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With so much direct communication around us, many are lonelier than ever and Woodland has zeroed in on this with their fourth album Modern Life Is Lonely, inspired by the title of Blur’s 1993 album, the world is still rubbish but genuine connection seems further away than it ever has been, we can instant message but you’ll never really know a person until you’ve spent time with them in the physical world and this record is a reaction to that.

It’s both catharsis and solace if you need it, the viewpoint of the band turned from being an insular personal thing to a more far reaching observation of the weirdness of life, how we worship pop culture icons that don’t exist and how bands and people are considered to be famous and worth following, that they have the answers even though they themselves are still trying to work things out.

This is explored on the glitchy and ferocious Title Track where there is a scream of “Too much of a good thing…not sure I want it anymore”, the chopping and changing of this song present on the whole album as they play with non linear sound design, produced by Daniel Braunstein who, half the record was written and recorded over Discord while the other in a studio in real time over in America.

Lucas, guitarist Scott Carey and bassist Benjamin Elliot, throwing a plethora of influences at the record, editing them in way that the songs oscillate through fragments of multiple soundscapes, constructed rather than left to flow, the electronics, synths, effects all used to create that feeling of being in digital world, disenfranchised but overwhelmed by all of the attention you can receive with any sort of talent.

It means that they can easily shift from haunting acoustics on Shells Like Us, into the euphoric Heaven, switching into hyperpop, with the breakbeats of Lucid Love and the boisterous Re-Animate and fuzzy lo-fi on Kyoto Snow. It’s all bent around the foundations of anthemic post hardcore which bubbles to the surface on Whispers Of A Dream and brings the powerhouse angst of Linkin Park on Reflection.

With guest appearances from Julia Wolf and Paledusk, Modern Life Is Lonely shifts the focus of Holding Absence, the intimate deconstruction of their frontman’s personal journey has been redirected towards the world at large. Creating a record that tries to make the world feel less terrifying through artistic expression but warns that while they don’t hold all the answers, it’s a sense of unity that is needed to incite real change. 9/10

Steve Cropper & The Midnight Hour – Watching The Tide (Provogue Records) [Matt Bladen]

You may feel, like me to approach this album, with some sadness, some introspection, and remember because Watching The Tide is the final album from the mighty Steve Cropper. 

A man who pretty much invented a whole genre of music, guitarist, songwriter, producer and engineer for Stax records he co-wrote Green Onions and Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay, which is given the nod in the title of this record.

However Cropper was also a prolific session and solo musician and of course a part of The Blues Brothers Rhythm And Blues Review. In December 2025 though 60’s of genius ended when Cropper tragically passed away, but not without collecting a lot of material left to give us. 

Having listened to the mixes of this album before his passing, Watching The Tide is a celebration of R&B, blues and rock n roll innovated by Cropper, with only My Angels Are Calling, now taking on a completely different meaning, a bittersweet song about faith and a nostalgic look at his life and career.

Produced by Jon Tiven, there’s a warmth to to the record that lets the analogue instruments and the soulful playing of then 83 year old Cropper take centre stage. 

Cropper co-wrote with Tiven and vocalist Roger C. Reale as his band featuring Ana Grosh (vocals), Nioshi Jackson (drums), engineer Eddie Gore (keys/percussion) making sure that these songs shine brightly, highlighting the talent that 60 years in the game gets you.

He also has some friends join in as Old Slow Hand, Eric Clapton pays homage, as does Brian May, Billy F. Gibbons and Ronnie Wood, all adding some starpower to these tracks but really they appear to be featured next to Cropper on a record, acknowledging his contribution to musical history as a musician.

As far as Watching The Tide goes, it’s a record that has transformed into a tribute by real life events, though it was never meant to be. It’s a great R&B record that features all the funk, soul, blues and rock n roll you would want from Steve Cropper and his most recent band, The Midnight Hour. 

The third posthumous chapter of a late in life renaissance from an artist who is extremely influential on the guest artists featured here and American music in general but always delivered without ego and with a huge talent. 9/10

Kulk – Choosing To Die (Church Road Records) [Spike]

Spanning nine tracks across a taut, breathless runtime, Choosing To Die strips away any lingering fat from the sludge/doom formula and replaces it with the teeth-gnashing urgency of noise rock and hardcore. The opening track, An Endless Knife, waste zero time. It begins with high-pitched, whining guitar feedback before Thom barks the chilling opening lyric: “Time ends us all.” When the sludge riff drops, it lands with catastrophic force, anchored by Jade’s rolling, thunderous percussion.

