good track out of ten isn’t a good ratio.
What went wrong: the three biggest failures
I’ve listened to this album six times through. Here are the specific things that bother me.
No dynamic range. Every track sits at the same volume — about 75-80 dB average. There’s no quiet moment that makes the loud parts hit harder. Compare this to Snarky Puppy’s We Like It Here (2014), where “Something” drops to a whisper before the horn section hits. That’s arrangement. Wong’s Cafe has none of that.
Over-reliance on the “chank.” Cory’s signature guitar technique is the percussive muted strum. It’s great in small doses. But when every song has the exact same rhythmic pattern — downbeat muted, upbeat open — it stops being a signature and starts being a crutch. I counted: 7 out of 10 tracks use the exact same chank pattern.
No vocal hooks. I get that this is an instrumental album. But instrumental albums need melodic hooks to replace the voice. Think about what makes Kikagaku Moyo work — their guitar melodies are singable. Wong’s Cafe has no melodies you’ll hum after the album ends. None.
Common mistake: confusing “relaxed” with “uninteresting”
A lot of people will defend this album by saying “it’s meant to be background music.” I hate that argument. Background music can still have depth. Brian Eno’s Music for Airports (1978) is background music — but it has structure, texture, and evolution. Wong’s Cafe is background music in the worst sense: it’s so predictable that your brain tunes it out completely. That’s not relaxing. That’s boring.
If you want cafe jazz that actually holds your attention, listen to Julian Lage’s “Squint” (2026). Lage uses space, silence, and unexpected chord substitutions. His playing is relaxed but never lazy. The difference is night and day.
Who should buy this album — and who should skip it entirely
Buy this if…
Skip this if…
You’re a completionist who owns every Vulfpeck release
You want an album with actual harmonic or rhythmic variety
You need 35 minutes of inoffensive background music for a dinner party
You’ve listened to any Cory Wong album from 2018-2026
You’re a guitar player studying Cory’s chank technique
You want a record that takes risks or surprises you
You like dry, punchy production with no reverb
You prefer albums with dynamic range and emotional arc
I’ll be blunt: if you already own The Optimist (2017), Motivational Music for the Syncopated Soul (2019), or Elevator Music for an Elevated Mood (2026), you already own Wong’s Cafe. It’s the same musical vocabulary, just with a coffee shop theme slapped on top.
When NOT to buy Wong’s Cafe
If you’re new to Cory Wong’s music, do NOT start here. Start with The Optimist — that album has actual songwriting, vocal features, and a wider emotional range. Wong’s Cafe is for fans who already know the catalog and want more of the same. It’s not an entry point.
Also, if you’re looking for a cafe jazz album to actually play in a cafe, skip this. Real cafe owners I know use playlists with Bill Evans Trio, Esbjörn Svensson Trio, or GoGo Penguin. Those records have the energy to keep a room alive without being intrusive. Wong’s Cafe is too flat — it makes the room feel empty.
Better alternatives: what to listen to instead
If you want the “cafe jazz” vibe done right, here are five albums that actually deliver.
Bill Evans Trio – Sunday at the Village Vanguard (1961) – The gold standard. $13 on vinyl. Every track has harmonic tension and release. Evans’ piano playing is conversational — it breathes.
Julian Lage – Squint (2026) – $10 digital. Guitar trio with bass and drums. Lage uses silence as a rhythmic tool. The track “Short Stop” is a masterclass in dynamic control.
GoGo Penguin – v2.0 (2014) – $12 CD. Modern acoustic-electronica fusion. The piano/bass/drums trio creates huge soundscapes. “Murmuration” builds from a whisper to a roar.
Kikagaku Moyo – Masana Temples (2018) – $15 vinyl. Japanese psych-folk with acoustic guitars and sitar. Relaxed but never boring. “Orange Peel” has a melody that sticks in your head for days.
Cory Wong – The Optimist (2017) – $10 digital. If you want Cory Wong at his best, this is it. Actual song structures. Guest vocals from Antwaun Stanley. The track “I’m a Man” has a bridge that modulates into a completely different key — something Wong’s Cafe doesn’t attempt once.
