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Let’s be honest: most “synth-pop” artists swear they’re weird, but Fur Trapper is actually weird, in the best, most committed way. Lisa Rieffel’s alter ego has always lived somewhere between a glitch in the matrix and a cigarette break outside an underground club, but “ Never Enough (Modern Human) ” feels like the moment she stops hinting and just rips the curtain down. The new music video, written and directed by Rieffel herself, is the kind of surreal, hyper-digital spiral that makes you question whether you’re watching art or slipping into a dream you didn’t consent to. Using greenscreen like a mad scientist discovering a new toy, she builds a world that’s glossy, uncanny, seductive, and slightly uncomfortable… kind of like being alive right now. The whole thing hits with this Wings of Desire energy, but filtered through a modern, overstimulated brain that’s been chewed up by consumer culture and spit out scrolling at 3 a.m. “Never Enough (Modern Human)” taps into that feeling we all hate to admit, wanting everything, feeling nothing, pretending we’re fine. Rieffel doesn’t dress it up. She leans into the tension, pairing shimmering ‘80s synth-pop with visuals that feel like a neon therapy session. It’s cinematic, but personal; polished, but quietly unhinged. Exactly the contradiction she intended. Her upcoming debut album, SUPER NOW, expands this universe into a full-blown synth playground, glossy textures, shadowy moods, and storytelling sharp enough to cut you. But “Never Enough (Modern Human)” is the centerpiece for a reason. It sums up the entire thesis: beautiful chaos wrapped in a pop song that hits way too close to home. Fur Trapper isn’t just dropping singles, she’s world-building. And with this release, she’s basically saying, welcome to the simulation, babe.

New Constellations did not come to play pretend healing. Their new single "Believe Again" feels like a collision between who you were, who you are, and who you're low-key afraid you might still become. It is not a song designed for background playlists or cute indie aesthetics. It lands like an overdue conversation with the younger version of yourself, the one who had ridiculous dreams and zero evidence they were possible, but still held the line anyway. For New Constellations , this is not just nostalgia. It is reclamation. "Believe Again" is built as a dialogue across time, a moment where the present self turns back and says thank you to the girl who carried the light long before there was a stage, a tour, or millions of streams. Instead of distancing herself from that version, she honors her. The result is a synth-drenched coming-of-age moment that refuses to apologize for feeling something. Starlit synths, dreamy pads, and pulse-driven percussion create a world that feels cinematic without losing emotional detail. Harlee Case's voice moves between softness and conviction, like she is letting you read pages from a diary she never planned on releasing, but finally realized she no longer needs to hide. This track is the first chapter of "It Comes in Waves," the debut album from New Constellations , the duo formed by lifelong friends Harlee Case and Josh Smith, based in Portland. They started making music in a bedroom at 14 and went their separate ways for more than a decade. Harlee Case became a voice for female empowerment and plant medicine advocacy, while Josh toured and sharpened his production instincts. Now they are back, fused into a project that feels bigger than either of them could have achieved alone. New Constellations are not the type of act quietly testing the waters. They have already garnered over 100 million streams, secured syncs with Apple TV, Good Trouble, a full-length film, and ESPRIT, and sold out tours across the West Coast, East Coast, and with Cannons. The momentum is real and getting louder. With a healing-centered North America tour in November and new singles dropping every six weeks, "Believe Again" does not feel like a single. It feels like a thesis. A reminder that growth is not betrayal, and the kid who believed first deserves a seat at the table. "Believe Again" feels deeply personal. What inspired you to write it as a conversation with your younger self? We rarely start writing with a set intention. Instead, we like to see what's already stirring inside us, to let the music rise from the subconscious or from something bigger than us both. This song came through that same way. It started as one idea and then quickly led me into a conversation with my younger self. I'm so grateful for that girl, the one who found the courage to try again after giving up. I see her differently now, with so much love and respect. She was brave enough to believe in her own vision, to hold onto the worlds she saw in her mind, and to keep building them, no matter how long it took. We're here because she refused to stop dreaming. The production feels cinematic yet intimate. How did you approach balancing those emotions