On Of Earth & Wires, Dua Saleh delivers their most ambitious and emotionally resonant work yet — an album caught somewhere between collapse and rebirth. Blending indie, alternative R&B, electronic pop, Sudanese folk textures, and flashes of UK club energy, the LA-based artist transforms personal grief and cultural displacement into something strangely luminous.

Executive produced by Billy Lemos and featuring appearances from Bon Iver, Gaidaa, and aja monet, the record thrives on contrast: warm melodies crashing into fractured electronics, soft intimacy interrupted by emotional static. Opener “5 Days” sets the tone beautifully, beginning as a fragile folk moment before spiralling into distortion and chaos.

Of Earth & Wires, out now via Ghostly International

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The album’s strongest moments arrive when Saleh leans fully into vulnerability. “Anemic” simmers with late-night tenderness, while “I Do, I Do” folds Sudanese folk instrumentation into aching pop songwriting. Standout “Firestorm,” inspired by the Los Angeles fires, feels especially powerful — a love song wrapped in smoke, grief, and fleeting hope.

There are moments where the album’s sprawling ideas threaten to overflow, but that tension is also what makes Of Earth & Wires feel alive. Rather than polishing every edge smooth, Dua Saleh embraces the messiness of identity, memory, and survival in a rapidly unraveling world.

The result is a deeply human record — futuristic in sound, but rooted in love, mourning, and the search for home.

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at Dua Saleh – Of Earth & Wires

There’s something beautifully comforting about Basement sounding like Basement again. Not in a nostalgia-bait, “remember Tumblr?” kind of way — more like running into an old friend who still owns the same battered leather jacket and somehow wears it better now than they did ten years ago.

WIRED arrives with the familiar emotional bruising, thick guitars and half-broken-heart-half-stage-dive energy the Ipswich band built their reputation on, but there’s a sharper pulse running underneath this time. The album feels restless. Twitchy. Urgent. Less wallowing in the corner of the venue, more pacing outside it at 2am wondering whether to text your ex or start another band instead.

The songs hit quickly and stick around longer than expected. Basement have always understood the art of balancing melody with emotional collapse, and WIRED thrives in that sweet spot between catharsis and chaos. There are choruses here that practically demand sweaty live singalongs, while the quieter moments carry that foggy emotional weight the band have perfected over the years.

Production-wise, the album wisely avoids sanding off the edges. Everything still feels human-sized: guitars crunch instead of shimmer, drums sound lived-in, and the vocals sit just close enough to feel conversational without losing the record’s larger emotional pull. It’s loud in the right places, vulnerable in the right places, and never sterile. A rare modern rock achievement.

What really makes WIRED land though is identity. Basement aren’t chasing trends, reviving scenes, or trying to reinvent alternative rock with a PowerPoint presentation. They simply sound confident in their own skin again. The artwork, title and overall presentation all feed into that same electrical tension running through the record — wired nerves, wired amps, wired brains refusing sleep.

Some albums arrive politely. WIRED kicks the bedroom door open and leaves guitar pedals all over the carpet.

“WIRED,” out now via Run For Cover Records.

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at Basement – WIRED

Eight years is a long time in internet years. Entire genres have risen, peaked, and been gently escorted out the back door. Hard drives have been filled, lost, resurrected. And somewhere in that quiet, half-forgotten corner of your brain labelled “oh yeah, them”, Kate Boy flicker back into view like a neon sign warming up after a blackout.

And then Constant quietly drops :

Not a comeback in the chest-thumping, “we never left” sense. More like a slow exhale. The kind we once described (circa a Sundaze post) as “music that doesn’t knock on your door, it just lets itself in and makes tea.” That kind of return.

The track carries the weight of those eight years without dragging its feet. You can feel it in the spaces—the pauses that say more than the lyrics ever could. There’s grief here, sure. Loss, definitely. But it’s been folded into something strangely luminous. Not polished, not performative—just… lived-in. Like a favourite jumper that’s seen a few winters but still knows how to keep you warm.

What hits hardest is that quiet realisation tucked between the lines: shutting down doesn’t save you, it just postpones the inevitable emotional bill. Kate Boy’s new single Constant feels like paying that bill—but in instalments, gently, without interest. A “first step back” that doesn’t rush the process, doesn’t try to win you over with fireworks. It trusts you’ll lean in.

