Posts Tagged ‘alternative’

Originally released digitally on 14th March, and recorded at Hermitage Works during November 2024, the four track EP will receive its first physical release and will be available via Bandcamp.

Mixed and mastered by Max Goulding and Nathan Ridley.

Track Listing

One Window Open

Polar

Unit

Void Request

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Liner Notes (by Fred MG):

Bo Gritz have been at it for ten years now. Or do we mean five?

You see, while the trio of Benjamin Salt, Max Goulding and Finn Holland have been together since 2015, they are also one of those groups who have a significant fork in the road in their past, specifically the Coronavirus pandemic. Lockdown gave Bo Gritz the opportunity for a hard-ish reset, with the band using all that time as a chance to work new synthetic textures into the tried and tested combo of guitar/bass/drums/vocals. Coupled with them securing a new permanent practice space in South London, the Covid period ultimately led to the hair-raising noise-rock of Bo Gritz’s most recent LP, 2023’s Chroma.

On Prang, Bo Gritz continue to reap the benefits of their new era. This is a potent four-tracker, industrialised and bristling. From the single-note lurch that heralds first track ‘One Window Open’ to the last thwack of closer ‘Void Request’, Prang’s barely-shackled chaos makes for an unpredictable and arresting listen. It’s ambitious, grizzly and extremely hard not to fall for.

At the noisier end of rock, there’s a strong modern lineage of album openers which get all their mileage from a stomping single-note riff. To a list which includes Pissed Jeans’ ‘Waiting On My Horrible Warning’ and Death Grips’ ‘Giving Bad People Good Ideas’ we can now add ‘One Window Open’. The track sitting just below mid-tempo allows space in the beat with which Bo Gritz can gesture towards all manner of beat-based stylings, from mercurial junglism to broken-beat techno.

The stall set out, Prang’s other three joints also tow the line of order and bedlam. ‘Polar’ is screed with strange, almost-tuneful noise which sounds like a revving motorcycle fed through an ungodly array of outboard gear. Occupying a space between texture and melody, this sort-of-lead line increasingly becomes the centrepiece of the song as things go on. Something similar takes place on ‘Unit’, and this track’s nervous twitching also has one thinking of that instrumental version of ‘Breathe’ by The Prodigy which used to be on the soundtrack of one of the Wipeout games.

As with the instruments, so with the vocals. Across this EP, Holland assimilates a sense of barely-controlled chaos into both the lyrics and delivery. The way in which ‘Polar’ sets lurid imagery (‘they said his eyes were cut out’) against the straight-laced sloganeering of capital (‘business must only get better’) makes one think of Thom Yorke’s star-making era cut with a little of that Gilla Band hysteria. ‘Void Request’ – a joint with a hint of Leeds lifers Bilge Pump in its DNA – finds Holland barking stentorian code one minute, muttering in the background the next.

Times change, but humanity doesn’t. Whether Bo Gritz had been doing their thing for five, ten or fifty years, the feeling at the heart of Prang – the suppressed horror of contemporary civilisation, the ugliness lurking underneath the workaday – is one for the ages. It’s just that now, in Bo Gritz’s new phase, they’ve got the emotional and material tools to deliver their message with a viscerality which feels thrillingly contemporary.

Christopher Nosnibor

I shouldn’t be here. This event shouldn’t be happening. No, I don’t mean there shouldn’t be a bunch of York acts performing a packed bill on a Sunday evening in front of around two hundred people, but the reason it’s happening, the circumstances meaning we need a gig for Gaza. It’s something I haven’t really written or commented on – not because I condone the genocide that’s been playing out over the last twenty-three months, but because the shock, the sheer horror of it all has resulted in some kind of paralysis. The fact that after almost two years, it’s not only ongoing, but the situation is worsening is almost beyond comprehension, and while our government hasn’t mentioned Israel’s ‘right to defend itself’ recently, it continues to supply arms to and meet with their government, and to deny both genocide and famine, preferring instead oversee the arrest hundreds of pensioners for holding placards stating their opposition to this. Since when did vandalism equal terrorism? The media still refer to the ‘war’ in Gaza, but this is not a war. It’s a decimation. It’s annihilation. It’s genocide.

