We’ve been keeping an eye on Ms. Wooff since 2021, and she continues to deliver the goods, usually wrapped in black satin and posted through ATB’s box at midnight, by a wraith-like ghoul.

Yes, we are in familiar gothic noir territory. The song opens with the echoey ambience of the abyss, before a picked guitar introduces her cold, clear tones. Scrapes of eldritch fiddle match a mechanistic drum beat. Double tracking and glimpses of keyboard squiggle add to the encroaching atmospheric, as cello slowly bows below floor.

The Morrigan is a creature from Celtic mythology: old folklore filtered through an ambiguous lens, where the distinction between something natural and something supernatural is never entirely clear. Which is exactly as we like it, with the song, on closure, returning to the abyss.

On 25th September, German post-metalists The Ocean will release their 12th album, Solaris. To prepare the ground for what the band are describing as: “…a story of cosmic escapism,” they’re releasing a few tasters. Milk of My Dreams is the fourth and latest such appetizer.

Featuring a guest appearance by Tangerine Dream’s Thorsten Quaeschning, Milk of My Dreams is the second half of the album’s epic closing track. Solaris is inspired by Andrei Tarkovsky’s 1972 film of the same name and, in a departure from The Ocean’s usual guitar-heavy style, the album is almost entirely electronic.

Whilst most of the material for Solaris was written during the pandemic, Milk of My Dreams is a more recent piece, composed during 2025 as the band were recording the album.

Milk of My Dreams is a dark, hypnotic piece of music. The synths and electronic effects are used cleverly and wisely. Guitars cut through the swirling gumbo and Jordi Farré’s drums and percussion keep up a vibrant, African-influenced rhythm. New vocalist Enrico Tiberi whispers his lyrics and the electronic enhancements to his voice contribute a great deal to the overall weirdness.

So ask True Foxes, the cousin duo from Cornwall, on the latest single from their second album, released a month or few back. By now the question can only be rhetorical, as a phenomenal touring schedule seems to suggest most people do, actually.

A song based upon schooldays truth, the last laugh is clearly on Amie Parsons, whose lyrics betray some of her own experiences with bullies. She plays guitar and sings the lead vocals with Chloë Payne on bass and vocal harmonies. Live it is just the pair of them, but here the sound is rounded out with electric guitar, drums, fiddle and saxophone. And, if the live duo version is stunning, here it is amplified into the full horror of realisation.

Two albums in, these cousins are proving themselves no flash in the pan. Yes, they may have Steve Knightley to thank for his patronage, getting them higher on fame’s slippery ladder, but I can see the day when he is their special guest, rather than any other way around.

Regardless the somewhat end of days title, this song, breezing in from Ottawa, is really quite the tonic. Acoustic rockabilly, in the style of Buddy Holly, it offers a lift from an onset of any autumnal ennui, as the days draw irrevocably in.

Eastmount Park are the husband and wife duo of Ben Emond and Agatha Alstrom, who hail from the place, Eastmount Park that carries their name, or they its. Citing harmonies as their love language, they give as good as they say, although it is the background whoops that attract nearly as much, over strummed guitar and thrummy stand-up bass.

A song of this style and played in this way can near write itself, the title surely awaiting a following if. And, true to form and expectation, avoiding any disappointment, the if is revealed, “if you’re not there with me“. Awwwww.

You want scuzzy? We got scuzzy, as good an example of what BBC Introducing call “Top class fuzzed up indie guitar music, as loud as it is precise“. If that doesn’t have you licking your lips and peeling your ears, think again, as this Sheffield trio have all the munitions to deliver.

Fuelled on a raw energy that suits both those who still have a shout in their heads, as much as those for whom those are but fond memories. And, in the manner of good post-post-punk, the melody remains king over all the noise surveyed.

Bawled snarly verses, from Jack Flynn, become a shared chorus, the title repeating as a mantra, with Lauren Greaves and Anna Melidone launching their voices haphazardly along his. Green plays forensically economic guitar, as Greaves and Melidone add on relentless drums and bass, respectively. It’s short, cocky and stops on a sixpence. What’s not to love?