sonically? Often, our songs begin with very sparse beats. I try to get a sense, or a vibe, going without it dictating the path forward too much. I want to create enough of a canvas for Harlee to be able to paint on without influencing too much too early. Once we start developing a melody or lyrical content, I will add to the beat to complement it. Often, the intimacy comes from the lyrical content or the vocal melodies, and we try to use the music production to heighten that aspect without distracting from it. What message do you hope listeners take from the balance between nostalgia and renewal in the song? I hope listeners are reminded that they, too, can choose to believe in themselves at any moment, regardless of their current life circumstances. It's never too late to become the person you've always dreamed of being. When we witness real-life examples of transformation and success, something in our minds opens up, and we begin to see that those possibilities exist for us too. Our minds are mighty, and I hope to keep inspiring people to trust that power, to have hope in themselves, and to know that it's never too late to begin again. You're heading into a North America Tour centered on healing. How does this song fit into that vision? I wouldn't say our tour is intentionally centered on healing, but our music can be used in many ways as a tool for it. That's what music has always been for me, a way to alchemize my emotions, to turn pain or confusion into something that serves my heart and purpose more fully. I believe "like attracts like," and many of the people who connect with our music are also on their own healing journeys. There's something powerful about being in a room full of people healthily moving through their emotions — singing, crying, dancing, releasing. Our shows are definitely a rollercoaster, but in the best, most cathartic way. With singles rolling out every six weeks leading to your debut album, how does "Believe Again" set the tone for what's coming next?  Believe again, in a way, is the story of our band and the path that we took to even getting here in the first place. It's very apropos that our first single from our first album is a story acknowledging and thanking the path that brought us here in the first place. It's sort of a beautiful homage to the struggles of an artist in terms of not giving up on your art when life seems to get in the way.

“Finbar” does not just play; it possesses. The Kerry Kenny Band’s latest single is a fever dream wrapped in Celtic fire, a collision of tradition and rebellion that burns brighter with every measure. From the first beat, it is clear that Kerry Kenny is not interested in being polite or predictable. She is here to exorcise something. The track opens like an invocation. A steady drumbeat simmers beneath swirling fiddles and guitar lines that feel both ancient and electric. Kenny’s voice cuts through the smoke, raw and haunting, as she chants and cries the name “Finbar” like a spell cast in real time. It is not just a name; it is a curse, a memory, an ache that refuses to die. The song builds and unravels all at once, its rhythm spiraling toward chaos before crashing into release. By the end, you are not sure whether to dance, scream, or pray. The accompanying video, co-directed by Tom Robenolt of Point Five Films, turns that energy into pure visual combustion. Ink scrawls across paper, flames devour words, and Kenny becomes both storyteller and subject, the woman unraveling and the witness to her own undoing. It is Gothic, feral, and hypnotic, the kind of imagery that clings long after the final frame. What makes “Finbar” so gripping is its fearless blend of worlds. You can hear echoes of Irish folk tradition in its bones, but the blood running through it is pure rock and roll. Kenny’s years of studying and performing across Europe, Asia, and the United States are reflected in her sound, from the operatic phrasing to the punkish edge that refuses to conform. Every moment feels alive, dangerous, and deliberate. “Finbar” serves as the ignition point for Kenny’s upcoming album Brutal Best . If this is the tone-setter, listeners are in for a raw and fearless ride. Kerry Kenny does not just perform her songs; she inhabits them. With “Finbar,” she has lit a fuse that will not be easily put out. "Finbar" feels deeply personal yet wildly theatrical. What inspired the story behind it? The Caoimhe character (pronounced "Keeva") is primarily inspired by the heartbroken heroine in  "The Blacksmith ," one of my favorite Planxty songs (and one I perform every St. Patrick's Day ad nauseam). Having grown up performing St. Patrick's Day gigs in my family's Irish pub and studying Irish Music in Ireland, I've been surrounded by traditional Irish songs my whole life. The themes of those tunes cover everything from drunken antics to infidelity, betrayal, and death (often sung with a wink and a smile). That mix of tragedy wrapped in melody always fascinated me. When I began writing  Finbar,  I