Ottawa, ON singer-songwriter and pianist Alanna Sterling (they/them) shares “More,” a quietly powerful and emotionally exposed pop ballad that sits in the tension between desire and acceptance. Blending chill, nostalgic, and moody textures with piano-driven songwriting, “More” explores the fragile space between wanting deeper connection and learning to live without certainty of its return.

At its core, “More” is about emotional honesty in its rawest form; those unspoken needs for more presence, more truth, and more love, even when it’s unclear whether they will ever be fully met. Rather than resisting that feeling, Alanna leans into it. “It’s me learning to sit in that vulnerability instead of running from it,” they share.

The result is a song that feels intimate and unguarded, carried by Alanna’s expressive vocal delivery and understated piano arrangement. Built around emotional restraint rather than release, the production allows space for silence and reflection, echoing the push and pull of longing at the heart of the track.

Lyrically, “More” captures the quiet intensity of emotional wanting less as a dramatic plea, and more as an internal dialogue. It’s a meditation on attachment and acceptance, unfolding slowly in a way that mirrors the complexity of real emotional experience.

Stylistically, the track sits comfortably within Alanna’s evolving sonic identity, a blend of contemporary pop sensibility and timeless vocal influence. Drawing natural comparisons to artists like Adele and Amy Winehouse, Alanna’s work remains distinctly personal, shaped by introspective songwriting and a deep focus on emotional connection.

Their artistry is further defined by a growing international presence, including a standout performance residency tied to the 2024 Paris Olympics, as well as recognition within Canada’s music community through nominations for Songwriter of the Year and Solo Artist of the Year at the Capital Music Awards.

Strange Plants return with “Ground Falls Away,” an energetic rock single that blends kinetic grooves with the band’s signature analog warmth. Driven by pulsing rhythms, vintage textures, and an undeniable forward motion, the track captures the restless feeling of pushing through life’s daily pressures and refusing to stand still. Following up on February’s “Lay Your Mind,” it’s the second release to be shared as part of a collection arriving throughout the year.

The inspiration for “Ground Falls Away” came from a candid conversation between friends. “I was speaking with a friend over drinks one night and he was really going through it,” explains songwriter Matt Brannon. “He was hustling day to day just to stay ahead, and it felt like if he ever stopped moving the ground would just swallow him up. Despite all this pressure, he remained hopeful and willing to keep soldiering on.”

The song first began with a riff from songwriter Travis Flint, an acoustic figure that weaves through the verses and anchors the driving momentum. Though written several years ago, the band initially set it aside after recording the foundational tracks during a transitional period. Returning to it later gave the song new life. “We had recorded the bed tracks but shelved it for a while,” Matt says. “Coming back to it now, it feels like it was meant to be. It’s so much better and we couldn’t be happier.”

One of the most distinctive elements of “Ground Falls Away” lies in its rhythm section. The bass lands on the upbeat against the kick drum’s downbeat, creating an unusual push-and-pull groove that fuels the song’s sense of motion. The chorus then expands dramatically, culminating in an instrumental back half that delivers emotional impact without relying on additional lyrics.

To complete the track, Strange Plants reunited with producer Robbie Crowell (Deer Tick, Sturgill Simpson), who also produced their self-titled debut album. “We brought Robbie in to put a bunch of stuff on it and bring it into the Strange Plants family,” Matt explains. The final arrangement leans into the band’s love of 70s and 80s sonic textures, layering synths, sequencers, and analog production touches into what remains, at its heart, a vibrant rock song.

Bang Bang Jet Away didn’t approach “Mishima” like a concept they needed to unpack or justify, and that already sets the track apart from the usual run of music that borrows from literature or history as a kind of aesthetic shorthand. There’s no framing device here, no sense that the band is guiding the listener toward an interpretation or even particularly interested in helping the reference resolve into meaning. Instead, the name sits at the center of the release like something deliberately left exposed.