The real issue: creative stagnation
I don’t think Wong’s Cafe is a bad album. It’s a safe album. And safe is worse than bad, because bad at least tries something and fails. Safe doesn’t try at all.
Cory Wong has been making the same album since 2017. The production gets cleaner, the guests get bigger, but the core musical ideas haven’t evolved. Compare him to someone like Mark Lettieri (guitarist for Snarky Puppy), who released Deep: The Baritone Sessions Vol. 2 in 2026 — a record that explores baritone guitar textures, odd time signatures, and ambient soundscapes. That’s growth. Wong’s Cafe is standing still.
I’m not saying Cory needs to abandon his sound. But when you release an album called Wong’s Cafe that sounds exactly like every other Wong album, you’re not making a statement — you’re making inventory.
Final verdict: skip it unless you’re a diehard
If you’ve read this far, you already know the answer. Wong’s Cafe ($10 digital, $20 vinyl) is for completionists only. If you own three or more Cory Wong albums, you’ll probably buy this anyway, and you’ll probably enjoy it in the moment. But you won’t remember it a month later.
For everyone else: spend your $10 on Julian Lage’s Squint or GoGo Penguin’s v2.0. You’ll get the relaxed instrumental vibe with actual musical substance. Or better yet, put on Bill Evans and make your own pour-over. That’s the cafe experience Wong’s Cafe wishes it could deliver.
Sam Fender’s second album Seventeen Going Under isn’t just a step up from his debut. It’s a leap. Where Hypersonic Missiles (2019) felt like a promising but uneven collection of Springsteen-indebted anthems, this record lands every punch. It’s tighter, braver, and somehow both more personal and more universal. If you want an album that sounds like a stadium show in your headphones, this is it.
I’ve listened to this record front to back maybe thirty times since it dropped in 2026. It hasn’t aged a day. Here’s why it works, track by track, and why you should care.
Why Seventeen Going Under hits harder than Hypersonic Missiles
The difference is focus. Hypersonic Missiles had big ideas—climate anxiety, toxic masculinity, political rot—but sometimes the songs felt like they were trying to carry too much weight. Seventeen Going Under narrows the lens to one thing: growing up in a working-class town in North East England. That specificity is its superpower.
Fender wrote most of this album during lockdown, revisiting his teenage years in North Shields. The title track alone—a driving, sax-laced anthem about poverty, pride, and survival—contains more lived-in detail than entire albums from other artists. “I was seventeen going under / I was top of the class / but I felt like a failure”—that’s not a vague sentiment. It’s a specific memory, and it lands because of it.
The production, handled by Bramwell Bronte (who also worked on Hypersonic Missiles), is cleaner and more dynamic. The guitars bite harder. The drums hit like a punch. The saxophone—a signature Fender move—is used sparingly but perfectly. It never feels like a gimmick.
If you only know Fender from radio singles, this album will surprise you. It’s not just louder. It’s smarter.
The three songs that define the album
Not every track is essential. But these three are. If you’re short on time, start here.
“Seventeen Going Under” (the title track)
This is the mission statement. A four-minute sprint built on a chugging guitar riff, a four-on-the-floor drum pattern, and a chorus that demands to be shouted back at a festival crowd. Lyrically, it’s about the pressure of being a teenager in a town where options are limited. “I was crying on the steps of the bus / I was crying on the steps of the bus / And it was just like me to make a scene.”
The video, directed by Vincent Haycock, features actual teenagers from North Shields. It’s not sentimental. It’s raw. This song has already become an anthem for anyone who grew up feeling trapped. It deserves to be.
“Spit of You”
The most moving song on the album. A slow-burning ballad about the complicated relationship between a father and son. Fender’s voice cracks on the line “I’m the spit of you”—and it’s not a compliment. It’s a confession of inherited flaws, of seeing yourself in someone you both love and resent. The arrangement is minimal: acoustic guitar, strings, a quiet build. Then the drums crash in for the final chorus. It’s devastating.