It’s impossible at this point to reasonably stack a hierarchy of horror, to say ‘but what’s worse is…’, but the fact that Israel’s collapsing of buildings in Gaza city at barely any notice is only occasionally making footnotes in the news a measure of how appalling things have become. Meanwhile, the UK news is currently devoted to outpourings over the assassination of a pro-gun fascist hardly anyone had heard of until he was shot, plugging a pro-racist march arranged by jacked-up right-wing thug Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, and giving Nigel Farage so much more screen time than all of the other parties combined (who knew that The Green Party hold as many seats in Parliament as Reform, eh?), and Russia continue to pound Ukraine and extend their reach, and under the radar, Sudan is another hell on earth. Meanwhile, the world burns, and people are still in thrall to billionaires, chucking their cash at Daniel Ek to fund more war so they can stream mediocre slop while ordering some shit via Deliveroo and spending their evenings watching Love Island and shit instead of facing the fact that we’re actually entering World War 3 and the apocalypse is happening right here right now.

But here we are. I’ve written extensively about the therapeutic qualities of live music, and why grassroots venues are important., and tonight brings my entire thesis together perfectly. The Crescent Community Venue – as the name suggests – is about community. Not in the way those who have been zip-tying flags half-way up have been harping on about ‘uniting communities’ (the subtext being that they’re uniting against something – namely anything that isn’t white, straight, etc.), but in the truest sense. Everyone is welcome – just please don’t be a dick.

Tonight is the perfect representation of what community means. It’s not even really about the acts performing – although it’s a great lineup, curated by local promoter of the experimental, avant-garde, spoken word milieu, Navigator Arts, with the aid of the venue and local legend Joe Coates, who operates independently and via a regional network as Please Please You. These guys champion local acts and regional talent and live and breathe it, and the performers who’ve given their time for this event – I can only applaud them all, really.

What we have here, then, is a great lineup for a vital cause, in a great venue – I’ll say it again that The Crescent is York’s Brudenell: there are many parallels, and they’re all positive. And tonight is exemplary, because what we have here is a great lineup for a vital cause, with a brilliant vibe.

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Lara McClure

It’s an interesting mix of bands and interludes: spoken word artist Lara McClure stretches out a fantastical story over the course of the night, seamlessly – or otherwise – creating segues to the following acts, and a guy who operates under the moniker of Cast – clearly being too young to remember the 90s indie act – does some beatboxing before Knitting Circle take the stage, as a three-piece on this outing. My appreciation of Knitting Circle is strewn all over these pages. They’re a great band, and a perfect choice for this event. They’re proud and passionate lefties with a ‘don’t be a dick’ agenda of inclusivity, and songs like ‘Safe Routes’ aren’t only resonant but prove quite moving in the context of the event. They’re brilliant, as always, and I have to take a moment after their set.

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Knitting Circle

Captain Starlet are a band I’ve never really taken, to, but here’s their singer, Tom, playing a set that includes covers of songs by Love and The Incredible String Band with a Vox guitar, and her does so in a self-effacing manner. And he’s here, taking a stand against genocide and fascism, and so respect is due.

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Tom of Captain Starlet

Things take a turn when Fat Spatula hit the stage, and the volume takes a leap by at least ten per cent. The songs may be fairly mellow alt-rock in the main, but they are LOUD and played with masses of energy and enthusiasm, they’re kinetic (especially the rhythm section), electric. As a band, they seem a little uncertain of their abilities, despite the fact they’re rarely anything other than killer. But maybe that’s a part of their way of working. They put everything into their set and look to be really enjoying themselves. And it’s great.

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Fat Spatula

It takes me a while to get into Borgia, and my initial impression is of these purveyors of jazz punk is ‘jazz punk cunts in suits’ (which, I know, is a niche piece of self-referencing for the ten people familiar with my own ‘musical’ work, but, why not?). They’re decidedly more jazz than punk, and the shades are off after five minutes. But they present a pretty meaty racket with busy bass balanced by sturdy drumming and some wild parping sax. The theatrical enunciation and dramatic presentation is a bit over the top and only nearly as cool as they think, but all credit to them for putting on a performance. They’re seriously tight and go all-out to entertain.

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Borgia

The Bricks are on fire right now. Just eleven days previous they were up-close and personal in a pub on the other side of town, and looked to be relishing the intense proximity. Now, here they are in a 350-capacity venue and owning every inch of the stage. Gemma’s voice may be cracking and only just surviving with the aid of honey, but she still goes all out for the duration, and doesn’t miss a note. There aren’t many bands that seem as much at home playing large or small venues, and even fewer who bring their A-game every single time, but The Bricks are one of the few.