wanted to capture that same spirit. The song centers on Caoimhe, an obsessed and unhinged woman who refuses to let go of her love for Finbar. She's a little dangerous, maybe even delusional, but she's also very human. The video's imagery is powerful and symbolic. How did you develop the concept of ink and fire? The  Finbar  video shows the layers of Caoimhe's unraveling mind. It begins with her in a pub, still functioning but barely holding it together, then shifts to her performing for a lone audience member. From there, she descends into ritual, fire, and chaos. When she is at last scrawling Finbar's name over and over, it's raw, staining, and an obvious testament to her uncontrollable obsession. The fire is her final act as she burns an effigy of Finbar. (We are left not knowing what that means for poor Fin!) Working with Tom Robenolt of Point Five Films was incredible because he immediately understood the madness and joined right in. Your sound combines Celtic roots with rock and punk influences. How do you maintain that balance of authenticity? I don't know how to be inauthentic. (Doesn't that sound inauthentic?). My host family in Bray, Ireland, always complimented me for being so "down to earth" (apparently, it was a quality they hadn't expected from an American). For me, authenticity means honoring my roots while simultaneously refusing to be confined by them. I thrive on the challenge of songwriting and can't stand to be confined to a single style. My musical idols are incredibly diverse, including artists such as PJ Harvey, Elvis Costello, The Beatles, Nick Cave, Laurie Anderson, Björk, and Tom Waits. My music dives into the grit and energy of rock and punk at times. Listeners can hear emotion, truth, and sometimes even a touch of humor. I hope anyone who listens to one of my albums finds it to be alive and unpredictable. You have lived and performed in various parts of the world. How have those experiences shaped your songwriting? Living in places like Limerick, Krakow, Seoul, and Thailand has significantly changed how I view the world. For example, the song "Finbar" got some of its inspiration from studying Irish music and literature in Limerick. I met people named Finbar and Caoimhe there. (No, the song isn't actually about them, but I always remembered those cool names!) My constant search for new music and musical styles has been significantly enhanced by traveling. All that globetrotting also hammered home the idea that we're all pretty similar, which really opened up my creativity. It led me to blend different cultural sounds, experiment with words in multiple languages, and write from a place of genuine connection through characters, rather than just focusing on myself. When you see how big the world really is, it's easy to be humble and realize how much there is to learn and experience. My journey proves that if a girl from a small, working-class town in Pennsylvania can travel, learn, teach, and create worldwide, anyone can pursue their dreams. "Finbar" is the first single on your new album , Brutal Best.  What can fans expect from the rest of the record? Brutal Best  can be a raw and emotional journey, or it can be a lighthearted romp at times. Some songs take you into deep emotional truth, and others refer to Japan's 111 active volcanoes. No two tracks sound alike. You'll hear touches of classic rock, folk, post-punk, and even some unexpected grooves like the gypsy-reggaetón feel in  Finbar.    It's an album about courage and owning your story, even the messy parts. I want people to feel inspired to create, to take risks, and to stop hesitating. Whether it's music, art, or life itself, do it.

If you’re expanding your collection or just exploring new sounds, especially while browsing banjos for sale , using the right recording approach can help every instrument in your lineup shine in a mix. Small adjustments can make a big difference, and these tricks are designed to work for beginners and experienced musicians alike. Trick #1: Choose the Right Room (or Create One) The room you record in has a huge impact on tone because sound bounces off walls, floors, and ceilings. Hard surfaces can make strings sound sharp or echoey, while softer materials help create a cleaner and more controlled recording. You can improve almost any space by adding simple DIY sound control. Hanging blankets, placing cushions around reflective areas, or recording in a quieter corner of your home can make your instrument sound warmer and more focused. A small space doesn’t have to be a disadvantage when you learn how to soften harsh reflections. Trick #2: Experiment With Mic Distance and Angle Even a small change in mic position can dramatically shape the tone  of a stringed instrument. Moving the microphone just a few inches can shift the balance between warmth, clarity, and brightness. For most home setups, starting with the mic 12 to 18 inches away works well. From there, tilt the mic slightly or move it left or right to reduce harshness or capture more