Posts Tagged ‘Indie’

5th June 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

There’s a lot of music out there now. Eighteen months ago, it circulated in the news that there is now more music released daily than there was during the entirety of 1989. The research was conducted by MiDiA Research, and while I’ve not delved enough to uncover precisely how they reached the comparative volumes – there were DIY vinyl and cassette releases happening in 1989, and, while by no means commonplace, CD-R arrived on the market around 1988, arguably representing a significant step in the journey towards artists taking hold of the means of production for their work. Granted, these things are small-scale releases, but then so are the majority of those being released now: the point of the report is that artists no longer need management or a label or any of the more historical industry mechanisms to release their music, and now they have the potential for global reach.

‘It’s Breaking the Industry!’ was how Headphonesty reported the news. Well, fuck the industry. The industry are the main reason artists choose the DIY route – and not necessarily because they can’t get signed, but because they don’t want their production and sound and release schedule to be dictated, or to be bottom of the pile when it comes to the cut of the earnings from their work. ‘The Industry’ has changed, but while Spotify et al have been major players in terms of direct-to-platform releases by artists, they’re still very much industry in the sense that the last ones to get paid in their colossal operation are those who create the content.

Swerving the art vs content issue so soon after only last night’s piece, I would say out concern and sympathy should be with the artists and the listeners. Listeners are simply swamped, and artists risk sinking in an ocean of noise without reaching a fraction of the audience they deserve. And the algorithms do not help, which is why I personally take recommendations from people I know and trust, be they friends or trusted PR folks. Even then, there’s some sifting involved, and what’s more, it’s so easy to feel overwhelmed, or to simply switch off and let all this music congeal into a sonic wallpaper that provides a backdrop while you’re doomscrolling social media and news sites, wondering if the world will end tomorrow, or piling shit you don’t need into your basket on Amazon.

But sometimes, something will leap out from the hum and make you prick up your ears. And ‘Lifeform’ is one of those songs.

It’s That Hidden Promise’s first release in three years. The subject matter is weighty – and relatable – enough, an exposition of how we’re all part of the machine, cogs in the wheels of capitalism, with not just every hour of your waking life controlled by work (or the punitive benefits system if you don’t have work for whatever reason, including disability) but even how your waking / sleep patterns are not a matter of choice. Think that’s an exaggeration? How many times have you heard ‘I can’t come out tonight / stay out late because I’ve got work in the morning’? That is nothing short of total control, and the first verse is on point:

You’re not seeing, or thinking, just doing,

As a lifeform

Taking orders, cos that’s what you do,

Just a lifeform

Getting drained by the lies of the state,

Good little lifeform

Pushed around like atoms in the Hydron,

Cos you’ve just got to do what the system dictates

But what made me prick up my ears initially with ‘Lifeform’ was the delivery. It’s got a very strong 80s vibe, but it’s crossed with an early 90s indie feel – bright, choppy guitars and crisp drum machine dominate the mix, and the guitars layer up with some busy lead work. In places I’m reminded of Carter USM, but there’s more swagger and more groove, and the energy here is kinda sneery without being Oasis, with maybe more a feel of the early days of The Cooper Temple Clause. It’s also motorik, insistent, and catchy. And it’s 100% DIY.

This recommendation was brought to you not by an algorithm, but by a real living person who sifts through dozens of releases a day. No need to thank me…

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That Hidden Promise Promo1

Interview by Christopher Nosnibor

Images supplied by Jo

The last year or so has seen Utterly Fuzzled nights become established as a notable feature of the live scene in York. I’ve written about a few of them in recent months. The lineups are invariably of a high standard, and always offer something different, with a mix of local acts and those from further afield – often the North East. Hosted at a working men’s club just over a mile or so to the south of the city centre – and just along the road from the renowned grass roots venue The Fulford Arms – they’re curated by Jo Dale and Pete Dale (who play together in Knitting Circle, and recently-added offshoot, Chaffinch, as well as Pete being a co-founder of lo-fi indie act Milky Wimpshake).

Being fresh from a triumphant tenth event – an outstanding two-dayer which saw Objections, Dragged Up, Silk Cuts (Exeter), and Count Florida (Glasgow) feature alongside some favourite York acts – I wanted to catch up with Jo to find out more about their operations, motivations, and plans.

CN for AA: What was the genesis of the Utterly Fuzzled nights, and is there any broad concept or ethos behind them?

JD: Pete and I moved to York in July 2022 and both had put on many gigs before. We just really wanted to put on some DIY bands who we love, so we put on a one-off called From the Vaults at the old Victoria Vaults venue in York. We know lots of bands from around the country and for both From the Vaults and Utterly Fuzzled, we have often made contact with old friends in bands to ask them to play – but equally we wanted to get to know new bands, that constant search for new bands, we wanted to create a platform to make that possible for ourselves and others, simple really.