Old music blogger wisdom (somewhere between a dodgy MP3 folder and a 2am blog post) once went:

“The best tracks aren’t the loudest—they’re the ones that linger when the room’s gone quiet.”

Constant lingers. It hums. It stays.

And maybe that’s the point. Not a grand reintroduction, but a reopening. A crack in the door. A signal that the inner world is back online, softly broadcasting again.

We’ve missed it too.

Constant out now.

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Lyrics_ Constant

I don’t know how it begins 
The order and how it all fits in 
But with the chaos of things 
Maybe it’s fine to believe in - 

Constant healing… 
(maybe it’s fine) 
Constant feeling… 
(maybe it’s fine) 

I don’t know where it all lives 
Swirling around on the ceiling 
Maybe the floor is sinking 
But look around you’re still breathing - 

Constant healing… 
(maybe it’s fine) 
Constant feeling… 

All of my mind
I’m leaving behind 
Breaking me open 
Half of my body there… 
There’s too many lights 
And so many left 
A part of me holding 
Half of you everywhere… 

And all of my mind 
I’m leaving behind 
Breaking me open 
Half of my body there… 
There’s too many lights 
And so many left 
A part of me holding… 

Constant healing… 
Constant feeling…

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at Kate Boy – Constant

These are the kind of tunes that slip into the day like golden light through half-open windows — warm, effortless, and carrying just the right amount of swagger. From smoky slow-burners to groove-soaked delights, here are a few fresh cuts to soundtrack the brighter days ahead.

So crack the windows, let the sunshine spill across the room, and give these gems the space they deserve. Whether they drift, stomp, sway or shimmer, each one brings a little extra colour to the season — the kind of songs that turn an ordinary spring afternoon into something worth stretching out in. Good weather, good sounds, good vibes: sometimes the recipe really is that simple.

Today’s Specials :

Massive Attack & Tom Waits – Boots On The Ground+

A meeting of titans that sounds exactly as ominous as you’d hope: Boots on the Ground stomps in with Massive Attack’s signature shadowy pulse, while Tom Waits growls through the smoke like a prophet in a back-alley sermon. It’s dark, bruised, and cinematic — protest music for the end times, with mud on its boots and fire in its lungs.

Time Cow and Sosa Sowndz – Me+

Me rolls in low and unbothered, all syrupy grooves and hazy late-night swagger. Time Cow And Sosa Sowndz keep things effortlessly loose, sketching out a head-nodder that feels both intimate and half-asleep in the best possible way — the kind of track that sneaks onto repeat before you realise it.

Curió Curió – Bem Querer+

Bem Querer glides in on a warm breeze of rhythm and reverie, feather-light yet quietly magnetic. Curió Curió weave Brazilian sunshine into every bar, crafting something that feels like golden hour in musical form — gentle, glowing, and impossible not to sink into.

Los Felcas – Sabor a Felcas+

There’s no mystery in the title: Sabor a Felcas is pure flavour from the first beat, bursting with charm, colour, and irresistible rhythmic bounce. Los Felcas bottle the kind of joyous energy that turns any room into a dancefloor — playful, vibrant, and seasoned to perfection.

A shout-out to the furiously good music blog turning our attention towards these two great finds, Los Felcas and the ear worm by Time Cow and Sosa Sowndz. Visit Super Super Sounds here. Make it a regular stop in your browsing habits.

A sun-soaked selection of fresh tracks to soundtrack the brighter days ahead — from shadowy slow-burners to groove-filled gems, these spring-ready picks bring warmth, rhythm, and nothing but good vibes.

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at Cloud Droppings #Springtastic

Some records arrive with a bang. Fidelity, the latest from Yaya Bey, arrives like the morning after — soft light through the curtains, a little tenderness in the wreckage, and the quiet realisation that something has shifted. Following the bruised brilliance of do it afraid, Bey’s seventh album feels like the emotional comedown and the spiritual reset: less about surviving the storm than figuring out who you are once it’s passed.

There’s grief woven all through Fidelity, but not the dramatic, cinematic kind. This is grief in layers — the loss of a father, the erosion of community, the slow disintegration of the futures we thought were promised. The shadow of Grand Daddy I.U. lingers here, alongside reflections on gentrification, burnout and the cost of being seen but not truly held. Yet the magic of Yaya Bey is that she never lets the weight flatten the music. Instead, she lets it sway. These songs breathe. They glow. They carry their truths lightly, with the kind of warmth that makes the heavy bits land even harder.

