Not every album arrives with the intention of redefining an artist’s legacy. Some quietly reshape it. BOYS TALKING, Will Dailey’s seventh release, belongs firmly in that second category.

From its conception to its release, the album reflects a deeper philosophical shift. Rather than chasing immediacy, Dailey embraced slowness. Rather than competing for attention, he prioritized connection. This ethos shapes every element of the record, from its songwriting to its distribution.

The album emerged from a pool of nearly eighty songs, distilled into ten. That rigorous selection process sharpened its emotional focus: men attempting to communicate, navigating vulnerability, restraint, frustration, and longing. These themes resonate deeply in a cultural moment increasingly aware of emotional literacy and mental health, yet often lacking models for genuine expression.

Dailey approaches these subjects with humility. He doesn’t offer solutions or moral conclusions. Instead, he allows emotional states to coexist: strength alongside fragility, clarity beside confusion. The songs unfold like conversations overheard rather than speeches delivered.

Musically, BOYS TALKING blends warmth and restraint. Folk textures meet soul rhythms and understated rock energy, creating an atmosphere that feels organic and lived-in. The live recording approach enhances this authenticity, capturing musicians interacting in real time and preserving subtle imperfections.

Highlights include “Send Some Energy,” a quiet meditation on grief, and “Make Another Me,” featuring Juliana Hatfield, which reflects on isolation in an increasingly artificial world. “One at a Time” injects rhythmic urgency, balancing the album’s introspection with forward motion.

What elevates BOYS TALKING beyond strong songwriting is its integrated philosophy. The album’s release strategy mirrors its emotional values. For eighteen months, it existed only as a physical object or direct download, inviting listeners to engage intentionally rather than passively. This choice reframed the relationship between artist and audience, emphasizing trust over reach.

Today’s streaming release does not abandon that principle. One track remains exclusive to physical formats, honoring those who invested in the album early and preserving a sense of intimacy.

Dailey’s long-standing reputation as an artist’s artist gives additional weight to this approach. Over fifteen years, he has built a career rooted in integrity, collaboration, and creative autonomy. His refusal to conform to industry formulas has allowed his work to evolve naturally, culminating in an album that feels both deeply personal and culturally resonant.

BOYS TALKING may ultimately stand as a turning point—not just within Dailey’s discography, but within broader conversations about how music is made, shared, and experienced. It suggests that patience can still generate meaning, that vulnerability still holds power, and that art need not shout to be heard.

In a time of noise and acceleration, Will Dailey offers something rare: stillness, sincerity, and space.

12090 A.D. conjures a world where time collapses—where the neon-lit shadows of late 70s Berlin bleed into the velvet darkness of a Lynch fever dream. Led by visionary drummer/composer Tim Kuhl and downtown icon Anna Copa Cabanna, this Brooklyn-based synth-driven dream pop duo crafts sonic landscapes that feel both ancient and futuristic, intimate and infinite. Today, we announce their self-titled debut album, along with their first single “Valediction.”

Tim: The title for the track is inspired by the comic “V for Vendetta” by the great Alan Moore. The music started to form after many late nights listening to synth maestro Johnny Jewel (Italians Do it Better). The song was originally conceived as an instrumental. Over time I could hear a voice singing and speaking to me through the mist. Once Anna sank her teeth into it, I knew we were beginning a journey into unknown territory

Anna: Tim gave me the title so I knew it would be about saying “goodbye” in some way. Once I heard the music, an image of Grace Jones singing at 3am in a Paris nightclub in the early 80s jumped into my head immediately! Singing to all those people that are still out. Seducing them. I pictured the smoke, the colors, the arms, legs, and mouths. It felt romantic in a tough, secret way. There are so many things we can say “goodbye” to, and they’re not all bad…

Kuhl’s compositional architecture provides the foundation—hypnotic, precise, pulsing with the mechanical soul of Suicide and the atmospheric weight of Portishead. Over this, Copa Cabanna’s haunting vocals drift and cut like fog through streetlights, her magnetic stage presence transforming each performance into a noir ritual. Comparisons to Twin Peaks and Beach House only hint at the band’s ability to make beauty feel dangerous, to turn melody into mystery.

In their live shows, 12090 A.D. doesn’t just perform—they manifest an atmosphere, pulling audiences into a liminal space where every note feels like a transmission from some forgotten, dream-soaked future. This is music for 4 AM drives through empty cities, for moments when the veil between worlds grows thin.

Tim Kuhl is an American drummer, composer, and producer known for his versatility across jazz, rock, and electronic music. Originally from Baltimore and now based in Brooklyn, he has built a reputation as both a prolific solo artist and a highly sought-after sideman, performing and touring with Sean Lennon (The Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger), Zola Jesus, Margaret Glaspy, and jazz bassist Michael Formanek.

His solo work blends indie-jazz with cinematic 80s-style synths and electronic production. Notable albums include 1982 (2015), composed entirely on an iPad while on tour, and Sky Valley (2018). Kuhl’s sound is characterized by a stripped-down approach that emphasizes texture and the integration of diverse influences, ranging from classical percussion to experimental free jazz. He is an official artist for Vater Percussion.