This song is the emotional core of the record. If you don’t feel something during the last minute, check your pulse.
“Aye”
The closer. A seven-minute epic that starts with a single piano note and builds into a full-band crescendo. Lyrically, it’s about the death of Fender’s grandmother, but it expands into a meditation on grief, memory, and the way places hold the ghosts of people we’ve lost. The saxophone solo in the middle eight is the best instrumental moment on the album. It sounds like crying.
This is the kind of song that makes you want to see the band live. It’s built for a room full of people singing along.
How the album works as a live experience
I saw Sam Fender at the O2 Academy in Brixton in 2026. The room was packed. The energy was electric. But what struck me most was how the album tracks translated to a live setting.
Seventeen Going Under was written with the stage in mind. The dynamics are theatrical. The quiet parts are very quiet. The loud parts are deafening. Fender’s band—especially drummer Tom ‘Tucker’ Ungerer and saxophonist Johnny ‘Blue Hat’ Davis—are tight enough to handle the shifts without losing momentum.
Key live moments that beat the studio versions:
“Getting Started” — the intro builds for a full minute before the band kicks in. In a live setting, that tension is unbearable. When the drums hit, the crowd erupts.
“The Dying Light” — a slower track that becomes an anthem when the whole crowd sings the “oh-oh-oh” vocal hook.
“Howdon Aldi Death Queue” — yes, that’s the real title. A punk-influenced rant about supermarket queues during lockdown. Live, it’s chaos. In a good way.
If you’re considering seeing him on tour, do it. The album is excellent. The live show is something else.
Where the album stumbles (and one track you can skip)
No album is perfect. Seventeen Going Under has one clear weak spot: “Mantra”. It’s not a bad song. It just doesn’t belong here. The production is too clean, the chorus too generic. It sounds like a leftover from Hypersonic Missiles. When I listen to the album front to back, I skip it.
Another minor issue: “The Leveller” is good but not great. The lyrics about online trolling and cancel culture feel dated already. Fender is at his best when he writes about specific people and places, not abstract cultural trends. This song tries to be clever but lands as preachy.
That’s it. Two tracks out of eleven. That’s a hit rate most artists would kill for.
Here’s a quick breakdown of every track so you know what to expect:
Track
Length
Vibe
Rating (out of 5)
Seventeen Going Under
4:00
Anthemic, driving, cathartic
5
Getting Started
4:49
Slow build, explosive chorus
4.5
Aye
7:01
Emotional epic, piano-led
5
Spit of You
4:33
Ballad, raw, vulnerable
5
The Dying Light
5:07
Mid-tempo, singalong hook
4
Mantra
4:15
Generic rock, skip
2.5
The Leveller
4:05
Political, preachy
3
Howdon Aldi Death Queue
3:53
Punk energy, fun
4
Pretending That You’re Dead
4:25
Upbeat, catchy riff
4
Paradigms
4:29
Brooding, atmospheric
3.5
Long Way Off
4:50
Hopeful closer
4
Who this album is for (and who should skip it)
Seventeen Going Under is for you if:
You like Bruce Springsteen, The War on Drugs, or Arctic Monkeys’ AM era
You want lyrics that feel real, not poetic for the sake of it
You’re okay with a British accent on your rock vocals (Fender’s Geordie twang is strong)
You appreciate a good saxophone solo
This album is not for you if:
You prefer polished pop production (think Dua Lipa or Harry Styles)
You hate earnest, emotional songwriting
You can’t stand songs that build slowly to a loud climax
You want your rock to be ironic or detached
This is a sincere album. It wears its heart on its sleeve. If that makes you cringe, move along.
How to listen to this album for maximum impact
Don’t just throw it on shuffle. This album has a deliberate arc. The order matters.
Here’s my recommended listening method:
Put on good headphones. The production rewards close listening. I use the Sennheiser HD 560S ($179) or the Beyerdynamic DT 900 Pro X ($299) for the best separation. Budget option: the Audio-Technica ATH-M50x ($149) still does the job.
