The Lacking Permanence

Clever pop songs, filled with good hooks and ready for mixtapes

The first mate adjusted the sails, letting out some wind to keep both skids on the sand. The sun shone down like a hole punched in a blast furnace someone painted blue, the radio broadcasting its gypsy salsa above the hiss of the sandmaran's travel. Leaning on the tiller, the captain let out a yell of warning as they crested a dune, gaining air for a brief moment. They still didn’t have a plan for replacing the statue, but they had a thousand miles of desert to work something out.

A completely international approach to music, with influences ranging from funk to afrobeat to Balkan brass, blurring genres and locations in a glorious celebration of groove.

Razor-sharp post-punk delivered with a disaffected Irish brogue. Very smart on many levels, recalling The Fall when they were at their most musical

The mechanic reached deep into the tool bag, knowing the required spanner would be at the very bottom. The clanking briefly drowned out the strains from the radio, its signal relayed every 500 meters by the commpods they had dropped on the way. Carefully fitting the business end of the tool between the rear set of treads on the boring machine, they found themselves exclaiming out loud “actually, I think it’s pretty interesting.” The surveyor, measuring the long tunnel behind them with an x-ray transit, looked back briefly, by now used to such outbursts. The cavern should be another two miles down.

Sparkling gems, with great ‘70s AM radio hooks and harmonies and incredibly detailed production.

There’s a handful of acts that can stand out in the vast prairie that makes up modern rural American music, transcending strummy acoustic guitars and introspective lyrics to make something deeper.

A meticulously crafted release, with extreme attention to detail and a great sense of cohesion despite a wide variety of sounds… destined to be a classic.

The engineer looked through the diminishing dawn murk and spotted the specialist’s orange scarf. The sound of the balloon-tired swamp bikes spread through the Estonian bog like hot molasses, obscuring their location but not their presence. Unnoticed in the bike’s twin V mud-wakes, a nearly-vertical black snorkel tube trailed the pair.

Old fashioned haunted country music… Orville Peck howls, croons, and yodels in a way that is extremely dramatic, yet never quite goes over the top.