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The Bricks

While there were reminders of why we were here – and rightly so – tonight was as much about bringing people together and espousing true community spirit. The atmosphere was warm, genial, and safe, and in the current climate, riven with tension and hate, this felt like an oasis of nice, a much-needed balm to soothe the stress. And if you’re going to be proud of anything, be proud of local bands, local venues, be proud of generosity and kindness, not shitty flags.

The latest is that the event raised £1,500… and you can still donate… Please.

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Christopher Nosnibor

Pub gigs provided me with my first experiences of live music, back in the early 90s. Often, pubs with upstairs rooms would pop bands on, and other still would simply pack bands somewhere in the bar. At some point, there seemed to be a shift away from this, with pubs seeming to be only really interested in solo performers and acoustic duos. Gigs in pubs stopped being such a thing. But now, pubs are dying. And grassroots venues are dying. Let me be more blunt they’re not so much dying, as being killed off in the interest of capitalist greed.

As I wrote recently on the repurposing of working men’s clubs – also suffering from a severe decline – as gig venues, so the return of the pub gig seems to solve two problems at once, namely how to bring punters into pubs, and providing bands with a place to play. This certainly seems to be happening in York.

The Black Horse used to be a Tap and Spile, and has always been a solid Yorkshire boozer – real ale and bar snacks, and a weekly quiz. But clearing the top part of the room – more a raised area than a mezzanine per se – creates a fairly generous stage space, and not being a massive space, means a basic setup whereby the bands play straight through their amps with only the vocals going through the house PA, simplifying soundchecks and making switchovers straightforward.

When this show was first announced, Strange Pink were an unknown quantity, but the release of their debut EP changed that, and the Hull-based power-trio-cum-supergroup consisting of Sam Forrest (Nine Black Alps, Sewage Farm), Eddie Alan Logie, and Dom Smith (whose resume is a feature in itself) make for a cracking opening act. They manage to be loose but tight at the same time, and it suits their 90s slacker rock stylings. As the EP attests, their approach is varied, and so, accordingly, is their set. They seem to grow in confidence as the set progresses, the sound coming clearer and brighter, too, and by the end of the set, they’re on fire. They close with ‘Boys Club’, the lead single from EP. It’s a clear standout and possibly their best song, with a strong hook, making for the perfect way to leave the crowd with something to remember.

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Strange Pink

The Bricks have become Aural Aggravation staples, and are a band I will always go and see whenever possible, for two simple reason: they have great tunes, and they’re a great live band – always. During their brief soundcheck, I began to wonder if their run of infallibility might come to and end tonight, but I needn’t have worried, because they were firing on all cylinders from beginning to end. In fact, they seem incredibly at home in tiny venues such as this, and flame-haired Gemma cranks up the wild, eyes-wide, lung-busting intensity, as if relishing the proximity. By the end of a fierce set, her fringe is swept away and plastered to her forehead. The band play relentlessly hard, too, and I try to analyse what it is about them that’s so compelling, why they work so well. The songs are fairly simple, both structurally and in terms of musical complexity – simple lead parts, four-chord riffs, classic (post-)punk, built around solid rhythms, with most songs two or three minutes long and strong hooks. Simple proves effective, especially when played with precision and passion.

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The Bricks

This does mean that Cowgirl have a tough act to follow. But they’re super-seasoned professionals. Danny Barton (guitar and vocals) plays bass in Sewage Farm, previously played bass with White Firs with former Federals drummer James Holdstock (who’s also drummed with Cowgirl), and has, in short, played in more bands in and around York than I’ve had hot dinners, and the same is true of Sam Coates (also guitar and vocals), who’s been pretty much ubiquitous on the scene for years now.

Looking around the room – it’s standing room only, and there’s plenty of beer being drunk, and I bet they’ve not sold this much on a Thursday night in a long time – half the people here are in other bands, or are otherwise recognisable as gig-going regulars, highlighting what a close-knit scene the city has, but also that this lineup has brought people out on a night that’s not exactly a popular one for gigs or pubs. The free entry and donations bucket may be a factor (although a facility to take card donations would likely have seen more contributions), but still, it’s proof that a quality lineup is a definite draw, and the fact a small venue can be filled more easily creates a sense of buzz, which is definitely the case here.