The early singles sketch that balance beautifully. Blue has the ease of a forgotten Y2K R&B gem — smooth, sunlit and quietly restorative — while Forty Days turns questions of mourning into something almost danceable, wrapping spiritual reflection in a shimmer of disco-funk. Then there’s Egyptian Musk, featuring NESTA, floating in on a hazy reggae breeze like a memory you can almost smell. It all feels effortless, but that emotional precision is what gives Fidelity its pulse: every groove carries weight, every melody feels lived in.

What makes Fidelity hit so hard is that it never begs for your sympathy. Instead, Yaya Bey leans into something far more powerful — joy as an act of resistance, softness as survival. Even in its most vulnerable moments, this album radiates warmth. It doesn’t just document healing; it embodies it. Fidelity feels like choosing yourself, quietly and completely, after the world has asked for too much. And in that quiet, Yaya Bey has made one of her most luminous records yet.

“Fidelity” out now on drink sum wtr.

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at Yaya Bey – Fidelity

There are bands that release albums. And then there’s Future Islands — who release emotional time capsules disguised as synth-pop records.

Twenty years in, most groups would be busy polishing a glossy “best of,” neatly packaged for easy nostalgia. Not these guys. Instead, they’ve cracked open the attic, dusted off the hidden gems, and stitched together something far more alive.

From a Hole in the Floor to a Fountain of Youth lands on May 22, 2026 — not as a retrospective, but as a living, breathing collage. Half of it has never even touched streaming platforms. We’re talking alternate versions, deep cuts, fan-favorite oddities — the kind of tracks that don’t just fill gaps, they tell the real story.

Because Future Islands were never just “that band with Seasons.” They’re the slow-burn kings of emotional endurance. The ones who make heartbreak feel strangely victorious.

To set the tone, they’ve already dropped two tracks into the wild: “Sail” and “Find Love.” One drifts outward, eyes on the horizon; the other pulls you inward, gently wrecking you in the process. Classic move.

At the center of this carefully curated chaos is William Cashion, who originally pieced the project together as a playlist before it evolved into something bigger. The title itself carries the whole philosophy: the “hole” as the everyday grind, the “fountain” as that rare, electric moment when the life you imagined suddenly becomes real. Dream and reality, awkwardly sharing the same room.

“From a Hole in the Floor to a Fountain of Youth” out May, 22nd via 4AD.

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Four sides. Twenty tracks. Four band members. It’s almost too poetic — but Future Islands have never been about perfection. They’re about feeling. The messy, stubborn, quietly euphoric kind.

This isn’t a victory lap. It’s a reminder. That songs evolve. That memories stretch. That somewhere between your first house party and your last late-night solo dance, these tracks have been tagging along — aging right alongside you.

May 22. Bring your feelings. They’ll bring the fountain.

Lyrics_ Sail

In an Escher town
In the Palace - Gallen, hidden low
And the peaks stay Saint
And the streets wind up and down below
To the balcony
Where the hands embrace amidst the rows
And the flickering screen
And the smell of almonds in the grove

Don’t leave
Don’t leave
Don’t leave

To come so close to offer this
Won’t leave — don’t leave

And the screen says, “stay”, every time
The image it plays in my mind
And we say Grace
Every time we’re in this place

Is it mine in the mirror?
Is it mine or the mirror, we make?

Where we haven’t run
Deep into the rows
Where the olives grow
Lost in the unknown
Until, lost is all we know
And the pollen silt
Til we’re tracing in the snow
And down into the screen
Says “stay”, every time.
The image plays in my mind
And we say Grace
Every time we’re face-to-face

Is it mine in the mirror
Is it mine or the mirror we make.

Take all the time it takes
To make all the time it takes
It takes all the time it takes
To make all the time, it takes

Don’t leave
Don’t leave
Don’t leave

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at Future Islands – From a Hole in the Floor to a Fountain of Youth

Some albums try to take you somewhere. 15 15’s new record MĀRARA doesn’t just suggest a destination — it hands you a boarding pass, a coconut drink and politely points you toward an island that may or may not exist on any official map.

