Archive for May, 2026

Portland dreampop outfit Wooden Overcoat presents ‘Finally Arrived’, the second taste of the band’s debut Hello Sunbeam EP, featuring a hypnotic foundation of viscous Gooey guitars and deliberately slow thudding drums, creating a rhythmic trance-like pulse, locking in this dreamy soundscape.

The accompanying video was created by Italian multi-arts visionary Francesca Bonci, well known for her work with The Dandy Warhols, Pete International Airport and Slowdive’s Rachel Goswell, LA’s Tombstones In Their Eyes, Federale (The Brian Jonestown Massacre’s Collin Hegna), post-rock outfit The Quality of Mercury, and iconic British bard Philip Parfitt.

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Emerging from a period of digital isolation, ‘Finally Arrived’ weaves together a tapestry of personal mourning and romantic friction with a critique of the grand fantasies surrounding stardom. At its core, it examines the delicate nature of human connection, lamenting a cultural tendency to view individuals as replaceable assets rather than cherished companions.
Wooden Overcoat is the sonic brainchild of multi-instrumentalist Brant Hajek, having returned to music after a hiatus, recording songs he’d written in his late teens. What started as a practice in self-production transformed into a deep creative obsession with soundscapes and gear. Recording in a rented basement, Hajek built the foundation of the EP through spontaneous experimentation—often veering away from planned sessions to follow sudden bursts of inspiration.

“I wrote ‘Finally Arrived’ when I was thinking a lot about social media, which I was completely off of for many years. Like many songs, it’s actually about multiple things all at once. Some of it reflects my own experience at the time going through grief and relationship issues, and it’s also about the delusions many people have about fame, making it big, becoming larger than life,” says Brant Hajek.

“I think the through-line is actually about the fragility of our relationships to others in our lives. I was feeling that many people take others for granted and can sometimes treat people as expendable, which is something I find really sad.”

Earlier, Wooden Overcoat shared their shimmering debut ‘Home’, enveloping the senses in a reverb-drenched sanctuary and blending in sun-drenched textures. Between the wash of tape echo and reverb, the track finds a sweet spot where lo-fi garage psych meets 90s shoegaze, all anchored by layered harmonies and an evocatively intimate vocal delivery.
While Wooden Overcoat’s lyrics and aesthetics might suggest a certain darkness, they are often rooted in inside jokes and a sense of warmth. You could call it an exercise in productive contradictions. Hajek’s creative process is a deeply personal, layered journey involving mumbled placeholder lyrics and a patient wait for the specific spark that turns an ‘emotionally restless’ melody into a finished piece.

While Hajek performed every instrument on the studio recordings to preserve the project’s intimate DIY spirit, he has since found his tribe, assembling a full live band to translate these compositions to the stage. With Hajek leading on guitar and lead vocals, Wooden Overcoat is rounded out by Dillon Glusker on bass, Mac on guitar, and Brian Levin on drums and backing vocals.

The name Wooden Overcoat—an old Americana euphemism for a coffin—hints at the project’s core philosophy: a playful balance of moody, mystical imagery with light-hearted humor. Hajek’s creative process is personal, the rough versions eventually coalescing into vivid, emotionally resonant themes. In contrast, this music is vibrant, creating a fantastic dreamlike environment for lovers of life.

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In a second glimpse of the forthcoming album Headwater (out 26th June), Room40’s Helen Svoboda now shares the sparse and mystical ‘Void of Space’. The song begins with a stark vocal, before close harmonies and pizzicato strings lurch the song into something more quizzical, full of wonder and uncertainty.

The distinctive sonic world of Headwater weaves sixteen threads or ‘earworms’ built around two double basses, two voices, and electronics; heard as singular and combinatory bodies of material. The album forms an abstracted picture of self, rooted in a devolved song form. It can be experienced as a tapestry that blurs the edges of identity; strange, beautiful, evaporative, and fluid, like memory itself.

About the track, Helen says, “’Void of Space’ exists in the in-between, in a daydream, where thoughts evaporate into one another. The lyrics paint this picture, where a stream of thought "climbs up a cloud, but falls through", in a never-ending abstract void of space.”

Filmmaker Angus Kirby adds, “This video is a trip from the vaguely familiar to the unknown. Besides a literal interpretation of the title, ‘Void of Space’ has a celestial quality in its silences and sense of scale. To listen to it is it float through an eerie vacuum. I figured the video should reflect that with experiments with light and empty locations we’re used to seeing populated. Gradually we become untethered until we find ourselves in the titular void."”

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Photo credit: Celeste de Clario

Makeshift Swahili – 11th March 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Leeds’ Mass Hallunication’s thing is short, fast, noisy hardcore noise. This eponymous three-track EP is their debut release proper, following a digital-only self-released demo, which clearly laid the groundwork and set the template for this (right down to the fact that the three songs, despite being different songs, have the same durations of 1:19, 0:56, and 1:12, which is a remarkable coincidence).