Anna Copa Cabanna

12090 A.D. reveals a darker, but still glam side of the “Always Entertaining” (Time Out) Australian Showgirl Anna Copa Cabanna who has played her xylophone, emceed roller discos, and taught her 1960s go-go dancing masterclass in venues around the world. She was the face and twirling body of THE DEBASER on The Pixies’ “Doolittle Tour,” sang about waste for a United Nations PSA, and fronts an AC/DC cover band. 

A true chameleon, Anna “really draws the audience to her” (The New Yorker) 

She is the official go-go dancer of the New York rock and roll scene and has opened for Booker T at the iconic Lincoln Center.  Her special brand of vintage go-go dancing, and extravagant outfits have graced NY stages from Terminal 5 to Brooklyn Bowl, MassMoca to Joe’s Pub, working with countless luminaries including The B-52s’ Fred Schneider, Tony-winner Cole Escola (Oh Mary!) and Punk legends Tommy Ramone, James Chance, and Kid Congo Powers.

The Anna Copa Cabanna Show at Joe’s Pub—her multi-disciplinary homage to television specials of the 1970s—sold out in the East Village for ten years was heralded as “weird and wonderful” by the Sydney Morning Herald, and led her to be named one of “10 offbeat artists keeping the old, weird New York alive” by Flavorpill alongside Yoko Ono and Bill Cunningham. 

Edmonton, AB singer-songwriter Ellie Heath returns with “Too Old (For This Shit),” a witty, uplifting indie pop anthem that leans into the absurdity of aging without ever feeling like a grown-up. Playful yet pointed, the track captures the familiar feeling of being a kid in adult clothes; paying bills, following rules, and quietly wondering when adulthood is supposed to click into place.

“At its core, the song is about aging with humour,” Heath explains. “Feeling like a kid wearing adult clothes, navigating expectations, responsibilities, and the slow realization that nobody ever really tells you when you’ve ‘arrived.'”

Co-written and produced alongside Hawksley Workman and Tristan Konkle of Tapes In Motion, “Too Old (For This Shit)” balances joyful, child-like production with a dry, deadpan vocal delivery that gently pokes fun at the seriousness we’re told to adopt with age. Whistles, chorus layers, and playful textures bring a children’s song sensibility, while a tight rhythm section keeps the track grounded and cool.

1. Tell us the story of this song. Why did you choose to visualize this one specifically?

This song was written on the very last day of a writing trip in Ontario, at a moment when everything felt raw and honest. It came from the strange, funny tension of being labeled “too old” when, internally, you still feel young, curious and a bit like a kid figuring things out for the first time. That contradiction is really at the heart of the song.

I chose to visualize this track because it’s fun and full of attitude. It has this bright, slightly defiant energy that felt incredibly visual to me right away. The idea of setting it in a school felt perfect; that na-na-na-boo-boo, Freaks + Geeks kind of misfit energy. I’ve never really felt like I fit in and that feeling has stuck with adulthood. I still feel like someone walking around with a backpack, looking thirteen and forty at the same time. Capturing that tension felt playful, honest and true to the song and ultimately, ME. 

2. What was the inspiration behind this video (visuals, storyline, etc.)?

The inspiration really grew out of that same outcast energy. I kept thinking about characters like Spinelli from Recess, or the world of Freaks and Geeks; these people who exist just outside the social order, who are aware of the rules but don’t quite buy into them.

I loved the idea of placing a forty-year-old inside a junior high as a total fish-out-of-water moment. It’s funny, but it’s also a way of revisiting your own childhood with a bit of nostalgia and rebellion. There’s something powerful about winking at an institution and saying, I don’t play by the rules you’ve set here.

Musically and visually, the song was also inspired by artists like Sheryl Crow and Alanis Morissette; that alternative pop/rock space that feels confident, expressive and a little bit messy in the best way. Alanis’s Ironic video was a big touchstone, especially the idea of playing multiple versions of yourself, which felt like a natural extension of the song’s themes around identity, age and self-perception.

3. What was the process of making this video?

The process was fast, focused and very DIY. We rented a school for six hours, so everything had to be planned down to the minute. We came in knowing exactly which spaces we wanted, what shots we needed and how we were going to move through the building.

Most of my music videos are made with a very small crew (usually just my photographer, my videographer and me) and this one was no different. It’s a lot of trust, a lot of hustle and a lot of moving quickly. There’s no time to overthink things; you just commit and make it happen.

We showed up prepared, stayed nimble and powered through. It was one of those shoots where you’re just getting shit done and honestly, that energy suits the song perfectly!

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The song was written quickly during a final co-writing session in Peterborough, ON, manifesting as an effortless burst of inspiration on the last day before Heath headed back to Toronto to catch a flight home.

“We weren’t even going to try writing anything, but this idea came flooding in and we laid down the demo track in what felt like an instantaneous, effortless, fun and inspiring writing session,” she recalls. “I was fairly certain I’d listen back on the bus ride to Toronto and think it sucked, but I was pleasantly surprised to find a banger visit my ears when I tuned in!”

Rather than mourning youth, “Too Old (For This Shit)” honours the clarity that comes with time. “Aging isn’t a death sentence,” Heath notes. “It deepens the fun moments and makes them richer. It’s more of a choice as you get older to keep your childlike wonder and enthusiasm for things.”