Released today via S76 Records, MĀRARA — meaning “flying fish” — unfolds like a musical travelogue to a little-known Polynesian island imagined by the Paris-based collective. While Tahiti tends to hog the postcard spotlight, this project shines its lantern somewhere else entirely: a place shaped by geography, climate, traditions and the quietly humming mythology of the island itself.

The result is less a traditional album and more of a cultural immersion. One where songs drift in like warm evening tides, carrying fragments of folklore, rituals and half-whispered legends.

Musically, 15 15 weave together a curious and compelling blend: smooth R&B textures, futuristic electronic explorations and flashes of dancehall-leaning rhythm. It’s a mix that shouldn’t necessarily work on paper, yet here it flows naturally.

And much like the flying fish the album is named after, these tracks seem to glide just above the surface. Synths shimmer. Percussion pulses like distant ceremonial drums. Vocals drift between intimacy and incantation, as if each song is both story and spell.

But MĀRARA isn’t just about sound — it’s about world-building. The band construct a sonic language that feels entirely their own, tied to invented rituals and imagined traditions. The island becomes both symbol and stage, a place where memory, myth and future-facing production all coexist.

At times the record feels like it’s been holding its breath, quietly searching through the dark ocean for land. When it finally surfaces, what emerges is this island. Vibrant, mysterious and strangely welcoming.

A flying fish.
A symbol.
An island.
An album.

And now that it’s here, 15 15 invite listeners to step ashore.

Ia ora na.
Welcome to Mārara.

“Mārara” out now on S76 Records.

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Lyrics_ Take Off Late

‘Ava dans la passe
Houleux dans la tasse
Take off late 
Je heke dans la vague
Bouffe comme d'hab

J'entends des zoizo dans le vāvā 
Fa’aio la sono dans le va'a 
Les basses sont lourdes comme des tūtau 
Les aigus aiguisés comme couteaux

J’connais les coups tout les kata 
Tā’ie balade sur le cata 
Pendant la pluie ya le beau temps
Tahuri huri les pōito 

Mārara Island ma maison 
J’arrive là-bas comme une saison 
Pia frappée dans la glacière 
Fa'ahe'e sur le sunset 
y’a des saplins à tātahi
on entend plus que les basses
euy zin shoot ei le glouglou
manque plus que des glaçons

Pā’oti, pā’oti
sur le maoti, maoti e
a na là la set bro ua kati
a na la set
les mata sont fatigués
comme si j’avais pa’apa’a le matie
les waves sont de plus en plus fātī
de plus en plus fat

Jeter le tūtau 
tāora le uto
et je veux 
tout tout tout 
Too too too 
late le take off
récif me piquent
mon esprit me quitte

Haru la mouche 
shoot sur le mata  
et je vois tout tout tout

Tout tout tout 
dans le pō, dans le ao
pāinu sur le a’au

‘Ori mārara
tous les ta’ata 
Et tu cris souloulou
Souloulou
je suis sous l’eau, saoulé
je vais pas tarder à couler

Poti mārara 
Qui passent à côté 
qui cassent tout tout tout

Sous l’eau ça fait long time
que j’ai pas vu zoizo dans le sky
silence radio quand je suis dans le scan
mata fefe quand je suis dans le kin
me long time
hold me, kiss me, love me long time
le uto se répand dans mes entrailles
Ta’a le mārara dans le ra’i

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at 15 15 – Mārara

There’s something deliciously masochistic about pressing play on a new TENDER release. You already know your heart’s about to be gently drop-kicked into a neon puddle — and yet, here we are again, sleeves rolled up, ready to feel.

This latest single titled “Do That” finds the duo leaning deeper into their signature late-night minimalism: dusky synths, pulse-like percussion, and vocals that sound like they were recorded at 3:17am after sending a text you absolutely should not have sent.

TENDER have always thrived in that fragile space between intimacy and distance. The production feels close enough to breathe on you, yet emotionally it keeps a deliberate cool. A sort of “I care, but I won’t say it first” energy. The beats are restrained, never overcooked. The basslines hum rather than shout. And the space between notes? That’s where the ache lives.

What makes this forthcoming album click isn’t reinvention — it’s refinement. The songwriting feels sharper, hooks slip in quietly then refuse to leave, and the atmospherics wrap around you like the emotional equivalent of a weighted blanket. There’s a cinematic sweep to some moments, while others feel almost demo-raw, like they’ve left the fingerprints in on purpose.