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Cowgirl

Early on in their set, a friend remarked that they sound like Oasis. He’s completely wrong, but the comment got me thinking. Some of the elements are there… some of the jangle, a bit of the swagger, but with a keen American indie influence. Perhaps his opinion was influenced by the fact that their sound is decidedly more ‘rock’ on this occasion than previous times I’ve seen, them, likely on account of the backline / PA setup, resulting in a sound dominated by blistering guitars. But they have actual melodies and a psychedelic hue, and once again, it’s a set that builds in every way – confidence, cohesion, and volume. The final brace of songs is segued together to form a ten-minute melting wall of sound, an epic psych-wig out that’s nothing short of a brain-cleansing blast that leaves you dazed as the final strains of feedback taper away.

Everything about tonight feels like a win. I may have had one more than was wise – easily done when it’s hot because it’s packed and all hand-pulled beers are a fiver and there’s half a dozen to choose from – and I may be a touch emotional at having attended my last live music of my forties – but stepping into the night, I feel like I’ve experienced something life-affirming and positive in the bleakest of times.

WHITEHORSE is the new band from Thomas Haywood, the former frontman of The Blinders. Their new single ‘Red Riptide’  is released on the 2nd of September, riven with urgency, with guitar licks like knives being unsheathed, dexterous basslines, scampering drums and a vocal that simmers, broods and reaches crescendo. It’s about being completely clear-headed and in a place of certainty in your mind, and the rushing feeling of violence that comes with determination when you’re cutting through the chaos and staying true to a vision you’re so certain of.

They say “It’s as heavy as we go at the moment and to me describes desire in a tune and screams ‘fucking come on then’ to anything thrown your way
"It was written when heavy rains burst the waters of a riverbank and the whole thing was just gushing all over the place and it set me off big time.”
Formed in Sheffield in late 2024 by Haywood alongside Bobby Bouché, John McCullagh & Nathan Keeble, and James Keith.

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At the risk of sounding like a stuck record – and we don’t care, Aural Aggravation exists to put word out about new music – the number of quality emerging acts to be discovered playing grassroots venues is mindboggling.

Historically – since the advent of contemporary / rock / alternative music as we know it – new acts have cut their teeth in these little venues. While the story of how Oasis were discovered playing at King Tut’s in Glasgow,  so many people have an anecdote about how they saw Arctic Monkeys, or Editors, or Franz Ferdinand, or [insert band who went on to be huge here) in a 150-capacity venue, either to 30 people, or to 100 people who they whipped up in such a way it was clear that they’d not be playing 150-capacity venues on their next tour.

Glasgow’s Slime City might not be about to be touring the UK’s academies come the spring, but catching them in a cozy WMC in York recently, they showed significant potential, and ‘Do the Math(s)’ , the first single from forthcoming album National Record of Achievement, released in November only confirms that they’ve got that cut-above quality.

Don’t just take our word for it, though…

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KEYS return with Acid Communism, their boldest and most expansive record to date – a rich and unfiltered document of collective creativity, sonic exploration, and philosophical curiosity. Released by Libertino Records on Friday 18th July, the album draws inspiration from the late cultural theorist Mark Fisher, whose unfinished work left a lasting impression on the band.

“We were captivated by the poetry of those two words,” Matthew Evans (KEYS – vocalist and songwriter) explains. ACID COMMUNISM isn’t just a title – it’s a guiding principle. ACID symbolises creative play and experimentation, while COMMUNISM speaks to the strength found in (comm)unity. In a time when the internet often amplifies individualism and leans into certain ideologies, the band wanted to celebrate togetherness and collective expression.

While Acid Communism isn’t overtly political, it does pulse with a quiet sense of purpose – to resist isolation, to reconnect with others, and to celebrate the kind of shared, DIY spirit that binds bands, friends, and scenes together. It’s about building something together, rather than standing apart.

The band took a hybrid approach to recording. Much of the album started life on 8-track tape before being moved into Logic, capturing a blend of home-recorded warmth with digital precision. Musically, it draws from the live, freewheeling energy of JERRY GARCIA and the lo-fi intimacy of their lockdown-era album HOMESCHOOLING. The result is a sound that’s raw yet refined, unpolished but deeply intentional.

Across its twelve tracks, Acid Communism flows through a variety of textures – from sun-scorched psych-pop and angular guitar riffs to gentle, piano-led introspection and atmospheric washes. It’s a record that favours connection over perfection, instinct over polish.

