A cry of resignation and self loathing in the opening verse, followed by stories of unhappy childhood, damaged relationships, small town frustrations... Another hardly typical set of Britpop themes.

Marion formed in Macclesfield in 1993 around singer Jaime Harding and guitarists Tony Grantham and Phil Cunningham, who had known one another since their teens and had played together in earlier local groups.

In 1995 they supported Morrisey. The same year they recorded This World and Body, released the following year. In 1998, they recorded the follow up, The Program (with Johnny Marr on guitar and producing) and that was it...

This World and Body remains one of the most unusual Britpop records. For one, it's delibrately been produced to resemble a live recording. It's a raw, dirty affair with guitars often grinding against one another, creating a wall of noise, and Jamie Harding more shouting than singing.

It's no different lyrically. As the title suggests, Hardin's topics do not merely deal with loneliness, anxiety or damaged love but embrace the decadence of physical world. His characters smoke, drink, and experience emotional damage through their bodies, too.

Just like this character, who in Wait exclaims: "Turn the radio on/I want to hear a song/nothing's gonna change/but something's bound to break/so we'll have to go outside/we'll have to burn out eyes."

Puressences's self-titled album opens with a drifting, psychodelic guitar drone, and voice that sounds so shy and vulnerable that you can't even imagine that guy ever having the guts to step in front of an audience.

But he did. Still does, actually. And still creates that resigned atmosphere with his voice.

The original lineup of Puressence met in 1990 in Manchester on a bus heading to see Stone Roses live. After the show, they decided to start a band. It's actually as Britpop origin story as it gets.

They went on to support Marion, Charlatans, and others and in 1996 released their debut.

And it doesn't sound like the typical Britpop.

Puressence seemed more inspired by Joy Division, shoegaze, U2 (their good years anyway,) or Echo and the Bunnymen than Charlatans, Stone Roses or other Madchester bands.

On Puressence's debut, guitars run through echo effects. Bass pounds in steady rhythm. Drums provide a groove or simply accentuate the bass. You can hear more Simon Raymonde than Mani there, and that tells you a lot about the music.

And then there is James Mudriczki's voice. He sings in an unusually high, exposed register, moving between a tender falsetto, a tremulous croon and something approaching a cry. Even if some of his lyrics aren't particularly miserable, his delivery makes them so anyway.

The band's next album, Only Forever, turned more successful. But by then, the band also sounded different.

I am not entirely sure whether better, though.

The first time I heard The Sun is Often Out I thought, Radiohead. And although there are some similarities between the two bands, there is actually an equal amount of differences.

For one, Longpigs seemed bolder. Even their name didn't meet Britpop standards as “Long pig” is an old colonial expression for human flesh intended for consumption.

They also weren't a very lucky band. Soon after signing to Elektra, Crispin Hunt, Longpigs' main songwriter and singer was seriously injured in a car accident and reportedly spent three days in a coma.

Then, Elektra's British operation was closed, leaving the band tied to a label that no longer existed.

Eventually, another label picked them up, but I always wondered how much those experiences drove the anger and rage on the record. For there's plenty of that there.

Many songs on the album sound raw, almost noisy. Guitars are distorted and played with ferocious attack. Hunt's lyrics don't carry much light either. He often sings about loss of identity, sexual humiliation, self loathing, or progression from love to leechery.

Longpigs released one more record after that. It features very little of that anger, and honestly, doesn't serve as a worthy follow up to The Sun is Often Out.

What kind of an album would you write if you did it while tied to a wheelchair? And how would that sound if you recorded it with Steve Albini at the console...

Well, you'd probably get After Murder Park...

The Auteur's third album takes Britpop into a completely different territory than Strangelove with its darkness or Longpigs' emotional desperation. Luke Haines, The Auteurs' main songwriter did write it while being stuck in a wheelchair after breaking both of his ankles.

No surprise that he writes about murder, domestic violence, alcoholism, suicide. He later admitted:

“Most of my songs are about revenge. I’ve always felt unsettled, even as a kid… I’m pretty much motivated by bile and revenge.”

He also deliberatly dressed it with a stripped down, raw music, with very little studio polish. Haines recalled: "We wanted the songs done in a live, direct way with the edge still on it. For this album all of the bad notes are left in. It’s the way records should be made."

That's why he asked Albini to produce it. Albini played with noise rock giants Big Black and Shellac. He produced Nirvana's In Utero, Pixies' Surfer Rosa, or Jesus Lizard's Down.