resonance. These tiny adjustments often fix issues faster than heavy editing. Trick #3: Use a Second Mic for Natural Depth Placing a second microphone in the room can add depth and space to your recordings . This helps make the instrument feel more real and natural, especially when you blend the close and room mics together. A spaced pair or a simple angled setup can give your recording a gentle stereo image. Just be sure to listen for any phase problems, which happen when the mics pick up sound waves at slightly different times. If something sounds hollow, adjust the distance until the tone feels full again. Trick #4: Tame Harsh Frequencies Before They Happen Instead of relying heavily on EQ later, you can avoid harsh tones by positioning the microphone more thoughtfully. Pointing the mic directly at bright spots, like the soundhole of an acoustic guitar or the f-holes of a violin, can create an overly sharp sound. Try aiming the mic slightly off-center or moving it toward the side of the instrument . These adjustments soften the tone naturally, meaning you’ll need far less editing afterward. Light EQ can still help, but capturing a clean sound at the source is always better. Trick #5: Capture Multiple Takes With Slight Variations Recording several takes of the same part adds richness and detail. Each take will sound a little different because no two performances are exactly alike, and these small differences blend into a thicker, more interesting sound. You can double-track a simple melody or layer chords to create a wide, warm texture. This technique works beautifully for string ensembles, but it can also bring life to solo parts when used carefully. Trick #6: Add Subtle Ambience for a Polished Feel A touch of reverb can make your strings sound smoother  and more polished, especially if the recording space is small or dry. The key is to add ambience that enhances the natural character without overwhelming it. Short room reverbs create an intimate feel, while hall or plate reverbs can add shine for more emotional or atmospheric parts. Start with a small amount and increase it slowly until the instrument sits comfortably in the mix. Too much reverb can blur the details, so gentle use is best. Trick #7: Keep Strings Fresh and Instruments Well-Maintained Fresh strings create clearer tones, stronger harmonics, and better sustain. Old strings often sound dull or uneven, so replacing them regularly is one of the easiest ways to improve your recordings instantly. Instrument maintenance also matters. Keeping the body clean, checking the condition of the bow (for bowed strings), and ensuring tuning stability all contribute to a smoother recording experience. A healthy instrument produces a healthier sound, and your microphone will pick up the difference. Putting Everything Together When recording at home, small choices add up quickly. The room you use, the distance of your mic, the care you give your instrument, and the creative decisions you make all work together to shape the final sound. Experimenting, listening closely, and adjusting as you go will help you find what works best for each instrument and musical style. With these simple DIY tricks , you don’t need expensive gear or a professional studio to capture beautiful, shining string recordings. Trust your ears, stay patient, and let your instruments speak naturally. The more you practice, the more confident and skilled you’ll become in shaping your own signature sound.

Nokturna aren’t playing nice anymore. The once-jazz combo turned metal wrecking crew just cracked open their next era with “Deadwater,” a track that doesn’t just dabble in darkness, it drinks it straight and asks for another round. With Jamie McIntosh and Ethan Hippel ripping on guitars, Liam Tupling detonating the kit, and Leland Haas locking the whole thing in place, Nokturna have ditched the warm glow of improvisational jazz for something far more feral. Good. It suits them. “Deadwater” is ugly, honest, and necessary. This song was born out of real-life collapse, the kind you don’t post on Instagram because it’s not aesthetic. It’s the sound of standing still too long in your own head, of realizing the life you built doesn’t fit anymore, and tearing it apart anyway. When they spit lines like, “Drown inside the deadwater” and “A newborn infant, spineless cold,” it’s not for dramatic flair. It’s because rebirth isn’t cute. It’s violent. And sometimes it starts at the bottom. Sonically, Nokturna drags you under. Riffs slam like concrete blocks, drums hit like they’re trying to break bone, and melodic breaks bleed just long enough to remind you you’re still alive. Fans of Gojira, Slipknot, and early Metallica will feel at home here, but Nokturna aren’t copy-pasting anybody. Their sound swings between primal terror and razor-sharp introspection, and the tension is addictive. What keeps “Deadwater” from rotting in its own misery is the flicker of defiance underneath. Nokturna knows damn well that isolation breaks people, but it