The recently released double A-side ‘Your Shoes’ / ‘The Greatest Joke of All’ coincides with the announcement of Acid Communism, offering a glimpse into the album’s contrasting emotional tones’

Hear ‘Your Shoes’ here:

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Christopher Nosnibor

There was a time when there wasn’t really much doing in York, which was particularly disappointing for a city with two universities. But, despite grass roots venue disappearing at an alarming rate, right now, the city is offering up some exciting stuff on the grassroots scene. Tonight, there are three quality live music events on, and had I mastered cloning, I would have gone to all three. The Fulford Arms was serving up a night of top-notch goth and post-punk, while there was experimental and ambient work on offer at The Basement under the City Screen cinema. But I feel I made the right choice plumping for Needlework at The Crescent, not least of all because it transpired that this was to be their last show.

Needlework have only been around a couple of years, and only played a handful of shows, but they’ve made a serious impression, as tonight’s crowd shows. Sure, they’ve got plenty of their sixth-form / college mates down, but this is a band who had built a keen following in their own right. In a previous time, John Peel would have been all over them and they’d have achieved national cult status. Instead, because it’s 2025, they’re bowing out with only an EP (released today, but without mention) and a few shows to mark their existence. But I guess this is how it goes.

First up, it’s Speedreaders. They’re nothing if not consistent., and tonight’s set brings all of the things I’ve highlighted in my previous coverage. They’re tight, but slow and mellow. And this evening they’re slower than ever. After imparting his opinion on Fleetwood Mac being shite in a rare bit of between-song banter, singer David Mudie spent longer tuning his guitar for the next song than it actually took to play it. That’ll teach him to engage in conversation with the audience. My mate went to the bar and returned with two pints before he was done tuning. Still, when they’re back on track, they’re sounding good. It’s the harmonies which stand out in tonight’s clean, crisp set, with clear balanced sound.

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Speedreaders

Divorce Finance sound pretty much the same as they look…. meaning I can’t remember the last time I so wanted to punch a whole band. Actually, I lie: Sleuth Gang, who I witnessed in the same venue a few months ago emanated wankerdom from every pore. It must be something about bands who take their style cues from The Village People.

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Divorce Finance

It’s sort of tongue-in-cheek but not really rockabilly country hoedown hillbilly bollocks. There are people down the front getting down with some boisterous line-dancing moves, and there are plenty who are digging it, but I just can’t get on board with this is corny, gimmicky shit, and the fact they play it well doesn’t get them a pass. All the whooping and whelping is high-energy and perfectly executed, but… It’s just so much cheesy turd-polishing, and the singer’s smug, grinning, cheeky chappie, eye rolling delivery only makes everything so much worse. I found myself feeling not irritated, or annoyed, but – most unexpectedly – angry.

Needlework are simply something else, and what that something is is not easy to pin down. Their entire existence is constructed around a mass of contradictions and paradoxical premises, none of which are reconcilable or make any obvious sense – but this is precisely why they work, and why they exist in a league of their own. They’re really tight and together, but create the illusion of being lose, even a shade shambolic; front man Reuben Pugh is simultaneously intense and aloof. Each member of the band brings something different, stylistically, and in terms of personality – that goes for both their musical contributions and stage presence. Jagged, scratchy guitar work slices across rolling basslines, jittery drumming finds a counterpoint with soft, trilling woodwind and synths interwoven through the scenes as they unravel.

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Needlwork

They’re not really a ‘songs’ band in terms of conventional verse / chorus structures, either, instead exploring routes which take obtuse twists and turns, and they’re unafraid to do slow, wonky, spoken wordy, abstract narrative. They understand dynamics, and the power of jarring angularity. It’s post-punk, it’s jazz, it’s experimental, and it’s utterly spellbinding. Needlework are one of those rare bands that seem to suck you into a parallel universe while they play. Time hangs in suspension and you find yourself on another plane, utterly gripped while wondering what they’ll do next. During the time they’re on stage, something transformative takes place: it’s more than simply five people on stage making music. Needlework conjure aural pure alchemy.

Pugh takes his shirt off to substantial applause, and a big fella in the front row responds by whipping his T-shirt off and lobbing it on stage after helicoptering it above his head a few times. He asks for it back a song or two later, and the band duly oblige.