Yukio Mishima, as a figure, tends to resist easy treatment. His work, his public persona, and the contradictions that defined his life have been picked over in academic and cultural spaces for decades, often reduced into competing narratives that never quite settle. Bang Bang Jet Away don’t attempt to resolve any of that tension, and more importantly, they don’t seem interested in translating it into something more immediately digestible. The decision to use his name feels less like homage or commentary and more like placing a loaded object inside the framework of a song and refusing to defuse it.

What distinguishes the track from similar reference-based work is that it doesn’t build outward from the idea it invokes. There’s no attempt to turn Mishima into metaphor, nor is there a clear narrative structure that mirrors aspects of his life or writing. The music doesn’t function as illustration. It functions more like environment, or pressure, or something that occupies space without clarifying its own purpose.

The sound itself follows that same logic. Rather than moving through clearly defined sections or building toward recognizable emotional peaks, it holds a kind of suspended motion, where elements enter and leave without settling into a fixed hierarchy. It’s not chaotic in the sense of being unstructured, but it resists the expectation that structure should become visible or reassuring. Instead, it stays slightly out of focus, as though the form is always in the process of forming but never fully arriving at a stable shape.

That choice matters in relation to the title, because it prevents the listener from treating the reference as something to be decoded. Mishima’s name carries too much historical and cultural weight to function as simple texture, yet the band doesn’t step in to interpret that weight on behalf of the audience. They leave it intact, and in doing so, they create a space where the listener has to sit with the friction between recognition and incompletion.

There’s a kind of discipline in that refusal. Not the discipline of control or precision in the traditional sense, but the discipline of not over-explaining, of not resolving what could easily be made more explicit. A different version of this song might have leaned into narrative clarity or emotional signposting, turning its reference point into something more immediately legible. Bang Bang Jet Away resist that impulse entirely.

What remains is a track that doesn’t offer interpretation so much as insist on presence. “Mishima” doesn’t close around meaning, and it doesn’t attempt to guide the listener toward a final reading of its subject. It simply holds the name, the sound, and the tension between them in the same space without resolving any of it.

The Mosfets return with “Radio, Turn Me On,” an electric and frenetic garage rock track and the second single to be shared from the band’s upcoming self-titled EP (out May 29th, 2026), following the release of “Take A Chance” on March 6th. Driven by pounding drums, fuzz-drenched guitars, and a euphoric sense of chaos, the track captures the band’s love for playful storytelling while channeling the raw spirit of classic garage punk. It’s a call to action to turn the radio on while also being a sexual innuendo.

The idea for the song arrived at an unexpected moment. While riding to a gig with the band, frontman Keith Mosfet casually asked his bandmate Ilari to “turn the radio on.” The phrase instantly sparked an idea. “I remember laughing because it sounded like a sexual innuendo,” Keith explains. “I’m always looking for interesting concepts to write about, and I liked the idea of blending humour with romanticism.” Inspired in part by the surreal charm of The Who’s “Pinball Wizard,” The Mosfets leaned into the playful absurdity of the concept, leaving listeners free to interpret the title however they like.

1. Tell us the story of this song, why did you choose to visualize this song specifically?
The song actually came from a dream back in Autumn 2024. In my dream I was at a party, and I recall putting on some random vinyl. And this song is what played.
Its a pretty classic sounding early 1960’s Blues Garage Rock type song to me. I think I remember dancing in my dream, I then woke up and realized it was an original song. So I just recorded the demo, the song was pretty much written right there.

I originally couldn’t really name the song, since it was so abstract in a way, coming from a dream. The other guys in the band (Maarten & Ilari) agreed to play this blues garage song. But only if we named it Keith Is A Blues artist haha. 
Visually, I was to take that classic 1960’s psychedelic visuals. But also pay homage to one of the original, unsung heros and creators of that style, Len Lye. We used a lot of his different visuals to help make all the videos on this EP.

2.What was the inspiration behind this video (visuals, storyline, etc.)? 
The unsung hero, that is Len Lye. His visual eye was such a huge influence on what is now perceived as 1960’s visuals, when in reality he was doing this back in the 1930’s. We used his visual’s and mixed it with our music and live clips.

3.What was the process of making this video?
I had a vision, I told my friend Adam Smith who goes by Nobodys Shapeshift about this. And we worked together to get the end results that is Keith Is A Blues Artist.