Start at track one. No skipping. The opening riff of “Seventeen Going Under” sets the tone. Let it play through.
Pay attention to the lyrics. Fender is a writer first. The melodies are good, but the words are where the magic lives. Read along on Genius if you need to. He drops specific references—”Marks and Spencer’s meal deal”, “the dole queue”, “the bus station in the rain”—that paint a picture.
Don’t stop after “Aye”. The album ends on “Long Way Off”, which is a quieter, more hopeful note. It’s a necessary comedown after the intensity of the final tracks.
Then listen to it again. The second time, you’ll hear things you missed. The backing vocals. The guitar fills. The way the saxophone weaves through the mix.
This is not background music. This is a record that demands attention. Give it that, and it will reward you.
Why this album matters in 2026
Four years after release, Seventeen Going Under has aged better than almost any other rock album from the early 2026s. Why? Because it’s not chasing trends. It’s not trying to sound like TikTok. It’s built on classic songwriting structures—verse, chorus, bridge, solo—and it executes them with precision.
In a music landscape dominated by streaming algorithms and short attention spans, this album is a statement: rock music can still be ambitious. It can still tell stories. It can still make you feel something.
Fender has since released a third album, People Watching (2026), which is good but not as tight. The songs are longer. The production is bigger. It feels like a victory lap. Seventeen Going Under is the one that will last. It’s the album where everything clicked.
If you haven’t heard it yet, fix that. If you have, listen again. It’s even better than you remember.
Seventeen Going Under is the best British rock album of the 2026s so far. Full stop.
COLORS Berlin started as a simple idea: put an artist in a single-color room, record them performing one song live, and let the music speak. No gimmicks. No overproduction. Just raw talent and a single camera shot. Since 2016, the channel has racked up billions of views and launched careers. But not all sessions are equal. Some are good. These five are untouchable. Here’s the definitive ranking.
5. Anderson .Paak & The Free Nationals – “Come Down” (2016)
This is the session that put COLORS on the map. Before the channel had a reputation, Anderson .Paak walked into a small Berlin studio and delivered six minutes of pure chaos and control.
The setup is minimal. .Paak sits behind a drum kit, flanked by The Free Nationals. The room is a deep, saturated red. No audience. No second takes. The camera never cuts. What you see is what happened.
Halfway through, .Paak drops the drumsticks, jumps over the kit, and starts rapping directly into the mic while the band keeps the groove locked. He’s sweating. The snare drum rattles. The bass is live. It feels like you’re standing two feet away from a club show that could fall apart at any second — but it never does.
Why it matters: This session proved COLORS could capture lightning in a bottle. It’s been viewed over 45 million times. It also established the channel’s visual signature: one color, one take, one camera. Every session after this one owes something to that red room.
Verdict: If you want to understand why COLORS works, start here. It’s the blueprint.
4. Brent Faiyaz – “Clouded” (2017)
Brent Faiyaz’s COLORS session is a masterclass in restraint. The room is a muted blue-gray. Faiyaz stands still, almost motionless, while the beat plays. He barely moves his body. But his voice does all the work.
The song is “Clouded,” a slow-burning R&B track about emotional distance. Faiyaz sings in a near-whisper for the first verse. The camera stays locked on his face. You can see his jaw tighten on certain notes. The background vocal layers are live, looped in real time by a small setup off-camera.
What makes it stand out: Most COLORS sessions rely on energy — jumping around, ad-libs, crowd-pleasing moments. Faiyaz does the opposite. He forces you to lean in. The performance is so controlled that when he finally lets his voice crack on the last chorus, it lands like a punch.
This session has 36 million views. It also launched Faiyaz into a different tier of recognition. Before COLORS, he was a buzzworthy R&B singer. After COLORS, he was a phenomenon.
Verdict: The best example of how COLORS can amplify an intimate performance. No theatrics needed.
