by Jane Lambert

The Free States Let the Songs Do the Talking on “Love & Death”

There is something to be said for music that doesn’t immediately tell you what it is. In a world of genre tags, carefully curated aesthetics and songs apparently designed to make perfect sense within the first fifteen seconds, it is rather nice to encounter an album that seems perfectly happy to wander off and see what happens. No map or flashing neon sign saying this is the important bit, just a collection of ideas allowed to develop at their own pace. And that, in a nutshell, is rather what The Free States are doing on Love & Death.

The project of American songwriter Shaun Lyons, now based in Athens, Greece, The Free States has always been difficult to squeeze into one particular musical box, and frankly, why would you want to? There are traces of rock, soul, alternative music, experimental rhythms and a healthy appreciation of melody, but attempting to reduce all of that to a convenient label would miss the point. Lyons is interested in songs first.

“Definite” is a particularly good example. Built around the wonderfully human problem of being indecisive at a crucial moment in a relationship, it moves in 7/4, which is not generally the time signature one reaches for when trying to make uncertainty sound comfortable. But it works. There is an ease here that makes the unusual rhythm feel natural, while the song itself manages to be thoughtful.

Then there is the opening track “Most of All,” apparently born at three in the morning while Lyons’s electric guitar was lying beside him with the amplifier still switched on. Which is probably proof that sometimes the best songwriting advice is simply to leave the equipment where it is and see what happens. The song has a lovely sense of longing running through it, while strings, a refrain and a guitar solo give it a little more space and help distinguish Love & Death from the more guitar driven album that came before it.

Elsewhere, “Man the Baddies” brings considerably more muscle to the proceedings. What began around thoughts of war, friends being conscripted and the complicated question of what it actually means to move forward. It is energetic, rhythmically unusual and probably the heaviest thing The Free States have recorded, but there is no neatly packaged political statement waiting at the end of it. Lyons is more interested in the uncomfortable business of making decisions, which is rather more interesting than having the songwriter hand you a conclusion and ask you to tick a box.

Lyons has talked about songwriting as something that needs to happen before consciousness starts getting in the way, and there is freedom in that approach.

There is a similar freedom in the way the album was made. Recorded largely in Athens, with drums captured in several different rooms and vocals recorded together in another, Love & Death is clearly more interested in capturing a good performance than in constructing some immaculate sonic monument. Lyons makes much of the music himself, working with trusted collaborators when required, and there is something appealingly old fashioned about that. You have an idea, you make the record, you listen to it and you decide whether it works. Revolutionary stuff apparently.

Love & Death is an album that can groove, can rock and it can become rhythmically peculiar, it can pull back and allow a melody to carry the weight and it can occassionally make you wonder where on earth Lyons is taking you before realising that you rather like the journey. The Free States have remembered that the scenic route is where the interesting stuff happens.

Listen here:

09.02.26

by Jane Lambert

VIDEO VOYAGEUR: 3 Q’s WITH WINCHESTER 7 & THE RUNNERS

There is a particular kind of magic in music that sounds familiar as well as entirely its own. Winchester 7 & The Runners understands that balance instinctively, drawing on the energy of garage rock, the melodic instincts of classic songwriting and the sun soaked spirit of surf music, while placing the unlikely sound of an electric tenor ukulele right at the centre of it all.

This is a project that is playful without being lightweight, carefully crafted without losing its sense of spontaneity and firmly rooted in the belief that a great song should still be able to cut through the noise.

We caught up with Winchester 7 & The Runners for this exclusive interview to talk about the creative thinking behind the project, the making of the music video and the inspiration behind “The World From My Bed”, and what lies ahead for the band.

Watch the Official Music Video here:

1. Tell us the story of this track. Why did you choose to visualize it specifically in this way?

The song started innocently enough. My family was talking about how much of current events my teen daughter learns about on Tiktok and its often dubious accuracy. I thought how much of a change that represents to our communications and how, generally, weak people’s innate critical reasoning can be. So, I started writing from a perspective of a “it was this, now it’s that” sort of thing.