He'd not be a guy you get to record a lush sounding record.

And After Murder Park is far from being such an album.

Geneva's debut doesn't actually sound very dark at first. The music certainly feels more polished than the guitar noise of Longpigs or Strangelove. The production is spacious and songs seem more ethereal than depressing.

And yet, underneath that beauty, you hear stories of suicide, insomnia, chemical sedation, regret, anxiety, spiritual uncertainty and emotional disintegration.

Interestingly, apparently, that contrast is by design. Geneva's singer Andrew Montgomery admitted: “I love the way [soul singers] can make painful moments and transcend them into something positive, and I think that’s something that people overlook in our music.”

This is what he's done with Geneva, make despair sound beautiful.

One particular moment on Pallas' latest album "A Song for Tomorrow" defines this album for me.

In the title track, a gentle female voice declares, singing "This is a song for tomorrow, if tomorrow ever comes/The world's changed, nothing's the same/Hold on to your mortal remains."

Dark and perhaps prophetic lyrics indeed. But just about then, the same verse is repeated again. However, this time, we hear two voices. The singer's and a robotic one.

A sign of the times?

Of course, the above is my interpretation only. Having said that, given the other lyrics on the album, I wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't the band's intention.

Musically, A Song for Tomorrow is just as dark.

I cannot tell whether it is their darkest. It's certainly darker than the records I know. It doesn't have the electronic sound of The Sentinel. Or the more prog-metal-sounding The Cross and the Crucible.

It's far darker.

Yet, at the same time, the first thing you notice on A Song for Tomorrow is how much effort the band put into writing melodies and songwriting in general. It's such a melody-driven record. It's far ahead of the two albums mentioned above. What's more, many melodies don't follow usual harmonies and arrangements.

The opener, Reset, for example, features a lovely repeating motif on the keys. But when you listen more carefully, you notice how it goes against the rest of the band, and yet, glues it all together at the same time.

On Rage, the piano plays in contrast to what the rest of the band is doing, but in spite of that, once again, makes it all gel.

A Private Collector, my favourite track on the record, features a simple, one-finger piano melody throughout. It's so simple that it's almost hard to believe that someone would put that on the record. And yet, it makes the track to me.

And then, there are vocals. A Song for Tomorrow is also a vocal-rich album. All band members sing lead. Everyone also sings harmonies. Natasha O'Neal guests on the title track. Oh, and there's that robot. Although, I don't think it got a credit.

That combination of darkness, strong melodies and layered vocals gives A Song for Tomorrow a very particular character.

It is not an album that overwhelms you with complexity. Nor does it rely on sheer heaviness. Instead, it draws you in with incredible songwriting, and then gradually reveals how carefully those songs have been put together. I certainly haven't felt that with the earlier records I know, and it shows that Pallas are still developing.

40+ years into their career, that's something to applaud.

A very strong Pallas album.

A Song for Tomorrow is out on 30 October 2026 on Esoteric Antenna.

The first thing I thought of while listening to Agnus' Pinturas y Expresiones (Pictures and Expressions) is that this is what Jethro Tull could have sounded like in their folk years if not for Ian Anderson's pompousness.

Just to be clear; I do not refer to his performance on those records. That was stellar. I am not having a go at those records either. They are mostly great, too.

But the attitude...

Well, musically, Pinturas y Expresiones is quite similar to what Tull did. But it's also a very humble, down to earth record. I'd even say, normal, for a lack of better word.

Nobody is trying to be bigger than they really are here. And that is quite an achievement considering that on this record, Angus is actually ten people.

It's not a small group where egos are easy to control. It'd be so easy for someone to usurp the absolute power or play band politics. But none of that shows on this album.

In fact, Pinturas y Expresiones is such a lively, light, and joyful record.

It's still prog, of course. But there is plenty of folk and even flashes of medieval minstrel music (see why brought up Tull?)

The music flows naturally between sections. Prog passages turn into folk, then briefly switch to medieval minstrel songs, or become a choral intermission, and even turn into a traditional song at times.

But the thing is; none of this feels rushed. I really apprecaite that not a single theme or motif disappears before it gets the time to fully play out or tell its story.

Even if the band serves a tiny intermission like a short vocal break in Siglo XXI, it's exactly where it needed to be and remains for precisely how it long it should have stayed.