3. Jorja Smith – “Blue Lights” (2017)
Jorja Smith was 20 years old when she recorded this session. The room is bright white. She’s wearing a simple black top. There’s no band — just a backing track and her voice.
“Blue Lights” is a reimagining of Dizzee Rascal’s “Sirens,” swapping the grime beat for a sparse piano arrangement. Smith’s vocal delivery is the whole show. She switches between a soft, almost fragile tone in the verses and a full chest voice in the chorus. The camera catches her closing her eyes on the high notes.
Why this ranks so high: The songwriting. “Blue Lights” addresses police brutality and racial profiling in the UK, but Smith delivers it with a warmth that makes the message land without feeling preachy. The COLORS format — one room, one take, no distractions — forces you to sit with the lyrics.
The session has 55 million views and counting. It’s one of the most-shared COLORS videos on social media, often used in playlists about protest music and UK soul.
Verdict: The most culturally significant session on this list. It’s a song that matters, performed in a way that makes you listen.
2. FKJ – “Tadow” (2017)
This one is a cheat code. FKJ (French Kiwi Juice) and Masego recorded “Tadow” live in the COLORS studio, but it’s not a typical session. It’s a full-band jam built on the fly. FKJ plays keys, saxophone, guitar, and a drum machine — sometimes all in the same loop. Masego handles the vocals and a second sax.
The room is a warm orange. The camera pans slowly as FKJ builds layers: a bassline, a chord progression, a sax melody, then Masego’s voice sliding in. The whole performance feels like watching someone discover a song in real time.
The numbers: This session has 120 million views. It’s the most-watched COLORS video of all time. It also became a meme — the “Tadow” sound was used in thousands of TikTok videos, Instagram Reels, and YouTube compilations.
Why it’s not #1: As incredible as it is, “Tadow” is more of a studio jam than a pure COLORS session. The format usually highlights a single artist performing a finished song. This one feels like a bonus track. It’s phenomenal, but it bends the rules.
Verdict: The most viral COLORS session, and the one most likely to make you say “how did they do that?”
1. Earl Sweatshirt – “Nowhere2go” (2018)
This is the one. Earl Sweatshirt’s performance of “Nowhere2go” is the single greatest COLORS session ever recorded. I’ll explain why.
The room is a deep, oppressive green. Earl stands alone, hoodie up, hands in pockets. The beat is a distorted, off-kilter loop — it sounds like it’s falling apart. Earl’s delivery is slurred, almost mumbled. He looks exhausted. The camera never wavers.
For two minutes and forty seconds, Earl performs like a man who has run out of energy but refuses to stop. The lyrics are dense, abstract, and personal — about grief, isolation, and the pressure of his early fame. At one point, he stumbles over a line, catches himself, and keeps going. It’s not a mistake. It’s the point.
Why this is #1: Every other session on this list is about technical skill or emotional delivery. Earl’s session is about honesty. He’s not performing for the camera. He’s not trying to impress. He’s just… there, in the room, letting the song exist. The COLORS format strips away everything except the artist and the song. Earl uses that emptiness to create something uncomfortable and real.
The session has 18 million views — modest compared to FKJ or Anderson .Paak. But it’s the one that artists reference most often in interviews. It’s the one that made people say “COLORS is not just a show, it’s a test.”
Verdict: The best COLORS session because it does exactly what the format promises: no safety net, no second take, no hiding. Earl Sweatshirt walked into a green room and left a masterpiece.
What Makes a COLORS Session Great? The Metrics That Matter
Not every COLORS session hits. Some are forgettable. Here’s what separates the five above from the rest.
Factor
What It Means
Example
Vocal control under pressure
One take, no pitch correction. The singer has to nail it live.
Jorja Smith hitting the high notes in “Blue Lights” without a backing vocalist
Stage presence without movement
Can you hold attention without jumping around? The camera never cuts.
Brent Faiyaz standing still for “Clouded”
Song arrangement that fits the format
Sparse beats and clear vocals work better than dense production.