But, that sort of song starts to sound like cranky old man shouting at clouds pretty quickly whereas I was more interested in the contrast than suggesting that one was better than another. I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but older news media has made its share mistakes of too – like how Dungeons & Dragons is deadly or that time when Martians invaded.

Anyway, with all of that in mind, I latched onto the idea that rotting in bed is also, these days, not the same isolated thing it once was. And there I had the title with a bridge written from an imagined perspective of my daughter’s.

So, we set out to shoot a video that borrowed some of those themes in a time travelly sort of way.

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

Something you may not have picked up on is that the trunk on the album cover for our EP No Worse For Wear which is also shown in the video – as an aside, that’s the actual trunk that my great grandfather brought over with him from Northern Italy when he immigrated to the US – was previously seen in a video for our song “The Golden Age”. One in the back catalogue.

Anyway, in that one, Jack opened the trunk and got out a device that he used to time travel back to the ’50s to visit my grandparents on a vacation of theirs to what appears to be Atlantic City, in an effort to escape COVID lockdown. Hey, it was a nice thought!

In reality, we were all stuck together for the bulk of it as travel restrictions happened right after we all got together to record.
So, at the end of “Waitin’ Here For You”, Jack finds his time machine again, after rummaging his way through the thing, and we all get a bit of a surprise. The video for “The World From My Bed” picks up from there with me (Win) shown stuck on a bed in some sort of time pocket with some surreal stuff happening just outside the window that I mostly ignore.

3. What was the process of making the video?

I wanted to create a video that built upon the prior video release for our song, “Waitin’ Here For You”. We shot the album cover while filming that video in the same session. We sat on the couch for some stills and then started to do our thing as the song played in a continuous shot.

“The World From My Bed” was shot right after that to keep some continuity.

The World is literally seen from my bed outside that time window, as I rot away with my uke, phone, and a good book. We then added some footage of feature vocalist Airinna Namara, who sings the bridge, in said window and got our video!

Keep up with Winchester 7 & The Runners on the Website

05.29.26

by Jane Lambert

A Song in Motion -Wayward Sparrow Finds Form in “Gravel and Broken Glass”

If there’s one thing that runs through certain strands of Americana and modern folk songwriting, it’s the sense that stories don’t always arrive in straight lines. Many of them settle into meaning slowly. “Gravel and Broken Glass,” which is the latest single from Wayward Sparrow, leans into that idea with confidence creating a song that is as much about atmosphere and suggestion as it is about traditional song structure.

Detroit-based songwriter Rich Clark continues to develop Wayward Sparrow as a fully independent project, self producing and self recording the material with a deliberately stripped back approach to the arrangements. What emerges is not an attempt to recreate a genre in its polished form so much as to engage with its origin: storytelling, space, emotion.

On “Gravel and Broken Glass,” that philosophy is immediately apparent. The song did not begin in its final form. Originally written around a different chord structure, it shifted significantly during the recording process when Clark began experimenting with a new rhythm guitar part. That change re-directed the entire track. What was once a more conventional idea gradually became something darker and more atmospheric, shaped in real time rather than imposed from the outset.

he acoustic guitar carries a steady forward motion, and a Telecaster solo enters midway through not as a climactic moment, but as a tonal shift, slightly distant and bridging sections with a sense of mood rather than spectacle.

Vocally and lyrically, the song continues Clark’s focus on imagery and implication. Rather than spelling everything out directly, the writing leans into suggestion, letting meaning form gradually through repetition and reflection. It’s a style that feels closely tied to the broader intent behind Wayward Sparrow: lyrics that reward patience where interpretation is part of the listening experience rather than something resolved immediately.

Like much of Wayward Sparrow’s work, it feels less concerned with arrival than with the actual journey, much more about capturing the moment a song decides what it wants to be.

About Wayward Sparrow

Wayward Sparrow is the independent music project of Detroit-based singer-songwriter Rich Clark. Self-recorded, self-produced, and self-funded, the project embraces sparse arrangements that put honest storytelling and atmosphere at the forefront.