Lyrically, we’re in familiar TENDER territory: love in disrepair, vulnerability dressed up as detachment, longing disguised as late-night cool. But it never feels repetitive. Instead, it feels honest. And in a streaming world of maximalist production and algorithm-chasing choruses, there’s something refreshing about music that simply… lingers.

Where The Waves Break doesn’t beg for attention. It earns it quietly. It’s not the soundtrack to the party — it’s what you play on the walk home, when the noise fades and your thoughts get loud.

And honestly? That’s where TENDER have always sounded best. Look out for the upcoming album “Where The Waves Break” out on June 4th.

“Where The Waves Break” album out on June 4th via Nettwerk

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EU Tour Dates_

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Lyrics_ Do That

Love when you do that
Love when you do that

Lay by on the 35
Said you can’t think straight with the sun right in your eyes
Like it's my fault that the earth keeps spinning
When it don’t suit you
No, no

Should be dreaming by now
But I can’t sleep with that sound
Guess I figured you out
No you don’t want me around

Love when you do that
Love when you do that

Say sumin’, say sumin’, you can’t run
Don’t promise, I’m someone you love
Your problem, it's nothing I’ve done
Do that, do that, move on

Love when you do that
Love when you do that
Love when you do that
Love when you do that
Love when you do that

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at TENDER – Where The Waves Break

There’s something deliciously chaotic about a midnight drop. No warning shot, no industry drum roll — just bang! And suddenly SEB has lobbed a 12-track project into the ether titled Backpack. Sloth emoji. Schoolbag emoji. New era energy.

Backpack doesn’t feel like a neatly wrapped “album campaign.” It feels like a reset button pressed with a grin. New rules. No Agenda. A whole new direction. You can practically hear the zipper opening on something that’s less about polish and more about movement — sketches turning into statements, ideas allowed to breathe, experiments left gloriously intact.

Across its 12 tracks, SEB plays around like someone who’s stopped asking for permission. There’s a looseness here — not lazy, not unfinished — just alive. Beats swerve when they want to. Hooks enter the scene like half-smiles. The whole thing carries that “first brick of something bigger” spirit he hints at. It’s not the monument yet. It’s the foundation stone, still warm from being laid.

And there’s something beautifully intentional about that. Instead of over-explaining the concept in captions, SEB nudges you toward the video — go look, go dig, go participate. It’s less “consume this” and more “come see what I’m building.” That shift matters.

You also feel the brotherhood baked into the project. The shout-outs aren’t ornamental — they’re structural. Working exclusively with his close circle (@saanoff @___.racy @boudounistudios @sofyan @karlndaadopo & @playtwolabel) gives the album Backpack a cohesive pulse. No random features for algorithm bait. Just a shared language. It sounds like a room full of people who trust each other enough to try weird things.

The title fits, too. A backpack is portable. It carries tools. It’s not the destination — it’s what you bring with you. These tracks feel like gear for the journey ahead. Some cuts hit immediately, others linger in that “give me another spin” territory. But taken together, they sketch out a new creative perimeter.

For the curious, it’s an invitation. For the indifferent, as SEB shrugs, life goes on. But that quiet confidence? That’s the real flex.

This isn’t a grand statement piece. It’s more interesting than that. It’s the start of a system. And honestly? Watching an artist redraw their own rules is already half the fun.

“Backpack” out now via PlayTwo Label

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at SEB – Backpack

Welcome back to Cloud Droppings, the corner of the internet where our streaming history spills its secrets and we pretend it was all very intentional.

This edition drifts between late-night longing and mirrorball mischief — four tracks that shimmer, sway, and occasionally send you into a tasteful emotional spiral. From whispered almost-texts to full-body synth workouts, consider this your carefully uncurated dispatch from the algorithm’s more interesting side streets.

Headphones on. Feelings optional. Dancing highly encouraged.

Toggle below & listen_

Together, these four feel like the soundtrack to a golden-hour montage where you’re strutting down the street with unreasonable confidence, dramatic inner monologue fully activated… before remembering you left the oven on.

Simply cinema.

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By : Ben over at Sodwee
Read more at Cloud Droppings – #Drenched