Then, the are the voices. Agnus is quite an usual ensamble in that every member of the band sings. Interstingly, the band treats voices like instruments, often employing them to introduce and carry folk-inspired tunes, rather than sing comlex harmonies.

Most vocal lines follow single melody, just presented with layers of voices. Only one voice sings actual lyrics, if there are any. But most of the time, vocals are wordless. Just sounds, forming beautiful melodies.

My only complain with Pinturas y Expresiones is the mix.

I get an impression than the band (or the mixing engineer) tried to use it to push their artistic vision further and build a narrative with the mix.

And sometimes it works. In the opening movement of the title track, for example, flute plays a call and response with itself (there is only one flutist in the band, after all,) and the passage has been mixed to replicate that. The call appears in one speaker, response in the other, and the culmination in the center. This makes sense.

But in the second movement of the same track, drums suddenly move from the right channel to the center. I can only speculate that it was done to emphasize the rhythmic focus of the passage. But it didn't work. It just distracted me from the music. Luckily, there aren't many similar tricks used but you do notice them when they appear.

Lastly, this is an archival reissue. The album was originally recorded in 1980, and the original source tape shows some signs of wear. In the same second movement I mentioned above, the right channel disappears completely for a couple of seconds.

Naturally, I don't write this as a criticism. Such issues are only to be expected with archival tapes. What's more, to some degree, they even add a nice touch to the release.

Folk records come in so many flavours that listing them all would probably quickly turn into a version of that scene from Forrest Gump where Bubba lists dishes one could make with shrimp, so I'll skip that.

But I'll tell you which one I love in particular. It has little to do with any particular folk subgenre and more with what it does for me.

You see, the folk records I particularly love are the ones that help me close the day, relax, and leave the day's hardships behind.

And that’s something, if you think about it, folk tunes were for. The music, the melodies, the tales... They all helped transport whoever was listening to a different place, a one far from the day's drudgery just done.

The latest album by Sam Sweeney and Grace Smith, Morning of May, does precisely that to me.

Morning of May is such a simple record. Just two fiddles conversing about, well, anything really. Perhaps love, lost or found. Or daily events, other people...

I'm saying this because when you step away from the idea behind the record, to explore the English instrumental tradition on two fiddles, you are left with music that simply sounds like a conversation. A gentle one, at that.

On Morning of May, the players don't shout over another. You can hear how they let each other express themselves fully, providing a gentle accompaniment while the other person speaks. And then, they take over. Melodies swap. Harmonies trade. It's mesmerizing.

And there are no theatrics, no showing off any virtuosity here. It's just music, and there is little need for this record to be anything else.

For me, a wonderful musical discovery.

I am absolutely certain that you've heard Ray Russell's playing. But I am also pretty certain that you've never heard his name before.

Neither had I. However, the press release I received with this album makes it clear that Russell's been around. What else could you say of someone whose musical résumé includes names like Tina Turner, Phil Collins, or David Bowie...

However, Dangerous Bends, is all him. His compositions, arrangements, ideas...

Since I've already been naming names, I will allow myself to mention one more, a player whose name kept coming back to me while listening to this release.

Allan Holdsworth.

To be clear, I am not saying that Dangerous Bends is a clone of what Holdsworth was doing. No. Russell’s music is completely original.

That said, the way he approaches composition, the structure, and how he reaches far beyond traditional harmonies or builds complex themes is not unlike what Holdsworth used to do.

And that is a compliment.

Of course, Russell plays in his unique way. But the truth is, if you already love Holdsworth, you'll feel the same about Russell. If you don't, well...

Dangerous Bends reveals itself fully from the opening notes.

Tight groove provides foundation for a complex theme based on unusual harmony. If this is your thing, you immediately start to listen. And it gets better.

Russell builds his solo slowly. I love that he doesn't expect me to chase him. He's staying with every idea until he has played it in full and only then, slowly moves to the next. Pianist Jim Watson follows with the same formula. And in spite of the song being a tight jazz rock improv, no one's rushing anywhere, and no one's showing off.

That is another thing you notice on Dangerous Bends. The music on the album avoids the common trap many jazz rock improv albums fall into. A trap of putting speed and theatrics before the music.

No. For Russell, music clearly wins.

From Here to Dexterity highlights another common thread on this album. Throughout the record, arrangements are used not only to help keep music interesting but to provide a structure for the players, or define their place, so to speak.

Because here, no one is trying to cross the line. No one's breaking the format. And no one's interrupting the others.