also forges them. The track doesn’t promise a perfect comeback, just the right to crawl out of whatever hell you’re in and start again. As their first major statement after Fractured Reality, “Deadwater” makes one thing brutally clear: Nokturna didn’t evolve to fit in; they evolved to take over. They’re building something heavier, deeper, and far more human than genre constraints will ever contain. Anyone who’s ever suffocated in silence or had to rebuild from wreckage will hear themselves in this track. “Deadwater” explores isolation and rebirth. How personal was this writing process for the band? Very, Deadwater came about at a very tumultuous time in our band. There was a lot of internal tension, rivalry, and, most of all, separation. It was probably the most separated we had been as people during that time. Deadwater explored a lot of the feelings we were feeling, and eventually, how we got through it. You began as a jazz combo. How did that early foundation influence your approach to metal? Well, in all honesty, we had no idea we’d end up doing metal in the beginning, but we all kind of felt like that genre fit better with the kind of art we wanted to create at the time that we switched over. We kind of see Jazz and Metal as two sides of the same coin, both having a heavy focus on musicianship, technicality, and overall, both genres are an amazing way to convey emotion and feeling through technically complex music. So it just felt right, and overall didn’t really change how we approached creating and playing music together. In all honesty, it just made us feel more comfortable. The lyrics balance bleak imagery with hope. How do you find that line musically? During our writing process, we often start with the instrumental and then write the lyrics over top. So most of the time, the lyrical topic is usually decided after the instrumental is complete. In this case, after writing and practicing, we had decided to name the track “Deadwater” and base it on isolation and rebirth, some key ideas that will be reappearing in future projects. Afterwards we revisited the instrumental to make some specific changes to reflect that, the verse sections are very dry and almost claustrophobic feeling, as that’s where a lot of the bleakness sits, and then the chorus/bridge/breakdown sections are much bigger, filled with reverb and a lot of space, to reflect the more hopeful feelings behind the lyrics in those sections. Nokturna draws influence from giants like Metallica and Gojira. How do you carve out your unique identity within those shadows? Ever since the beginning of the band, we’ve been massively influenced by bands we love, even starting out our metal era by doing mostly Metallica covers. But as we evolved into doing our own original stuff, we developed an ethos around paying respect and combining all of our influences into one big melting pot of ideas. All of the bands that we love are majorly important in our lives, and to us, it’s incredibly important to show that through our music, it’s all about looking at what came before and evolving upon it. With Deadwater signaling a new chapter, what can fans expect from your next era? There will be lots of big changes coming your way, the music’s getting heavier, the lyrics deeper and more storied, and the live shows getting crazier. We’re entering an era based on rich, emotional storytelling and brutal, heavy music. We cannot wait for everyone to hear what we’ve been working on.

Some artists reinvent themselves. Klypso straight-up reincarnates. After running laps through the industry, Dr. Dre protégé, Grammy-nominated producer, Flo Rida’s DJ, he’s now stepping into his most personal era with The Stray Cat Trilogy. And if the first installment, “ Stray Cat ,” is any sign, this story isn’t just about heartbreak, it’s about what happens when you claw your way back to yourself. The track opens with soft, fluttery guitar, an air-thin atmosphere, like someone exhaling a prayer in an empty room. Then Klypso shows up with a vocal performance that’s both bruised and unbothered. He isn’t begging to be understood; he’s documenting the moment pain turns into purpose. The track blends pop polish with faith-fueled reflection, but never in a corny, youth-group-retreat way. This is heartbreak for grown people who’ve lived through some things. “Stray Cat” gets vulnerable without losing bite. It sits in that uncomfortable space between loneliness and grace, the place you land when you’re tired of hurting but not done hoping. The chorus lifts like it’s trying to outrun gravity, while the verses keep it grounded with the kind of honesty that stings a little. Then there’s the visual universe, because of course there is. Klypso isn’t doing singles; he’s building lore. The music video expands the narrative, following a celestial wanderer who drops to earth to remind the world that compassion still exists. Not in a sanitized, feel-good way, but in a way that acknowledges how ugly life can get before it gets holy. He brings