And so it is that Mass Hallucination clocks in with a total run time of three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, and while it would be misleading to say that it’s more polished than the demo, the sound quality and the mix is better. Beyond that, this is savage, brutal, raw, rage triple-distilled and bottled fresh, rough and unaged at 100% proof.

‘Lacerated’ raises the curtain in a wail of feedback and a bowel-bothering bass which strolls in tentatively, before everything goes off in a flurry of unbridled violence. Centred around a cyclical riff, it’s a dirty gnarly assault delivered with a skin-shredding ferocity. Each track starts and ends in screeds of feedback, and the whole EP runs as a continuous piece, segued by the scream, the songs themselves blasting out in frenetic fits.

The lyrics are chewed, gargled, and spat, the words themselves lost in translation but the sentiments as clear as anything, everything coalescing to conjure a purgatorial purging, everything louder than everything else, a relentless roar of the most primal anger. Ugly and uncompromising, Mass Hallucination is pure catharsis, and a definitive statement.

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Dret Skivor – 1st May 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Trowser Carrier – formerly of Leeds and now of Värmland, Sweden – is a genre unto himself, being, to my knowledge the sole exponent of polite harsh noise on the planet. And if that seems like an oxymoron, that’s entirely the point: 2013’s A Flower for My Hoonoo (reissued in expanded form in 2023) offered up musings on cups of tea and tablecloths and all manner of English manners against backdrops of raw, skull-shattering abrasive noise.

For this release (I won’t suggest, as music journos so often do, that it’s long-awaited, as I doubt more than five people have noticed the time between Trowser Carrier releases), TC has paired up with fellow Värmland resident Fern (whose error was released by Dret Skivor a couple of years ago).

The compositions are considerably longer than on the previous releases by either artist, with Helping Old Ladies Cross The Road containing four new compositions, each four to nine minutes in length, plus a thirteen-minute remix courtesy of horse funeral.

It’s the title track which lifts the curtain on this characteristically quirky set, and it seems that Fern’s input has tempered the harsh noise of Trowser Carrier, replacing blanket distortion and abrasion with muffled, exploratory, experimental electronica, which swims casually between space-age weirdness, semi-ambient Krautrock, and sci-fi drones reminiscent of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. TC’s vocals are low in the mix and masked and mangled by distortion and a host of other effects, barely discernible and wholly indecipherable amidst layers of reverb and tremolo. It all sound quite polite and considerate in the delivery, though.

‘Lovely show pillows’ is a work of dank, dark ambience which is unnerving, unsettling. The lyrics are completely beyond unravelling, the voice serving more as another instrument in the slow swirl of sound, but the title speaks for itself, as is also the case on ‘Nearly clean? No really clean!’ a slow drift of cloudlike ambience with submerged vocals which likely references a TV advert from the 80s or perhaps early 90s, the specifics of which elude me. It sounds like a disjointed message beaming in via satellite from a space mission circa 1970, crackling through space and time against a backdrop of whale song. Maybe I need to clean my ears: perhaps they’re only nearly clean. But then a barrage of noise like a thunder storm breaking hits with the arrival of ‘The smell of a lawn at dawn’. This is, of course, peak absurdism, and precisely what one would expect from the label, and in particular Trowser Carrier, whose objective is essentially to take the piss out of harsh noise and power electronics and industrial ambient and all the rest, while exploiting the form with a commendable aptitude.

Horse funeral’s remix of ‘TC + Fern’ appears to meld down the album in its entirety to a single seething morass of undifferentiated slow-moving sonic gloop. Here, any vocals are boiled down and simmered to mere bubbles in a broiling broth, and the track eventually evaporates to nothing.

What to make of this? Well, it’s not designed to meet conventional musical standards. Quite the opposite, in fact. But Helping Old Ladies Cross The Road sees Trowser Carrier + Fern belongs to a territory all of its own, dismantling the tropes and forms of the genres to which the album belongs. It would be commercial suicide if commercial potential was an issue. As it is, it’s simply a magnificent example of obstinate perversity – and good noise.

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Helsinki’s death/doom/industrial metal unit DARK KOMET is proud to announce that their new EP Ghost Of Silver Light has been released today, May 1st.

The second single from the release, “Only Frozen Reality,” is launched alongside the EP with a music video, which you can watch here:

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The EP draws its themes from cosmic nihilism: time, meaninglessness, and life as a phenomenon without purpose on a universal scale. Ghost Of Silver Light builds a cold and alienating soundscape where crushing riffs and industrial beats merge into a hypnotic whole. DARK KOMET offers no comfort – only a glimpse into a reality where meaning is an illusion and existence itself is a contradiction.

It’s dark and as heavy as hell, and quite the hybrid, with snarling vocals and grinding bass cutting through a maelstrom of noise and swirling electronica. Get your lugs  round it here.

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