In terms of ethos: treating bands well with a hot meal; paying them what we can, taking no money for ourselves but covering room hire, flyers, food for the bands, etc. before paying bands everything else; platforming female-identifying artists because we are fucking bored of seeing all-male bills, what else? I mean, just, putting on bands that we love and then curating events is fun, like, we like to create things that loosely go together but at the same time are quite different from each other. It’s become a community and something we really look forward to and we know others do and just about every event someone says ‘we really love this space and the people here, we feel like we fit into this space’. More than once, people have told us that it has made them feel at home in the City of York where they didn’t feel quite at home, where they found their space. Really it’s about diversity and community, if there is an ethos.

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Pete and Jo Dale with the Utterly Fuzzled stage banner

You’ve made The Fulfordgate WMC the home of your nights – a place hardly anyone even knew existed before your first event there. How did you come across it, and what made you choose it?

After From the Vaults, the Vaults unfortunately closed, we searched methodically our new home city of York for somewhere else to put gigs on and when we’d almost given up hope we stumbled across the Fulfordgate which also happens to be 10 minutes walk from our house! When Pete and I first walked in and met the super-lovely manager Christine and saw the octagonal dance floor and the disco ball, we knew we’d stumbled across somewhere very special.

How do you go about curating your lineups? Is there a formula?

Absolutely no all-male line-ups! We actively search out bands with female-identifying musicians in. We listen to all music that’s sent to us. We’re not genre specific, between us we have very wide musical tastes. Basically, if it excites us then we want to put it on, simple as that really.

What’s your assessment of the health of the York music scene right now? And from your experience, how does it compare to elsewhere?

York compares very well with Stoke where we were living for a few years. There was a tiny (but perfectly formed and friendly) music scene in Stoke but gigs were only occasional. In York there’s a lot more going on and it’s been great seeing and getting to know stalwart bands like Percy, Soma Crew, etc, and newer bands like the Bricks and Fat Spatula. It was great giving a debut platform for Flat Lights’ first show, we felt that was a real privilege, and we look forward to doing more of that in the future – support your local scene, it will support you!

Two things which always stand out about your events is a) the quality of the acts b) the diversity of the acts – and some, like Troutflies and Kar Pouzi, have been strongly experimental. Do you ever feel there’s a risk in showcasing more leftfield acts?

Putting on an Utterly Fuzzled gig is really hard work. There’s lots of behind the scenes work that goes on. For example, constant social media, running around putting up posters and fliers in your lunchbreak, designing those posters, flyering at gigs, liaising with bands and venue, all as a volunteer. So we feel very strongly that the bands that play Utterly Fuzzled must excite us, they must really make us want to put them on because otherwise what’s the point in doing all that hard work? If we’re going to ask people to spend hard-earned money coming to one of our gigs, we are determined that it’s going to be worth coming out for. When you’re watching a band, for that moment you’re just absolutely with that band, on an absolute high because they’re incredible, that’s the thing that we’re searching for, that moment of ‘Oh my god, they’re unbelievable!’

We do showcase quite leftfield things but we always mix it up, adding more accessible things in so there’s something for everyone. We don’t want to become niche: we’re very outward looking, we actively don’t want to have a niche. We’re always on the search for things that excite us, we’re not deliberately thinking ‘Ooh, that’ll shock them’, if we think we’re going to enjoy it then we’re going to put it on, if we think that we’ve heard it before then, no.

There’s been much debate of late – particularly in the US – about whether artists, particularly musicians – should involve themselves in politics. It’s clear where you stand on the topic, but would you like to detail your stance on it?

My activism comes out in my music, it’s not really a choice, it’s just who I am. Having been an animal rights, social justice and environmental campaigner since my teens, activism is always close by.

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Knitting Circle

With songs about immigration and fox hunting – among other things – is it fair to describe Knitting Circle as an ‘issues’ band?

Yes, but we do have songs that aren’t just about ‘issues’, we’re not just an issues band.

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You recently received some significant coverage for your song ‘Losing My Eggs’, which is about the menopause – something which remains severely misunderstood and its impact on women severely underappreciated. Did you feel as if you’d accomplished something beyond the music itself in being able to raise awareness and further the discussion of the topic in this way?

If it’s adding to the conversation about the menopause or helps someone’s partner or child to understand what someone’s going through, to be able to support somebody then yeah. If it helps women going through menopause to be seen then yeah. Pretty much every single Knitting Circle gig, someone will collar me after the set to talk to me about that song.

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Jo Dale

What’s in the pipeline for Knitting Circle, and what can we look forward to from future Utterly Fuzzled events?

For Knitting Circle, our album is recorded and mixed and will be out in the Autumn, probably November, we are working with two different amazing DIY record labels to make this happen. We are very excited to share it. We have 3 Utterly Fuzzled dates booked for the Autumn and we are curating the line-ups at the moment, the first of these dates being Saturday 19th September at the Fulfordgate  – expect full but wonky line-ups!

