Seven original songs from an Italian project that has never needed music as a profession, only as a way to give form to affection, absence and the time that moves through ordinary rooms.
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Seven original songs from an Italian project that has never needed music as a profession, only as a way to give form to affection, absence and the time that moves through ordinary rooms.
The Chicago singer’s fourth album treats a lost social grace as pop architecture, with the fault line buried under the chorus.
A childhood run of letters becomes the plea at the center of her new album, then refuses to settle.
The Brooklyn singer-songwriter’s third album treats a single unreplied message as the center of a longer domestic weather system.
On Impure Imagination, Al Swainger’s Pointless Beauty treats belonging as something made in the room, then dirtied by the edit. The wish at the centre of the album already knows it may not be real.
From Ploumagoar, the Breton five-piece return with a second album that treats time as something the sea can move, and a song can still try to hold.
A Dublin fiddle player steps out of the session chair and sequences her first album of songs like a season, from a corncrake air to a bluegrass calendar.
On Lovelight, Jessie Altman treats love as a light you can locate in the eyes, then spends twelve songs deciding which lamp stays on.
A Santa Monica singer who took an Air Force oath and a Berkeley seminar in the same season builds his debut around the moment a landing is refused.
On their third album, Reaven treat freedom as something that only shows once the wall has been opened. The dark stays in the picture.