Everyone plays with maturity. Musicians know their place, and do what they're supposed to do pretty darn well.

Walking with Giants is probably the one track too many. It features a rapper, someone named V.O.A., doing his thing on top of the band. Unfortunately, this song not only does not add anything to the record, but also, to some degree, breaks the flow before the closing, gentle coda of So Be It.

But that is a minor thing. You can always skip this track and enjoy the record.

I do have two complaints about Dangerous Bends, though.

First is that it features a tiny soundstage. I do appreciate that the band might have been placed close together when recording. And that such placement might have helped them connect and gel better. But a little bit more sonic separation would help us listeners enjoy the harmonic richness of this music more.

My other complaint is the arrangements. On Dangerous Bends songs follow quite a repetitive pattern. Most start with a theme, follow it with one instrument's solo, come back to a theme or a break before serving another solo, then return to the theme for a brief moment before serving the ending.

It's not a bad pattern, of course. But over the course of an entire record, it becomes noticeable, and eventually, boring.

Luckily, neither issue takes away from the fact that Dangerous Bends is a thoughtful, mature jazz-rock record with a lot to admire.

It is simply a great record. Full stop.

I suppose it does not come across my writing much but I am actually a bit of an audiophile. Not to the point of obsessing over minute improvements to my system, but close.

One of the areas where this does manifest itself is my love for good analog sound.

So, when I heard that HDTT (a label specializing in careful analog tape transfers and restoration in hi-res) released this edition, I jumped in right away.

Why such a long introduction? Well, you see, at its core, this release does not offer anything new. This is a well-known session by Ella. It is, undoubtedly, one of her best. She is at the absolute height of her powers here. It features a stellar lineup, too, including the saxophonist Stan Getz. And there are those amazing, lush orchestrations...

But that aside, the real star here is the sound. HDTT has outdone themselves with this release. They managed to preserve the warm tone of the analog recording and its spaciousness. Bob Witrak, the label's owner and chief engineer rarely uses compression and it shows.

The sound is dynamic, the soundstage is wide, layering here is incredible, too. When I play it on speakers, Ella truly is in front of the orchestra, and the sound reaches far beyond the side walls.

If you also want to experience Ella in exceptional sound quality, I recommend it.

Any new piano trio making their first recording faces quite a high bar.

Waltz for Debbie. Night Train. The Art of the Trio...

So, not only do they need to introduce themselves, they also must achieve the almost impossible. Somehow, they need to stand above all the comparisons that will, naturally, come.

Swedish pianist Eskil Roos, chose to do it in possibly, the hardest way - by focusing the album entirely on his compositions.

And to me, it worked.

The first thing you notice is that Roos doesn't stick to a singular formula on the record. Slower, atmosphere-driven pieces contrast dynamic, groove-driven ones. Simpler piano pieces stand against intriguing arrangements. Nothing repeats itself here. The record moves forward, and every composition introduces something new.

Going Home alternates between near stillness and explosions of sound.

The title track uncovers its main melody slowly. It starts with a few chords in silence, and slowly develops the full melody. And then, when you think the piano will continue, the bass takes over. Marvellous.

Trollkarlens ring (The Wizard's Ring) is a quiet song. But it's far from a ballad. Even though the trio hardly plays on it, the swaying groove is there between the notes. It feels almost as if the silence was the rhythm.

And such is this album. Full of contrast, where the atmosphere of one track is replaced by the groove of another.

However, there is one thing I dislike here. The sound. Mystery of the Mind is yet another example of loudness wars reaching jazz. Sound is compressed. There is little dynamic range, and all instruments sit on the same level.

But jazz is not like other genres when it comes to dynamics. The space between a pianist's left hand and right hand, the decay of a ride cymbal fading into silence, the moment a soloist drops to a whisper before the band comes back in, these are not incidental qualities. They are the music.

Well, the music on this record has very little of that.

To me, a serious oversight.

Pinta tu Aldea (Paint Your village) is an entirely instrumental prog album. That said, the prog label is, probably, slightly too limiting here.

The opening of the title track, for example, has more to do with the Canterbury sound or RIO than prog. It's only later in the track that the more classic prog elements begin to emerge. But even then, they rarely stay for long.

Pinta tu Aldea is basically about change. In their music, Alas focus less on melodies and more on the structure. Themes shift often, songs turn from one movement to another, often abruptly.