You can keep up to date with Utterly Fuzzled events and activities here …and Knitting Circle here.

26th May 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s an interesting choice of name for a band, is Fishwife. Of course, the literal meaning is the wife of a fisherman, and in the dim and distant past (before my time), when industry was cottage rather than factory-based, and before the advent of supermarkets, the wives would sell the fish caught by their husbands. But we also have the phrase ‘to swear like a fishwife’, because said women were notoriously loud and sweary. Although this is also true of women from Glasgow and parts of the north of England in the present. As a final observation, it’s perhaps worth noting that, according to an article in the Review of English Studies, ‘managing alone while their menfolk were away fishing for extended periods made them strong and self-sufficient’. And while biographical details of this female London duo are scant, it seems likely relevant. That and the fact that Lenny Moynihan and Jos Cubie met in an oyster shack in a storm. As happens.

‘All Good Wives’ is their debut single – released completely non-coincidentally on World Dracula Day (May 26, 1897 being the date Bram Stoker’s seminal novel was published). They describe it quite simply as ‘a gothic indie rock song about falling in love with a vampire’, adding ‘We recorded the vocals in an empty ghost train ride and the organ in a gothic church.’

It’s all there, then, in just a few lines – a chance meeting, literary allusions by way of context. You can imagine them trotting this tale out to all the music sites in interviews, even telling to Tim Lovejoy on Sunday Brunch (since he asks every band, even siblings how they met, week in, week out). A song that combines romance and vampires… this is surely a recipe for success. Are we really convinced by this tale? Or is it there something fishy beneath the surface? Are we looking at the latest instalment of The Last Dinner Party, Wet Leg, Geese? There’s certainly quite a roll-call on the credits for the video. Let’s just say that I couldn’t afford this level of production if I wanted to put out a promo vid, even if I called in all the favours from all the people I know. In the age of AI and industry plants and nepo-buy ins and all the rest, it’s hard to know what’s real, what you can trust. I write this as someone who’s been writing reviews since 1994. I grew up reading the NME and Melody Maker, when the critique was as times beyond brutal. Now, music journalism seems to have become part of the PR machine, and writers are terrified of proffering any kind of criticism for fear of a virtual pile-on or their supply of freebies being cut off. Whatever happened to journalistic integrity?

It so happens that ‘All Good Wives’ is a solid tune. It isn’t an instant grab, but one of those songs that slowly worms its way into your psyche. Note that it’s described as ‘gothic’ rather than ‘goth’, and it’s all about the atmosphere – the spacious instrumentation, the breathy vocals, the tension and the dynamics. As a debut single, it’s magnificently understated – no huge anthemic chorus, no slogan, no instant hook, it’s built around a sparse, trudging riff, motorik percussion and layered vocals. It’s not only a great song, which blooms in a widescreen cinematic finale, but an introduction that has allure and is a lure, one which makes you lean in awaiting the next instalment.

Let’s see what happens next…

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Christopher Nosnibor

I’ve been frothing about the Utterly Fuzzled events for a while now, as being an absolute cornerstone of the remarkably vibrant York scene of the moment, and similarly, I’ve commented variously on the sense of community and the way the promoters support one another rather than compete. It’s perhaps a byproduct of these challenging times – noted from the stage by Objections during their set – whereby putting on gigs at this level is bloody hard work and largely a thankless task – and not without financial risk, either, which means that those who do it do so because first and foremost they’re passionate about music.

Times have certainly changed: back in the 80s and 90s, often regarded as a golden age for independent venues and new music, smaller places such as York were under the monopoly of greedy promoters who would operate pay to play and other unscrupulous policies which largely ensured that the bands – who had no money to begin with – took the risk while they got paid regardless. At least now there’s a certain sense of equality in that no-one gets paid.

This is their tenth event, which expanded into a two-nighter (A Fuzzlefest, if you will), of which this is the second, and the lineup is stacked – a veritable ‘Best of Utterly Fuzzled’, with four of tonight’s acts making a return (if we include Objections who played a pre-Fuzzled event before the name was formalised).

The fact that former headliners Dragged Up are late additions and opening proceedings, hitting the stage at 5:30 before hauling up to Newcastle (after playing Middlesborough the night before), is quite the coup, and testament to the strength of the connections organisers Jo and Pete have with the bands they put on.

Future single ‘Rapunzel’ lands mid set with guests vocals from Mel Whittle of fellow Glasgow act Count Florida – who are on later – and slides onto the chord sequence of Bauhaus’ ‘Dark Entries’ in the mid section. They close with a sprawling eight-minute monster about leopard print, which lands with far more impact in the room than it ever could on paper.