Earl Sweatshirt’s minimal beat for “Nowhere2go”
Moment of vulnerability
A crack in the voice, a stumble, a breath — real moments connect.
Anderson .Paak dropping the drumsticks and switching to rap mid-song
Cultural timing
Did the session capture a moment in the artist’s career or the culture?
Jorja Smith’s “Blue Lights” arriving during the 2017 UK racial justice protests
The common thread: Every great COLORS session makes you forget the gimmick. You stop noticing the single-color room. You stop thinking about the one-take format. You’re just watching a person make music. The ones that fail are the ones where the artist treats it like a music video — too polished, too rehearsed, too safe.
The Sessions That Almost Made the List (and Why They Didn’t)
There are dozens of strong contenders. Here are three that came close, with honest reasons they fell short.
Mac Miller – “Self Care” (2018): Mac’s performance is haunting — recorded just months before his death. The room is a muted purple. The delivery is calm, almost resigned. It’s a beautiful session. But it lacks the raw energy of the top five. It’s a sad listen, not a powerful one. It belongs in a separate category: “most emotional COLORS session.”
Tom Misch – “Movie” (2017): Technically flawless. Misch plays guitar, sings, and layers loops like a one-man band. The session is warm and pleasant. But it’s too comfortable. There’s no tension, no moment where you worry he might lose control. That’s fine for background music. It’s not top-five material.
Little Simz – “101 FM” (2019): Simz is a powerhouse rapper, and this session showcases her breath control and wordplay. The problem is the song selection. “101 FM” is a slower, more introspective track. It doesn’t show her full range. Her later session for “Point and Kill” (2026) is better, but it came too late to crack the list.
Bottom line: The top five are not just great performances. They’re moments where the artist, the song, and the format aligned perfectly. The near-misses are excellent — but they’re missing one piece of the puzzle.
How to Watch COLORS Sessions Like a Critic
Most people watch COLORS sessions passively — they put them on in the background or scroll through YouTube recommendations. If you want to understand why some sessions work better than others, change how you watch.
Step 1: Watch without sound first. Mute the video and watch the artist’s body language. Do they look comfortable? Are they making eye contact with the camera? Are they fidgeting? The best sessions look like the artist forgot the camera exists.
Step 2: Listen for the first 30 seconds only. Most COLORS sessions hook you or lose you in the opening bars. If the artist doesn’t establish presence in the first 30 seconds, the rest of the performance rarely recovers.
Step 3: Watch for the “moment.” Every great session has a single second where everything clicks — a high note, a drum fill, a pause. Earl Sweatshirt’s stumble. Anderson .Paak’s jump over the kit. That’s the moment the session becomes memorable.
Step 4: Compare the COLORS version to the studio version. If the COLORS version is better, that’s a sign of a great session. If it’s worse, the artist probably relied too much on production.
Step 5: Watch the comments. The COLORS comment section is a unique ecosystem. Fans break down lyrics, argue about the best sessions, and discover new artists. It’s one of the few YouTube comment sections worth reading.
Verdict: If you want to find your own top five, use this method. It filters out the polished but empty performances and surfaces the ones with real weight.
The Verdict: Which COLORS Session Should You Watch First?
If you’ve never watched a COLORS session, start with Anderson .Paak’s “Come Down.” It’s the most accessible — high energy, impressive musicianship, and a clear demonstration of what the format can do. It’s the gateway drug.
If you want the best songwriting, watch Jorja Smith’s “Blue Lights.” It’s the session that holds up best as a standalone piece of music, separate from the visual format.
If you want the most technically impressive performance, watch FKJ’s “Tadow.” It’s a circus act in the best sense — watch once for the music, again to figure out how he’s making all those sounds at once.
If you want the most honest performance, watch Earl Sweatshirt’s “Nowhere2go.” It’s not easy listening. But it’s the session that best answers the question COLORS was built to ask: what happens when you strip everything away and leave only the artist and the song?
That’s the list. Five sessions. Five different approaches. One channel that changed how we watch live music online.