With a sound centered in folk, Americana, and subtle bluegrass influences, Wayward Sparrow explores the darker, often unspoken corners of life through music that is intimate and deeply human. Clark’s work has been described as “whiskey lamentations and hymns of the hopeless.”

Follow Wayward Sparrow on Instagram

Stream music on Soundcloud and YouTube Music

05.27.26

by Jane Lambert

Animals in Denial Channels Chaos and Cultural Friction on Latest Release “We’re Dangerous”

“We’re Dangerous” arrives like a signal bleeding through from somewhere slightly off-grid. It’s too loud, too dense, too emotionally charged to behave itself in the way modern alt-rock often politely insists it should.

Animals in Denial don’t seem interested in that politeness anyway. Christian Imes builds this thing like he’s holding multiple ideas in his hands at once and refusing to drop any of them, even if they clash, even if they spark, even if they threaten to overload the system.

There’s an almost basement level urgency running through the track, the kind you used to hear when bands had something to prove and not much interest in smoothing the edges for wider consumption. Guitars are stacked and slightly unruly, not in a sloppy way, but in a way that feels human with small variations left in the mix, textures allowed to overlap instead of being neatly separated into their own lanes. It doesn’t sound “produced” so much as assembled under pressure like the song might have broken out of the room if it had been given just one more pass.

And yet, for all that abrasion, there’s something strangely controlled underneath it. The drums hold steady like a metronome refusing to be dragged into chaos. The bass sits deeper in the structure, doing its job without calling attention to itself. It’s the tension between those grounding elements and the surrounding noise that gives the track its shape. Without that discipline, it would collapse into pure distortion.

“We’re Dangerous” is a song about being misread. About generational friction. About the way language gets flattened when one group looks at another and decides it already understands them. But unlike a lot of modern “statement” tracks, it doesn’t reduce that idea into slogans or clean takes.

There’s a moment in the track where everything feels like it’s pushing slightly out of alignment with layers pressing against each other, vocals cutting through. That’s where the song really clicks.

And that’s something a lot of modern alternative music seems to have forgotten how to do. “We’re Dangerous” does the opposite. It leans into friction. It lets the rough edges stay visible. It trusts that intensity doesn’t need to be smoothed in order to be understood.

Is it chaotic? Absolutely.
Is it controlled? Just enough.
Is it necessary? That’s the real question.

Because somewhere inside all that distortion and density, there’s a clarity and the sense that this is what it sounds like when someone refuses to simplify themselves for easy interpretation.

It’s loud, it’s uncomfortable, and it doesn’t apologize for either of those things.

Keep up with Animals In Denial on the Website

Stream music on Spotify and YouTube Music

03.24.26

by Jane Lambert

Life Between the Lines: Bobbo Byrnes and the Reality of the Touring Musician

Despite spending more than two decades on the road, and playing everywhere from living rooms to festival stages across the U.S. and Europe, Bobbo Byrnes has largely remained just outside the traditional spotlight. Therefore, it feels appropriate that his memoir, Too Many Miles: On the Road with an Unofficial Rock & Roll Goodwill Ambassador, doesn’t focus on a single breakthrough moment or career peak, but instead captures the long, winding road of a working musician who has built his life one show, one connection and one mile at a time.

This is not a typical rock memoir filled with tales of excess or industry mythology, nor is it strictly a travelogue. Alhough it does contain elements of both. While Byrnes does recount the expected stories the book quickly expands into something broader. It becomes a reflection on what it means to exist in that middle space of the music world: not unknown but not quite mainstream either, working within a global network of small venues, house concerts and grassroots connections.

Byrnes’s early years and evolution as a musician are touched on throughout, from his beginnings in the Boston music scene to his eventual relocation to Southern California and the formation of his band, The Fallen Stars. These formative experiences are presented as part of an ongoing continuum, one that includes constant touring, creative partnerships and the gradual shaping of his identity as both an artist and a storyteller.