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Dragged Up

Pope Joan’s performance exemplifies everything that’s brilliant about the Fuzzled events – the spread of genres and the willing ness to showcase the oddball and experimental electronica amidst the guitar-based indie and post-punk and beyond. Pope Joan – formerly of Leeds act Casino Volante – brings a host of elements together with some quirky humour and a dash of strange. Initially, we get Stereolab meets Kraftwerk, evolving into some experimental synthy hip-hop with some mutant disco going on. Then at times it gets a but noisy, a bit DAF, a bit Cabaret Voltaire. The bants are awkward, and this seems to be part of the act, too. There’s a Yeah Yeah Yeahs cover that sounds more like Suicide – the band, that is.

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Pope Joan

Two weeks on from the last time I saw them, The Bricks are relaxed and on fine form. It’s a very different setting, and the fact they’re every bit as good playing through their backline as through a PA – and seem as comfortable – is an indication of just how well meshed they are as a unit. Gemma installs herself in front of the stage, and, with all the room, she makes the most of the space, charging about, radiating electric energy. And once again, she hollers her fucking lungs out, to the extent that she’s visibly and audibly spent every grain of her guts by the end of the set. It wouldn’t work if the band behind her weren’t the pinnacle of precision, though, and while they have lengthy debates about what song’s next and how it goes, once the first bar happens, they’re in the zone.

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The Bricks

Second Glasgow band of the night, Count Florida espouse vintage jangly indie, hinting at the sound of C86, but perhaps more pertinently that of the Postcard Label – something which is uniquely Scottish (despite their releasing a single by The Go-Betweens, who were Australian). They’re perhaps a little under rehearsed for a few of the songs, and while not necessarily performed to peak level, I couldn’t help but feel the effect of some of their deeply personal songs about death and about loss and needed to breathe for a couple of minutes after their set.

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Count Florida

Knitting Circle just get better, tighter, more confident, more comfortable with every performance. They might not think so, but they do. Even when looking tense and debating the set list, the way they react to audience call-outs and situations more generally shows an assurance that’s a measure of a band becoming truly established. They throw in the risky new material in early, and the second half of the set is, as ever, a showcase in choppy, issues-based post punk. On the subject of issues, Jo (vocals, bass) recently posted on Facebook how a recent review had made a deal of her choice of dress in contrast to the rest of the band, highlighting how deep sexism runs in all aspects of our culture – it’s particularly glaring in context of Pete’s remarkable shirt collection. When asking of the audience how the mix was, there was a call for him to turn his guitar up – fair enough, but equally, he might have turned his shirt down. Anyway, needless to say, they sound great.

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Knitting Circle

Objections are also well-liked around these parts, and further afield. I made precisely no notes during their set: I was simply hypnotised by the fretwork. They’re by no means a wanky band, but they are incredibly technical, and totally kinetic in their performance. They’re not exactly in the domains of Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica, but there is very much a sense of the three bandmembers each playing different tunes – but it all comes together, miraculously. Claire Adams’ bass switches between stop/start and booming groove, and it melds perfectly with the precision, jazz-style drumming of Neil Turpin, while Joseph O’Sullivan goes nuts in his own world making noise never before wrung from an electric twelve string. They’re completely unprepared when hassled for an encore, but after some debate, we get one. This is real, spontaneous. And it’s ace.

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Objections

This is live music at its best. Six bands for the price of a takeaway. Four have travelled: all six are worth the entrance fee. But it’s more than just about seeing some decent bands. It’s about the vibe, and the people, too. This is the very core of the live music scene.

Criminal Records – 12th June 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s a pretty bold move to open an album with a slow-paced and pretty bleak-sounding song which is more about dolorous atmosphere than chorus or hook. But then, Argonaut’s latest offering is pretty bold – albeit in an understated sort of a way. That likely sounds oxymoronic, so let me unpack it a bit.

After something of a purple patch, with the prolific spate of post-lockdown output which, over the course of a year and a bit and a new song each month saw the development of open-ended album Songs from the Black Hat (which ended up with a total of twenty tracks, with the inclusion of a couple of remixes), Argonaut were forced to make a change of pace. Life has a way of doing that – and events also resulted in a change of focus. The result is Interrupted – an album two years in the making, and by far the darkest and most introspective set of songs they’ve released. It’s not that the London DIY trio have always skirted darkness or introspection, but historically, it’s been balanced by lighter, poppier indie tunes. Now, though, they’ve embraced what one may call the therapeutic benefits of creativity, channelling – and coming to terms with – real-life issues and even trauma through those outlets.

As the accompanying notes lay things out quite plainly, Interrupted offers ‘Ten songs from the past year’s abyss, documenting breakdown, burnout, dementia, depression, memory, hope and healing’. This in itself is bold. Again and again, the conversation is ‘we need to talk about these things’, but the moment we do, there’s a sort of collective wince in society, on social media, among our friends even. We’re still not societally conditioned to deal with the difficult stuff. I can speak from experience here: following the loss of my wife at the age of 44, and finding myself as a single parent, I’ve had enough ‘well, I could be worse’ type responses to articulations of struggle to fill a book. And now, while witnessing the mental and physical decline of one of my parents, I’m finding a similar reluctance among friends to engage on a meaningful level on the subject.