sight, warmth, and second chances to people written off by everyone else. It’s giving cinematic scripture, art for people who believe in something but don’t always trust religion. “Stray Cat” is the sound of a man who’s survived enough endings to stop fearing them. Klypso isn’t chasing hits here; he’s telling the truth. And in a pop landscape obsessed with flexing and detachment, that honesty hits harder than any drop. “Stray Cat” marks the beginning of a trilogy that combines music, film, and visual art. What inspired you to approach storytelling this way? “Stray Cat” was born from a place that felt spiritual, not just emotional. The story didn’t fit inside one format; it needed a song, a visual, and a myth. The trilogy lets me show the journey from heartbreak to hope to higher meaning. The music expresses the raw pain, the film shows the light breaking through, and the comic dives into the spiritual symbolism behind it all. It’s one message told through three different lenses. The song speaks openly about heartbreak and faith. How did your own experiences shape its meaning? This song came from one of the hardest seasons of my life, but it also came from faith. That quiet whisper that tells you you’re still being guided. I’ve been broken, confused, and abandoned, but I’ve also felt God show up when I didn’t expect it. “Stray Cat” is me admitting I didn’t understand the pain, but trusting there was purpose in it. That blend of heartbreak and spirituality is what gives the song its power. You have worked across hip-hop and pop for years. How does “Stray Cat” reflect your evolution as an artist? For the first time, I let myself make something that wasn’t defined by genre; it was defined by spirit. “Stray Cat” isn’t just pop or hip-hop; it’s a moment of honesty. It’s me stepping into a deeper version of myself and letting the message, not the category, lead the way. I think this track marks the start of me creating from a more spiritual place, not just a musical one. The music video has striking imagery. What message were you hoping to convey through its visuals? The visuals are meant to feel almost sacred. The character falling from the sky represents a spiritual force, a messenger, a guide, showing up when people need it most. Every scene is symbolic: sight being restored, hope returning, a spark of light in dark moments. I wanted the video to remind people that even when life feels broken, there’s something bigger at work. Grace reaches everyone, even the “stray” ones. How does the upcoming comic book complete the story that begins with “Stray Cat”? The comic takes the spiritual message and expands it into a mythic story. It reveals who this sky-born character is, why he’s sent, and how he transforms the people he encounters. It ties the heartbreak from the song and the hope from the video into a bigger, spiritual narrative about purpose and rebirth. It’s the last chapter that shows the full transformation from pain to enlightenment.

The Neighbourhood formed in 2011 in Newbury Park, California, a place that shouldn’t have produced a band capable of reshaping internet-era emotion, yet somehow did. From the beginning, there was something cinematic about them. Not polished, not eager, just aware  in a way that made listeners feel like they were being let in on something private. Jesse Rutherford didn’t sing like he was performing for a crowd. He sang like someone whispering through a door, letting you hear the parts of yourself you didn’t know how to say out loud. The band’s grayscale aesthetic wasn’t branding; it was a climate. A fog. A world. When I Love You.  arrived in 2013, and “ Sweater Weather ” spread like a fever; it didn’t feel like a breakout single. It felt like someone finally put a sound to the kind of quiet longing that lives under your ribs and refuses to leave. People didn’t just listen, they attached parts of their lives to it. The song didn’t trend. It took root. They Weren’t a Band. They Were a Location on a Map. The Neighbourhood didn’t stay contained to that one era. Their catalog evolved like a person does, awkwardly, beautifully, sometimes painfully. Wiped Out!  stretched their coastal melancholy into something larger and harder to swallow. Their self-titled album fractured that world into strobe-lit neon and electronic bruising. And then Chip Chrome & The Mono-Tones  arrived, strange and theatrical, as if the band needed to wear a mask to say things they were too raw to confront directly. The fandom shifted with them, not because every listener understood every sonic choice, but because the music was never just sound. It was a shelter. It was the feeling of scrolling through your camera roll at 1:11 AM searching for a version of yourself that made more sense. Other artists made songs. The Neighbourhood made coping mechanisms. The Silence That Felt Like an Abandoned House And then, without a meltdown or farewell or dramatic digital exit, there was silence. The band stepped back. Social echoes went dim. The internet filled in blanks