A significant portion of the book focuses on Byrnes’s experiences touring internationally, particularly in Europe where his role often extends beyond performer. Much like the best travel writing, these sections highlight not just where he goes but how he is received along the way.

Encounters with audiences frequently shift from music to conversations about American culture, politics and identity, placing Byrnes in an unexpected position of informal ambassador. These moments, including a tense radio interview in Germany and performances for diverse audiences, underscore the idea that music can serve as a bridge in ways that more formal channels often cannot.

Parallel to these stories is the recurring theme of connection and how fleeting interactions with strangers can leave lasting impressions. Whether it’s a conversation after a show, a shared meal or a collaborative moment with fellow musicians, Byrnes emphasizes the communal aspect of a life on the road. In doing so, he subtly pushes back against the notion of the lone artist, instead illustrating how his career has been shaped by countless individuals along the way.

Stylistically, the book mirrors Byrnes’s songwriting with its direct and conversational tone. There is little attempt to mythologize events or even elevate them beyond what they are. Instead, the strength lies in accumulation, in the gradual layering of stories that, taken together, form a clear picture of a life defined not by a sigular achievement but by persistence.

While the book stands out on its own, it also exists alongside a companion album which echoes many of the same themes. Much like the memoir, Byrnes’s music draws from years of travel and observation, reinforcing the idea that Byrnes’ songs and stories are inseparable parts of the same narrative.

If there is an overarching takeaway, it is that careers like this rarely follow a straight line. There is not a single defining moment or arrival point but just the work itself: the writing, the traveling, the performing and the decision to keep on going. If the realities of independent touring, the intersection of culture and songwriting and the quieter stories that exist beyond the mainstream music industry are of interest, then Too Many Miles is well worth the journey.

Connect with Bobbo Byrnes on his Website

02.24.26

by Jane Lambert

A Is for Atom Finds Quiet Strength in “Closer”

A Is for Atom first caught my attention through his ability to turn big, uncomfortable ideas into something deeply personal, and his new single “Closer” continues that tradition in quietly compelling fashion.

Where some artists respond to modern instability with just more noise, this track takes a different route and focuses instead on what happens when two people try to stay connected in a world that seems determined to pull them apart. Set against a backdrop of emotional static, empty rhetoric and everyday pressure, “Closer” is almost a reflection on intimacy as something you have to actively protect.

What makes the song work so well is that it never slips into sentimentality. There is uncertainty here, hesitation as well as an awareness that words can do damage as easily as they can heal. The narrator and their partner aren’t presented as flawless or heroic; they are restless, imperfect and occasionally unsure. Yet, rather than retreating into distance the song frames closeness as a conscious choice. In that sense, “Closer” is a lot more about romance than resilience.

The musical arrangement here is understated but the beats move with a gentle urgency, guitars shimmer and recede, and the overall production leaves space for the lyrics. There is subtle tension running through the song, and a general sense that things could easily unravel. But, they never quite do. This give the music a quiet strength and reinforces the idea that togetherness does not have to be loud to be powerful.

Like much of A Is for Atom’s work, “Closer” succeeds because it captures the feeling of trying to hold onto something meaningful while the world remains unresolved and unstable. In doing this, it becomes a small but significant reminder that connection when chosen deliberately, can still cut through the noise.

About A is For Atom

Mike Cykoski is the creative force behind A Is for Atom, a literate indie rock project that layers songwriting with electronic innovation. An NYU graduate with a Master’s in Music Technology, he has also studied at Juilliard, Harvest Work and Dubspot.

Mike has performed internationally, with highlights in Ireland, Mexico City, Toronto (NXNE, Canadian Music Week), and major U.S. hubs including New York City and Austin. His previous EPs, Song for You (2014) and Last Man on the Moon (2017), earned critical acclaim, establishing him as a forward-thinking voice in contemporary indie rock.

Now with latest release “Enola”, A Is For Atom is using autobiography to fuse social critique, and innovative sound design into a track that will resonate with many listeners.

Keep up with A is For Atom on the Website

Stream music on Spotify and Apple Music