Thankfully, there are always artists who are – not necessarily willing, but perhaps more compelled – to pour all of this into their work, perhaps because those in immediate proximity are found wonting when it comes to conversation, meaning that creative channels are the only channels available. The Twilight Sad’s latest album, The Long Goodbye is perhaps the most harrowing thing I’ve heard in years, but James Graham’s dealing with the loss of his mother to dementia through the songs is powerful beyond belief.

Interrupted, too, confronts real-life anguish. And so, after some digression, we return to that opening track. ‘We’re Not Hungry Anymore’ is a remarkable hybrid of jangly indie and post-grunge – the heavily chorused guitar carrying hints of Soundgarden’s ‘Black Hole Sun’, but mournful strings bring a different shade of melancholy, and Lorna’s vocal somehow manages to be cutesie and scared, giving vibes of Alison Shaw of Cranes. It culminates in a monumental crescendo.

Lead single ‘Leaves’ – which lands towards the end of the album – is similarly bleak, particularly Cure-esque and direct in its addressing emotional distress, here specifically on the topic of dementia. As Lorna writes on the single’s video, “I was thinking about the moon cycle and the new moon and wanted to incorporate that feeling into the music. The lyrics are about somebody who is getting older and their mind is starting to deteriorate. They can remember the past more than the present. I had the image of being lost in the woods and trapped inside their memories. It’s quite a personal song.”

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And in the personal lies the universal, the relatable. The last few times I’ve seen my mother, she’s talked mostly about her school days and her job. She’s 79, and has nothing much to talk about, and actually seems to recall very little, from any time since. She gets lost going to the village shop, despite having lived in the same village for a good twenty-five years. So yes, this resonates, and increasingly, friends – or friends of friends – tell of relatives – no longer just grandparents, but parents suffering a painful mental unravelling.

‘Hats Off’ lands in the region of Daisy Chainsaw remixed by The Cure, with a bassline that’s got the vibe of ‘Let’s Go to Bed’ while casting a nod to the niggly guitar bit in Prince’s ‘Kiss’ which fits with the post-punk pop funk vibe which goes some way to break the tension, and ‘I’m Not Getting Up After This’ is the perfect summary of a depressive episode, the encapsulation of both physical and mental exhaustion. ‘Sugarfree’ is one of the songs closest to what we’re familiar with from Argonaut, with Nathan’s gravelly, weary-sounding monotone providing a magnificent contrast to Lorna’s sweet, flighty tones, but something about it feels leaden, weighted – not in a lethargic way, but as if pulled by an emotional drag. ‘This Means Something, This is Important’, released a year ago while the album was still evolving, is another of the more upbeat, fizzy indie moments we’re used to, and ‘Unpredictable’ showcases their irrepressible pop penchant. The final track, ‘Rewind’ is heavy, Siouxsue and The Banshees gone sluge – it makes for a hard-hitting, climactic  finale.

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Interrupted is often dark, bleak, intense, and incredibly sad, but still packs its fair share of poppy punk tunes to provide some balance. It’s a difficult album, and rightly so. It’s not meant to be easy listening. It’s taut, its pop moments propelled by a thunking bass and motorik grooves. It’s also an album with many depths. It’s perhaps not an album we’d have expected from Argonaut, and it’s likely not an album they themselves expected, or would have wanted to make. But it’s emotionally honest, and that is bold. It’s also probably their strongest release yet.

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Argonaut, Interrupted Album_ Front

15th May 2026 – noot moon records

Christopher Nosnibor

The term ‘post mortem’ has come to bare a number of meanings, not least of all the connotations of autopsy, but ultimately, it boils down to being something after the fact, specifically, after death, as the phrase implies. I suppose what it is that happens after death does vary between individuals, but it doesn’t necessarily mean being carved up.

By way of context, Melanculia is the solo project of Nino Sable, front man of goth act Aeon Sable, and the release of post mortem marks the first new album under the Melanculia name since 2018’s Seventh Circle. The accompanying notes inform that ‘The album expands further into a melancholic palette shaped by Nino’s strong sense of post-punk melodicism, while also drawing on dark psychedelia and indie-folk textures.’ And there’s more: Sable says that ‘Freed from the constraints of collaboration and compromise, the album focuses on a more direct and personal approach, centred on acoustic guitar, haunting synths, and sharply focused lyrics that cut to the bone: fragile and unfiltered.’

If I were collaborator or bandmate, I might take this statement with a pang of annoyance, or feel it to be a slight sleight, but as I’m not, I can take it at face value, intending that for all the fun of collaboration, it’s empowering to cut loose and fly free every now and again.