like it always does, threads, theories, timelines, fragments. But what mattered most wasn’t the information. It was the absence. Some musicians go away, and everyone moves on by morning. But when The Neighbourhood stopped speaking, a generation quietly waited in the doorway of a house they weren’t sure they were allowed to return to. Their absence felt less like a breakup and more like waking up to find furniture gone and a note left behind that just said, don’t forget what this meant. Years passed. The culture changed. The algorithm tried to replace them with replicas, same reverb, same heartbreak vocabulary, none of the marrow. Then came the shift. A heartbeat in the static. A return. Not as nostalgia bait or a forced reunion tour, but as a band that looked back at everything that happened and didn’t run from it. A nearly sold-out tour. A new album. A Warner Records deal. Not everyone gets to re-enter the world at the same volume they left it, but The Neighbourhood was never listened to out of convenience. People didn’t stumble back; they had been waiting with the light on the entire time. The New Chapter: (((((ultraSOUND))))) (((((ultraSOUND)))))   doesn’t try to resurrect past ghosts, though they are present in the corners of the soundscape. It feels like a band testing the air after being gone too long, like stepping back into a room where something once shattered and deciding to rebuild anyway. The production is heavier, minimal, and suffocating in places, pulling you inward rather than out. It contains the weight of what wasn’t said during those silent years, not as explanation, but as evidence. This isn’t a young band aching for recognition. It’s a grown one learning how to speak without flinching. If you enter (((((ultraSOUND)))))  looking for “Sweater Weather: The Sequel,” you will miss the entire point. The Neighbourhood is not a band living in the shadow of who they were. The strongest tracks feel like they’re carving open the parts of memory that are easier to leave buried. Some songs move like someone pacing and rehearsing the truth. Others feel like a door being opened a few inches wider than last time. Not every track detonates. But the ones that do feel like someone finally exhaling after holding their breath for years. The album is uneven in the human way, not the lazy one. The Neighbourhood did something rare in a culture addicted to output: they stopped. They stepped away instead of hollowing themselves out for content. And when they returned, the world didn’t have to be convinced to care. It remembered.

David Arquette, Danny A. Abeckaser, Daniella Pick Tarantino, Quentin Tarantino Los Angeles had its moment of high-stakes glam this week as The Perfect Gamble  rolled out its exclusive U.S. premiere at the legendary Harmony Gold Theater. Directed by Danny A. Abeckaser and presented by 2B Films with Saban Films, powered by the event-driven platform Rumor, the night brought together Hollywood icons, rising talents, and industry heavyweights for a first look at the crime thriller everyone’s about to start talking about. The evening kicked off with an intimate pre-reception featuring El Cristiano Tequila and Mezcal tastings, Doctors Orders Wines, Golden Reserve Caviar, and Acqua Panna Water, setting the tone for a premiere that blended luxury with grit, much like the film itself. A Packed House of VIPs & Power Players Eli Roth and Daniella Pick Tarantino The red carpet was stacked. Attendees included David Arquette, Daniella Pick Tarantino, Quentin Tarantino, Eli Roth, Moran Atias, Katie Cassidy, Harry Goodwins, Diana Madison, Paris Dylan, Madison Brodsky, Stephen Huszar, and countless more actors, producers, creatives, and industry fixtures. The film’s stars Arquette, Pick Tarantino, and Abeckaser were joined by co-stars Herzl Tobey, Hadar Shitrit, Dean Miroshnikov, and Sal Tesauro, along with executive producers Yaki Reisner and Eli Weiss. Following the screening, guests stayed for an insightful Q&A moderated by Christopher Gialanella (Publisher, LA Magazine), giving attendees a deeper look into the film’s world, characters, and behind-the-scenes process. Inside the Film The Perfect Gamble follows ex-cons Charlie (Arquette) and Felix (Abeckaser) as they launch an underground casino operation in Georgia. Their rise is fast and dangerous, catching the attention of the Russian mafia. As tensions escalate, Charlie becomes entangled with Sonia (Pick Tarantino), a mysterious woman with secrets of her own. It’s a noir-leaning crime story full of risk, heat, and human complexity. The film hits theaters starting with an exclusive run at The Vista Theater in Los Angeles on November 14, 15, and 16. Audiences across the U.S. can also catch the movie via major Cable, Satellite, and Telco providers, including Xfinity, DirecTV, AT&T U-verse, Cox, Charter/Time Warner, Verizon, Frontier, and more. Digital streaming will be available on Apple TV, iTunes, Amazon Prime Video, Google Play, YouTube Movies, Vudu (Fandango), and Microsoft Movies & TV.