Berlin-based songwriter Ryan O’Reilly releases the official studio version of “Elizabeth,” a reflective and memorable alternative folk gem written nearly 20 years ago. Originally penned in 2006 before a summer tour of Canada with future Dwayne Gretzky founders Tyler Kyte and Nick Rose, the song channels O’Reilly’s deep admiration for Gram Parsons into something more country and bluegrass-inflected than typically associated with Irish or English songwriters.

“Elizabeth” offers a preview of O’Reilly’s forthcoming album Native Companion, set for release on April 14th, 2026, his birthday. Inspired by David Foster Wallace’s essay collection A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, the album title nods to the collaborative spirit that defines O’Reilly’s journey from Toronto’s Dwayne Gretzky community to Berlin’s L.A. People. The record features contributions from Spencer Cullum Jr., classical cellist Anastasia Povekvechnykh, Jadea Kelly, Missouri songwriter Ian Fisher, and screenwriter Christopher Moynihan.

Lyrically rich and poetic, “Elizabeth” paints the portrait of an enigmatic, slightly troubled young woman who “steals the show” despite the darkness and loss that surrounds her. The song captures the beauty and unpredictability of young love and the feeling of standing mid-scene in a play, unsure of the ending but fully immersed in the moment.

Recorded at Dwayne’s World studio in Toronto, the track reunites O’Reilly with longtime collaborators Tyler Kyte and Nick Rose, alongside members of Dwayne Gretzky: Simeon Abbott (piano), Adam Hindle (drums), and Dave Dalrymple (bass). Engineering duties were handled by Ian Docherty, guitarist of July Talk.

The single also features London-born, Nashville-based pedal steel legend Spencer Cullum Jr. on lead guitar. Cullum, in town performing at the SkyDome (Rogers Centre) with Miranda Lambert, stopped by the studio, was handed a beer and a guitar, and delivered his part in a single live take.
The recording process intentionally preserved a live, relaxed atmosphere. O’Reilly, Kyte, and Cullum Jr. sat on sofas while performing, capturing the song’s restless energy and lived-in warmth. The result is a version that feels both nostalgic and immediate, a full-circle moment for a song that has been performed on street corners and stages for two decades.

The Imaginary Band, the latest project from longtime Chilliwack, BC musician Andrew Christopher, expands from concept to fully realized collaboration on their self-titled debut album. Blending folk, rock, and Americana influences, the record captures the spontaneity and chemistry that happens when talented musicians gather in the same room and let creativity lead the way.

“I had written the songs and recorded some acoustic versions,” Andrew explains. “Then these incredible musicians came into my life and we just had to finish the songs with their added touches of brilliance.” What followed was a recording experience that felt both focused and free-flowing. Over two intense days in the studio, each musician stepped fully into their role while maintaining a supportive and lighthearted atmosphere. “We knew our assignments,” he recalls. “But of course, we kept it fun, lighthearted, and encouraging in a supportive atmosphere. People trying to out-solo each other in healthy competition was a highlight.”

At the heart of the album is its lead single, “If You Only Knew,” an unrelenting yet heartfelt folk-rock track that explores accountability and communication within personal relationships. The song balances its aggressive musical drive with a deeper emotional message: understanding often begins by turning inward.

“The title reflects the central idea of the song,” Andrew shares. “If you only knew what was really going on then you may be able to accept some responsibility and find ways that you can help the relationship.”

One memorable moment from the recording process involved a surprising shift in instrumentation. Originally, local guitar legend Trevor McDonald was set to record the track’s solo while contributing electric guitar across the record. Instead, he suggested experimenting with a violin solo. After some discussion, Christopher and keyboardist Devon Jared ultimately felt the song needed a guitar lead, leading Jared to step in and deliver the fiery solo that defines the track’s climax.

Warm but urgent, reflective yet propulsive, “If You Only Knew” captures the spirit that defines the entire album: real musicians playing real instruments, collaborating in real time. It’s a reminder that connection, honesty, and shared creativity can turn a collection of songs into something much bigger than any individual contributor.