And, indeed, with the freedom to explore any and all directions, that’s exactly what Sable does here: the fourteen songs on post mortem are varied, not only stylistically, but in terms of mood and emotional range.

post mortem’s first song is something of a sad song: ‘Dark Days’ blends acoustic guitar and sweeping retro synths to strong effect, and that effect is downbeat and melancholy. The first song sounds like an album closer, and starting on a downer with a slow fade is a bit of a risky way to start an album, but when that’s pretty much par for the course, what else are you going to do? This set of songs is very much set on the downbeat, the wistful, the melancholy, brimming with reflection and gloomy nostalgia. ‘The Tower’ steps up into another level of theatricality, and over the course if fourteen songs – which does make for a long album – post mortem dredges the depths of the soul.

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It’s hard to put your finger on exactly what it does or how it registers: post mortem finds Melanculia strolling quite confidently around the territories of alt-rock and post-punk, while also incorporating folk elements – repetitive chord sequences thrummed out on acoustic guitar may be simple, but utterly gripping, and never more so than on the haunting ‘Runaways’. The folksiness goes a bit pirate folk in places, but ‘The Healer’ drips emotion and brings mid-tempo theatrics propelled by a metronomic and insistent mechanised beat with a vintage snare sound that cuts through and hits hard. ‘Emptiness’ drips heavy emotive swooning, as Sable croons in a quivering Pete Murphy inspired intonation, ‘I wish you were dead now’. No doubt there’s someone in all of our lives that this sentiment applies to.

Standing in the centre of the album like a towering monolith, the seven minute epic that is ‘We Are Only Human’. Hearing the words, laced with a grace and ache, ‘I’m only human, so mall, insignificant’ against a backdrop of rolling piano played in waltz-time is unexpectedly impactful, and also reminds me of another song I simply can’t place. It doesn’t matter: what matters is that the way the atmosphere builds.

There are echoes of Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Game’ about the reverb-soaked sadness of ‘Confessions’, and ‘Sabiaoa’ scrapes the dark terrains of the whispering undulations that creep underground.

It’s perhaps fair to say that in terms of instrumentation and musical style, post mortem explores a narrow space in microcosmic detail. This is their two inches of ivory, if you will. Consequently, it’s an album which benefits spending time with, uncovering the details and the delicate differences. In capturing moods and atmospheres, post mortem is highly accomplished, filling every moment with a sense of poignancy, a swooning sadness.

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Dolium x LiVES collide on ‘Shame!’, a high-friction joint single that blurs the line between collaboration and confrontation. Rooted in indie rock and sharpened by punk urgency, it’s a track driven by tension, energy, and shared intent.

Since reforming in 2024 for the 20th Anniversary of their label, Sister 9 Recordings, lo-fi/post-punk/scuzz-rockers Dolium have been quietly building toward a new chapter. In their early days, the band caused quite a buzz on the UK underground music scene, catching the attention of BBC radio legend, John Peel.  That legacy is captured in their critically acclaimed limited-edition 4CD box set, The Products Of Our Own Demands And Commands. Now, in 2026, they return with renewed focus, and a new era of furious punk rock.

Born in Cornwall and sharpened in Kent, LiVES are a visceral collision of post-punk intensity and hard rock precision. Their debut album Let Them Eat Cake landed like a fist through a wall, fast, aggressive, and socio-politically charged. Louder Than War called it “a nihilistic expression of anger and disillusionment.” Their track Just Can’t Get Enough reached a wider audience through its placement on the Netflix series Lucifer. With airplay across BBC 6 Music, Radio X and BBC Introducing, a sold-out European tour, and support slots alongside Buzzcocks, SPAN and Danny Wildheart, LiVES have built a reputation as a band made for rooms that sweat. They return here in full force.

The creative spark was immediate.“I knew I wanted to work with someone that had as much anger and attitude as me. The moment I heard Rhys’s work, I was like, hell yeah… this is fire.” – Peter (LiVES) What started as a skeletal, verseless track quickly evolved into something more dynamic. Dolium took the initial framework into the studio and, as Rhys puts it, “added their venom,” with the song ultimately “bent beautifully into shape between us from across the miles.” Built remotely, with ideas passed back and forth, ‘Shame!’ became a true crossfire – LiVES driving the choruses while Dolium took command of the verses. The result is a track that feels both fractured and unified: two bands, one shared fury…

LiVES vs Dolium – UK duel headline shows

15 May 2026 – The Dead Famous, Newquay

16 May 2026 – The Water Rats, London 

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Shame

Christopher Nosnibor

One measure of how much I’ve enjoyed a night is by volume the notes I’ve made. It’s not a hard and fast rule, but fewer notes tend to indicate that I’ve been too immersed in the performances – and likely being social in between – to write much. And so it is that I returned home tonight with a bunch of blurry photos and the grand total of fifty-four words.