As a result, not much in their compositions will stay with you. This music works best when it is admired in the now, but there isn't much, like captivating melodies or passages, to remember later.

This isn't an objection against this record. This is how Alas play. And they do it wonderfully well. If you enjoy a more technical approach to prog, you will enjoy their music. Guaranteed.

I know I have.

Quick note: This album was recorded in 1977, originally released five years later, after the band had already broken up. This here, however, is a new release based on a 2024 remaster.

To many, the idea of Irish folk means Clannad or the Dubliners. Neither option is necessarily wrong, of course. But there is far more to our music, and this album is one of the most incredible hidden gems of the genre.

I discovered this album two years ago. And I didn't come to it the usual way.

At that time, I was granted Irish citizenship, a wonderful and emotional moment. Leading up to it, I became very immersed in our culture, going deeper than ever before in all my years living here. Naturally, a big part of that journey focused on the music.

I began to dig deep and eventually came across this album. And it turned out one of the most exciting musical discoveries.

Skara Brae recorded their debut in one afternoon in a room in Dublin in 1970. There was no fancy studio, just two microphones hung from the ceiling, a reel-to-reel tape, and four musicians. The youngest was 15, the eldest 20.

They cut the record practically live, with almost no overdubs. They just did what they've been doing all along - sat around and sang beautiful Irish songs together.

Some they sang a capella. In others, they used a guitar or a clavinet. The result had no studio polish. But it has an incredible atmosphere.

Skara Brae's debut is, by far, the most exciting Irish pastoral folk record I've heard.

It's sung entirely in Irish. It features songs these young people would have heard growing up. And it is served in a way no one else has done before.

When reading more on the album, I discovered that their approach to those songs even caused some controversy at the time. As one of the musicians, Maighread Ní Dhomhnaill, recalled in an interview in 2021:

Some people saw it as a total desecration of the old songs.

Imagine causing such a stir.

Recently, I bit the bullet and bought Yes' Tales from the Topographic Oceans 11-disc box. I've always loved the album. I have several editions, but this one, particularly the new mix got me to hear it anew. But it also got me thinking, what other similar albums are there...

Enter Clearlight Symphony.

Clearlight Symphony is a bit of a problematic album. Some sources claim that it was released under the band's name, Clearlight. Yet there is no artist's name on the cover. When you search for it, it is often listed under the leader's name, Cyrille Verdeaux, instead.

Which version is correct, I can't tell. But I can tell you that the music on this album is quite fascinating.

From what I learned, Verdeaux composed the core of the music in a single full-moon night. That recording, with some overdubs, caught the attention of Virgin Records, at the time fresh on the success of Tubular Bells. A contract ensued, and Verdeaux found himself in a studio, with two different groups, one, interestingly featuring Gong members.

I suppose the two names, Tubular Bells and Gong could be enough to explain what this music is.

It contains two long suites. One is based on rhythm. The other is closer to Oldfield's work.

The rhythm side is full of free-form playing. The ambient one flows in a more structured way. And both appear almost like two sides of the same coin.

But let's be clear; Clearlight Symphony isn't a masterpiece. I did find it interesting, however. It certainly fits in the same vein as Tales from the Topographic Oceans. And it is quite a joy to hear, too.

I have a very personal connection with this album.

Volapük recorded it during their tour in my home country, Poland. They played my city. I went to see them. I got to meet them. This album documents that tour. Unfortunately, a recording from my show is not on it.

But there is more. They came back to tour Poland a year later and the band I was in at the time supported them in our city.

They arrived late and never saw our show. I am still a little bit cranky about it.

But my story aside, Pokapuk presents the trio at their peak.

Right after this tour, they became a quartet, and their music changed. But here, it is exactly what they were always known for - complex music that merged rock, contemporary classical, jazz, and humour.

You hear all those elements here. There is an improv based on Bach's cello suites (Bach is Back), a funny, driven rock miniature (Le Feu de Tigre), a drum improv, an odd-time-signature explosion of Dunaj and more.

There's Gigou playing drums with balloons (you really had to see it). There's Michael Mendel playing two clarinets at once. There's Guillaume Saurel treating his cello like as if it were a guitar and then, suddenly, making it sound like another of Gigou's drums.

And there is that incredible energy that only those three could produce.

I was so happy to see that Pükapök is still available via Cuneiform. Year ago, I gave my copy to my nephew, a budding clarinet player at the time. I am happy to have a copy again.

If you're into Rock in Opposition, you should hear this.