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Needlework

The set builds to a perfect climax, a monumental whirl of sonic chaos which is electric. And then, that’s it. Finished. Done. They leave us stunned, dazed by the magic we’ve witnessed. They certainly concluded on a high, and one suspects that this is a band which will be remembered, and talked about, for years to come.

NYC’s Lip Critic return with their first new music since last year’s acclaimed Hex Dealer – which Consequence of Sound described as “a cannonball to the chest” and Paste compared to “the B-52s on ketamine”, while we here at Aural Aggravation  said was “Lip Critic’s definitive statement”. Double singles ‘Mirror Match’ and ‘Second Life’ are out now and continue Lip Critic’s furious experimental energy, born in a flash of cosmic coincidence and baseball-fueled mysticism.

‘Mirror Match’ is a twitchy, high-octane confrontation with your doppelgänger, arriving alongside a bespoke Lip Critic-designed pinball game set in a cloning facility. ‘Second Life’ throws the chaos into bass-heavy nightmare territory, accompanied by a surreal music video styled like an off-brand cooking show episode, complete with Sandra Lee-inspired semi-homemade absurdity.

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"We were on tour near the end of 2024 and had just played our LA show. We had a two day gap before our next show in Santa Ana so we got a room at the hotel Casa Grande. That night after the drive I fell asleep watching Randy Johnson highlight reels. All the great moments from his time as a Diamondback, as well as his years on the Yankees and the Giants.

That night I had a dream I met a tall man with a body made entirely of radiant light wearing a baseball cap. He opened his arms and from them came two perpendicular rays that shot around me to form the shape of a diamond. When the tips of the rays connected I was engulfed in a thunderous sound, like that of a waterfall. It shook me so much that I woke up in a jolt. I woke to see that I had been writhing in my sleep and had completely displaced the other 3 members I had been sharing this queen bed with.

I apologized and brushed it off as another bad dream brought on by a late night binging baseball history videos on YouTube. Upon checking my phone, I saw I had received a text in the night from a number I didn’t recognize, offering us two days of unexpected studio time.

When we arrived at the studio that day, he opened the door wearing a fitted baseball cap, towering over our band with an average height of 5’8”. I instantly felt a familiarity. As he showed us around I felt a sense of having returned, like visiting your old elementary school once again for a younger siblings’ graduation. He led us to the control room which was equipped with a speaker system large enough for a room quadruple the size. He stood at one corner and I sat in a chair directly opposite. The square room shifted to a diamond by our perspectives.

He turned the speakers up and without hesitation played us through a whirlwind of different music at an unbelievable volume, and I was engulfed in a thunderous sound, like that of a waterfall. ‘Mirror Match’ and ‘Second Life’ were two tracks made and completed in the two days at his studio."

Lip Critic are touring extensively across the US this summer with headline dates, festival appearances, a co-headline run with Hello Mary, and support slots for MSPAINT, Pat and the Pissers & Mannequin Pussy.

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Needlework caught our attention a few months ago when they supported Aural Aggravation faves Soma Crew.

They’ve just dropped the track ‘Saddle Rash’, and we dig. Check it here:

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“’Made Of Rain’ is a song of hope. It is about getting up and trying again despite the scars life can leave. This “almost acoustic version” is very dear to me. I love the organic elements present: the pedal steel, violin, and, of course, Whitney Tai’s beautiful, ethereal voice elevate this piece, making it something transcendental. Similarly, the video shoot was an almost spiritual experience. A celebration of friends and art. What more can you ask for?” asks Ashton Nyte of The Awakening, who will soon tour Europe in support of the band’s self-titled album.

“‘Made Of Rain’ is a warm amber glow in a velveteen speakeasy where tales of folk and longing send a message from the beyond. There’s a wisdom and a patience in Ashton’s voice. His lyrics swarmed in the magic of Beauty In Chaos’ production for the acoustic version hits different. Doing this duet with Ashton is a dream, as he is someone with the vocal tenacity of the wisest tree in the forest. Together, it felt like we planted wildflowers in a gentle field. What made this collab special for me apart from the music is the friendship that Michael, Ashton and I share. We are family and making art with feeling is at the forefront of our passions,” says Whitney Tai, who appears on many BIC tracks. Her latest single ‘Slumber Party’ is out now, previewing her third full-length album ‘American Wasteland’ (out in September).

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