Yes, for their one-year anniversary gig, Utterly Fuzzled have laid on a truly top-class lineup – and it’s drawn a deservedly significant crowd. And the gong is back! A feature of the early events, it’s a welcome return for this signature piece of instrumentation, which variously heralds the opening of a set, or otherwise

Sheffield’s Duck are making their Fuzzled debut, and showcase a northern post-punk style that emanates authenticity, due in no small part to their vintage drum machine and synths which define the sound. They had issues with their levels throughout the set, taking a song or two before the drum machine cut through some particularly murky, bassy guitar and the dominant synths, only to sink back beneath the waves two-thirds of the way through. But then the tide was in their favour, they were ace, with a crisp pop edge and some nice harmonies. In places, they reminded me of short-lived and criminally underrated goth-pop act Sunshot (whose guitarist, Toby Bricheno, is the brother of Tim Bricheno, formerly of All About Eve and The Sisters of Mercy).

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Duck

It wouldn’t be an Utterly Fuzzled event without one of the various projects of the organisers on the bill, and tonight we get a – comparatively rare – outing from Chaffinch, which in terms of lineup is essentially Knitting Circle plus an additional guitarist. Sonically, they are somewhat different. Precisely what they sound like seems to be a topic for debate, with different people hearing different things, and with no recordings, it’s impossible to verify. To my ear, it’s a cocktail of mathy post-punk with some c.86 indie jangle and a dash of shoegaze, which is perhaps best summarised as ‘chaffinchous’ (there you go, Jamie, the royalties from the coinage are in the post).

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Chaffinch

The aforementioned additional guitarist is a towering presence – both physically and sonically, and requires a lot of space for his expressive playing, playing in front of the stage, trading angular chords with Pete Dale, while Jo knocks out chunky, solid basslines by way of balance. Considering they’re debuting some new and recently revised material, they manage to keep it tight, and by the end of the set, all bar drummer Marc are in front of the stage.

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Chaffinch

Riff behemoths JUKU never disappoint, and tonight they’re fully pumped-up and giving 110%. They bring maximum riffs, and maximum rock ‘n’ roll, at maximum volume. On paper, comparatively primitive song structures, based around, repetitive chords hammered out hard is cool and all, but hardly a revelation. It’s not so much what they do, then, but how they do it: propelled by powerhouse percussion and blasting bass, the twin guitar assault forges a ferocious wall of sound. It’s not volume simply for its own sake, but with the function of rendering a visceral physicality to their performances. And they all play as if their instruments are plugged directly into the mains, with an electric, kinetic energy that positively crackles. Practically all of my photos of Dan Gott are unusable, his features blurred like a Francis Bacon portrait, and looking on, I feel as if my own face is melting in the face of the sheer sonic force tearing forth.

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JUKU

Any references likening the experience to being hit by a freight train, or a freewheeling juggernaut with failed brakes hitting terminal velocity as it screams downhill are entirely appropriate. But for all the noise, the three-way vocals and some deft detail within the guitar work demonstrates an attention to melody and nuance: they very much do have songs. ‘Out of Control’ is a straight-up grunger in the vein of Hole.

Irked were second from top of the bill at the first Utterly Fuzzled on 10th May last year (and with Crumbs and Slime City also featured, it’s possible to now look back and see just what a statement of intent this was). They’ve come quite some way in that time, having released their debut album, The Grievance at the start of the month, and won a high-profile fan in the form of none other than Simon le Bon. If they were phenomenal a year ago, they’re even better now. The formula is classic, vintage punk, with short, sharp songs focused on three-chord riffs played hard and very, very fast, with the lyrics hollered just and hard and just as fast. Irked do pissed off and angry, but they also do fun. Not only are they incredibly entertaining, but it’s clear they’re enjoying themselves, too: Helen may be endlessly pacing, lunging, clambering, in the crowd and in your face, but she’s equally prone to fits of giggles.

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Irked

It’s guitarist Simon who delivers the chat and banter, griefing his bandmates in a good-natured way, and oftentimes absolutely hilarious, although ahead of the last couple of songs, he does pause to reflect on the state of the nation and the dire prospects we face in the wake of last week’s council elections, but taking the opportunity to praise the community spirit of nights like this. He’s absolutely right: what Utterly Fuzzled give us is more than great bands. There’s a warmth in the room (and not just because it’s packed and there’s no aircon): people come here and feel able to leave the bad shit at the door and see first-hand that there is good in the world. We need to not lose sight of this.

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Irked

They close their blistering set with a quick one-two of ‘The Hardest Man in Billingham’ and debut single ‘Backstreets’, making for a ferocious finale to a fantastic night.

The buzz in the room as people draw breath and process what they’ve just witnessed is unmistakeable. Here’s looking to another year of Fuzzled brilliance.

Christopher Nosnibor

Generally speaking, the role of the journalist is to tell the story while staying out of the picture, although Hunter S. Thompson redefined the role of the journalist when he invented gonzo. In the main, I try to remain in the shadows (quite literally), particularly when it comes to live reviews, but sometimes, there’s a narrative switch that simply could not have been anticipated that drags you into the story as a participant, rather than an observer.