What sets Kulk apart from so many of their doom peers is their mastery of pacing. Tracks like We’re Worried About You crash in at just over a minute and a half, delivering a blistering, punk-fuelled blast of adrenaline that rips past before you can even brace yourself. Being Forgotten and Collapse follow with a suffocating, claustrophobic atmosphere. On Collapse, Thom repeats just a handful of words over a droning, industrial squall before the song detonates into a frantic, grunge-tinged descent into chaos.

On the back half, they expand their sonic palette without diluting the venom. For Blood is a masterclass in slow-burning groove, letting a hypnotic drum rhythm build momentum over nearly two minutes before the guitars tear the canvas wide open. To Take Life pushes into dark, mechanized textures that wouldn’t feel out of place on an early Godflesh record.

Then comes the album’s most daring turn: The Saddest Holiday. Breaking away from the sheer physical aggression of the opening half, it drops into a hazy, mournful waltz where Jade’s sombre vocals hover over a bed of melodic distortion. It’s fragile, deeply moving, and catches you completely off guard. 

It flows seamlessly into the five-minute centrepiece Ache, which introduces weeping string arrangements that elevate the duo’s bleak, grief-stricken lyricism (“Where I had patience I have hate / Where I had love I have ache”) into an expansive, tragic climax. By the time the ambient, noise-drenched decay of Our Last Walk fades out, you feel physically and emotionally wrung out.

Choosing To Die takes the pain, grief, and harsh reality of mortality and channels them into a focused, razor-sharp statement of intent. Making heavy music this bleak and vulnerable without falling into self-indulgence takes serious guts and serious craft.

Do yourself a favour: buy the record, turn it up until the walls rattle, but above all else, get down to a sweaty basement club and experience Thom and Jade tearing up a room in person. It’s an essential experience. 9/10

Cor De Lux – Year Of The Horse (Ipecac Recordings) [Spike]

Cor de Lux make a point of noting that they didn’t come out of an algorithmic feed or a remote shared folder; they came out of a rehearsal room. You can hear that physical sweat across every minute of Year Of The Horse. 

Hailing from North Carolina’s Outer Banks, an isolated coastal stretch far removed from traditional indie-rock hubs, this quartet has spent years building their sound the hard way. Now signed to Mike Patton’s Ipecac Recordings and working with producer J. Robbins (Jawbox, War on Women), they’ve delivered a record that refuses to sit neatly in any single pen.

They describe themselves as four friends playing post-punk and noise rock, but that only scratches the surface. What makes Year Of The Horse so compelling is its refusal to behave. Across nine tracks and a tight thirty-eight-minute runtime, they bounce between angular post-hardcore, dream-pop whimsy, and sudden eruptions of pure garage fury. It sounds erratic on paper, but because the band shares such an intuitive chemistry, the transitions feel completely organic.

The record opens with Blind Smile, setting the tone with a hazy, shoegaze-adjacent crawl that suddenly sharpens into an angular, Unwound-style post-hardcore pulse. The track builds around true emotional stakes, inspired by vocalist Dawn Moraga’s cousin and bassist John Bliven’s work with visually impaired anglers. Dawn’s vocal shifts between quiet, melodic restraint and urgent, spoken-word declarations give the song a raw, unvarnished edge.

It rolls straight into the lead single, The Cringe, which is easily one of the most immediate tracks on the album. Anchored by a lolloping rhythm and a blistering squall of guitars that recalls Sonic Youth at their dirtiest, the track targets corporate greed and economic inequality with genuine venom. The dual vocals between Tim Lusk and Dawn carry an urgent bite, perfectly capturing the discomfort of modern life before easing into a brief, desert-rock detour.

Then they pull off an audacious left turn with Ping Pong. At six minutes long, it spends its first half behaving like a breezy slice of classic C86-inspired indie and dream-pop, evoking warm, sun-dappled afternoons. Just when you think you’ve figured out where it’s going, the track detonates around the four-minute mark, shooting into the stratosphere on a rocket of overdriven noise. That sudden contrast makes it clear why an adventurous label like Ipecac jumped at the chance to sign them.

The middle stretch keeps you constantly on your toes. The Western delivers a choppy, driving post-punk workout, while Bread Bag flirts with mathy, conversational dynamics before blowing the doors off with sudden bursts of overdrive. On The Deli, they weave a motorik beat through noodly, Pavement-esque guitar lines, proving they know how to deliver infectious melodies without smoothing down their sharp edges.

By the time the closing run of Cannibals, Long Face People, and Strawberries brings the journey home, you realise you’ve listened to something genuinely rare: an eclectic, unpredictable guitar record threaded with sharp humour, great tunes, and zero pretension. Year Of The Horse proves that when four musicians lock themselves in a room and follow their instincts rather than the latest trends, the results can be quietly brilliant. 9/10