Greenness returns with Honeymoons, their boldest and most extravagant chapter yet. Three years in the making, the album feels like a full bloom moment where every influence they have ever loved crashes together in vivid color. The duo stretches far beyond the quiet introspection of Sunrooms, trading minimalism for a rich palette of art rock, orchestral flourishes, folk tones, jazz twists, retro pop sparkle, and electronic ambience. It is immersive, dramatic, and intentionally overflowing. For the first time, Greenness opens the door to a whole cast of collaborators. Harp, clarinet, double bass, cello, layered guitars, and heavy percussion build a world that feels handcrafted and cinematic at the same time. Cess Greenness commands the center with vocals that move from tender to theatrical, while Graham constructs an entire universe from their home studio with astonishing detail. Honeymoons is not about one perfect phase. It is about the many moments where love, art, and life suddenly feel new again. It captures that dizzying rush of holding something beautiful and fearing its loss in the very same breath. What shift in your lives or artistry sparked the creation of Honeymoons? We started working on Honeymoons about 3 years ago, shortly after the release of our debut album Sunrooms. At the time, we were emerging from the lockdown era and experiencing a more vibrant social environment again, which inspired the creation of a new album that involved collaboration, as opposed to Sunrooms (recorded between 2019 and 2022), which was more of a "hermit-style" project. How did bringing in new collaborators reshape the emotional tone of the record? It allowed us to explore new sounds and textures; for instance, the clarinet on 'Play On' adds playfulness, and there's something bittersweet about it, which fits the song perfectly. The strings on Swells bring so much emotional intensity, and the cello and bass clarinet on Psychopomps add darkness and drama. I also absolutely love the Tarantino-style saxophone part on Sweetness, and the subtle harp textures here and there (for instance, there's a recording of the wind blowing through a Celtic harp at the end of track 6, which marks the halfway point of the album). We are fortunate to know many talented musicians who have been kind enough to share their gifts with our humble home studio. The album explores themes of abundance, temptation, and fear. Which theme challenged you the most while writing? Fear, and more specifically, the fear of losing your loved ones. My dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer one year ago, and this was very much on my mind when working on Psychopomps ("I'm not ready to meet my death.") I think with this album, in the lyrics, I was trying to articulate the absolute weirdness of being human. We have to deal with so many contradictory feelings all at once, all the time: love, death, envy, empathy, despair, joy, regret, longing, desire, fear, gratitude, and anger. It's a total roller coaster. Writing songs and making art in general is our way of expressing it and trying to make sense of it. How did the home studio environment shape the sound of this album? We've recorded all our previous albums in the same home studio, so it's a very familiar place - it's literally just a corner of our living room: simple and cosy! The best thing about it is that we have total freedom; we can work on music whenever we feel like it, without having to book somewhere for a limited time. This means that more creative experimentation can occur, allowing us to take our time and try things out, which encourages us to come up with more unusual ideas. When was the most recent moment you felt an actual "honeymoon phase" in your creative journey? Very recently, actually, through the acquisition of a stage piano! Whenever we get a new instrument, there's always a total honeymoon phase happening, where one or both of us just play it obsessively and then lots of new songs happen, just like that. So I reckon the next Greenness era will be less guitar-based and full of ivories instead...

Brandon Lee Adams has lived enough musical lives to fill a novel, but "I’ll Follow Summer" feels like the chapter he was meant to write. The Emmy-winning host, acclaimed guitarist, and lifelong student of Americana returns to his roots with a song that captures the delicate balance between gratitude for what’s been and excitement for what’s next. From the first chord, "I’ll Follow Summer" feels alive. There’s warmth in its melody and confidence in its delivery. The track moves with ease, reflecting Adams’ years of craft and conviction. His voice carries both wisdom and hope, singing of change not as an ending but as an evolution. “The unknown can be its own joy,” he says, and that truth echoes through every lyric. Recorded live with a dream team of musicians, including Vince Gill, Tim O’Brien, John McEuen, John Jorgenson, and Glenn Worf, the song radiates authenticity. You can hear the chemistry between players, the shared energy in the room, and the respect in every note. It’s music that breathes, unfiltered and human. The accompanying music video, directed by Adams’ wife Mindy, strips away all pretense. Shot in the studio with Hayzens Productions, it simply shows the artists playing together, lost in the moment. The result is quietly powerful. There are no distractions or manufactured moments, only genuine artistry on full display. As Adams prepares for new releases and his upcoming shows, "I’ll Follow Summer" serves as both a reflection and a declaration. It’s a song about stepping forward with courage, trusting the process, and honoring the past without being trapped by it. For an artist who has spent his life shaping sound and story, this feels like him coming home to himself.