“Last time we were here, we got called ‘shouty shit indie’”, says the main singer from Mince, four songs or so songs into their set. It’s true, that did happen, and I stand by that description, too. Given that the last time they were here was April last year, supporting Gans, it would seem it’s niggled them a bit. But, if you’re going to get up in front of people, don’t expect everyone to love it. At least it was no Dream Nails scenario.

Before we move forward, let’s first go back, back, back. The reason I’m here is because The 113, from Leeds, have just released their second EP, The Hedonist, and it’s nothing short of explosive. The real test of a band is whether they can cut it live, though. So now they’re out on the road, grafting – not grifting – and York on a Wednesday night is always going to be a test for an up-and-coming band working to build their fanbase.

It’s not heaving, but there’s a respectable turnout, and first on are Disappear, who trade in jangly country-flavoured indie with a hint of shoegaze. They don’t use plectrums, and the singer / guitarist demonstrates some interesting playing technique. It doesn’t always hit the mark, and the same is true of the off-key approximation of singing. The drummer keeps having to get out from behind his kit to adjust the guy’s guitar pedals, too, which is just weird. They can play, but the songs are uninspired and uninspiring. Toward the end of the set there’s a song that sounds like The Wedding Present circa Bizarro, but again, it’s let down by the vocals. As a band, they aren’t terrible, but I can’t in all conscience say they were any good. The drummer – who is impressive – needs to be in a better band.

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Disappear

And so Mince inform the crowd – who are largely enthusiastic, in fairness – about the review of the last time they were here. I stand by that description, although in fairness, there’s a bit more to it than that: there’s some 60s psych in the mix, and plenty of energy to the performance, too. They have two vocalists – the first, with mop-top haircut, wigs out while playing guitar, while the second paces petulantly, swaggers, and gives it all that. But after maybe three songs, he mostly sits or squats at the back of the stage beside the drum kit, scratching his forehead with his mic and rubbing his face, looking knackered, and stays largely quiet. After coming hard out of the traps, it’s as if he’s out of energy and given up, while the rest of the band thrash on. It’s a bit odd, and oddest of all is that it’s an exact rerun of their previous show here, and on balance they’re better when he takes a back seat (literally).

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Mince

The 113 have built considerable momentum, and fast. Their debut EP, To Combat Regret was released just over a year ago, and The Hedonist continues that arc of nihilistic post-punk aggro delivered with visceral energy. How would it translate live, and how would they fill a headline slot? It turns out they’ve got a solid album’s worth of material, which comfortably fills an hour with no long-winded waffle. They don’t need to pause for political platforming, or pass sociopolitical comment, since it’s all there in the song, which they pack in tightly. And they do so it a nonchalant confidence, too: they’ve got their sound absolutely nailed, and it’s a thick, dense sound, and crisp drums cut through, punchy percussion played with perfect precision. Much of the guitar work is sculpted feedback, but there are steely chords overlaid with sinewy lead parts, and there are times when I’m reminded of Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, another of Leeds’ finest from when the city was the spawning ground of the goth scene that emerged from post punk.

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The 113

They’re electric from start to finish, slamming in with ‘Leach’, and play with an urgency that’s impossible to manufacture. Each band member brings something specific, the towering bassist lurking in the background hammers out hefty grooves. The guitarist plays so hard he busts his A string four songs in, and because they’re not about to let up the momentum, takes another four songs to finally manage to replace it. They simply don’t pause for breath, they keep their heads down and blast them out. ‘When I Leave’ is a mid-set standout, and ‘Entertainment’ is nothing short of scorching. Set closer ‘Conscience’ is a lacerating blast and bang, that’s it, done. The 113 are a band who have got everything down – they hit hard, clinical, brutal, high impact. They’re already making inroads into Europe, and things will likely be quite different come this time next year…

Previewing the debut Hello Sunbeam EP, this is the first official transmission from the band, blending the sun-drenched textures of 60s garage rock with the restless energy of raw fuzzed-out modern indie spirit. 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.

The sonic brainchild of multi-instrumentalist Brant Hajek, Wooden Overcoat began in the isolation of 2020, when he 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.

“When I wrote ‘Home’, it kind of poured out of me, and I think I’m still interpreting it. But to me, it’s about acknowledging something beautiful, even if it can’t last. Two people who feel naturally paired, like elements of nature, slowly decomposing and self-destructing,” says Brant Hajek.

“It’s about the inevitable demise of anything, and ultimately that we need to appreciate what is here right now and live in that magical existence. It’s about having the capacity to admire even when things are burning out.”

A study in productive contradictions; while the lyrics and aesthetics might suggest a certain darkness, they are often rooted in inside jokes and a sense of warmth. 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.

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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 the way 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. Through community, the band creates a fantastic dreamlike environment for like-minded people.

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.

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