After years keeping time behind the kit as the drummer for powerhouse Led Zeppelin tribute Zepparella, Clementine Moss is now striking a softer, more vulnerable chord—one that resonates straight from the heart. With her debut solo album, Clem & Clearlight (out May 30), Moss steps into the center of the frame, crafting a deeply soulful, genre-defying collection that prioritizes emotion over spectacle and spirit over speed.

Clem & Clearlight is a meditation in motion. At its core, it’s an exploration of intimacy—emotional, spiritual, and musical. The record trades rock’s thunder for quiet storms, ambient textures, and songwriting that feels like a whisper into the listener’s ear. Through stripped-down arrangements and poetic lyrics, Moss invites us into her interior world, where moments are suspended in time and vulnerability is treated as a superpower.

The album’s lead single, “Hey Sweetheart,” is a perfect example. Co-written with Italian guitar virtuoso Daniele Gottardo and Jimi Marks of the John Brothers Piano Company, the track unfolds with cinematic patience. Moss’s voice is breathy and direct, capturing the unguarded sincerity of a late-night conversation. It’s not about theatrics—it’s about telling the truth, softly and fully.

Across the album, Moss proves she’s not just a musician, but a seeker—one unafraid to sit in silence, stretch time, and let emotional clarity dictate tempo. With contributors like Gottardo and Marks, along with bassist Robert Preston, the album becomes more than a personal statement—it’s a communion. The musicianship is impeccable, but never showy; every note serves the feeling.

In a musical landscape that often favors immediacy and volume, Clem & Clearlight is refreshingly patient. It doesn’t clamor for attention—it holds it, gently. For fans of artists like Cat Power, Talk Talk, or early Norah Jones, Clementine Moss offers a quiet reckoning and a bold reintroduction.

Some songs arrive like a thunderclap. Others slip in unnoticed, weaving their way into your subconscious until you realize they’ve taken root. Cameron Stenger’s latest single, “Lingering,” falls squarely into the latter category. A quiet, emotionally rich meditation on memory and aftermath, the track serves as the first glimpse into his forthcoming album Lighter, due Summer 2025. It’s a subtle, slow-burning triumph from a songwriter who has long favored introspection over spectacle, and with “Lingering”, he invites listeners into one of his most vulnerable spaces yet.

Stenger, based in North Carolina, has built a steady following over the years for his evocative songwriting and hushed, aching delivery. Comparisons to artists like Elliott Smith, Nick Drake, and Jeff Tweedy persist, but Stenger has never chased mimicry. Instead, he’s worked with restraint, carefully carving out a voice that’s distinct in its understatement. With “Lingering,” he doesn’t demand attention—he earns it, line by line, note by note, breath by breath.

The song begins in near silence. Fingerpicked guitar creates a delicate lattice beneath Stenger’s hushed vocal, his words arriving like thoughts formed in real time. The pace is intentional, mirroring the emotional paralysis of its subject: the hollow space between loss and healing. “Lingering” is not about catharsis—it’s about the time just before it, when you’re still sorting through the wreckage, still tethered to what’s already gone.

A descending bassline, rich and melodic, begins to pull the track downward before lifting it into a new plane. Subtle, Beatlesque in shape, it’s the first sign of movement. Then the dam breaks: drums tumble in, guitars swell and shimmer, and Stenger’s voice strains—not with volume, but with feeling. There’s a storm inside this song, but it never spills over. Every element remains in service to the emotional architecture, held together by the delicate tension between control and collapse.

One of the most devastating lines comes almost casually: “Still in love with the aftermath.” It lands like a punch to the chest, perfectly capturing the central paradox of the song—how we sometimes cling to the debris of heartbreak long after its fire has gone out. It’s that complicated, in-between emotional state that “Lingering” embodies so effectively. Nothing is resolved here. Nothing is easy. But everything is honest.

The song’s accompanying video, directed by Erin Scannell, offers a visual meditation to match. Dreamlike and disorienting, it features ghostly doubles, slow-motion sequences, and nature rendered both intimate and unfamiliar. Floating flowers, flickering mirrors, the soft erosion of identity—all of it echoes the internal shifting that “Lingering” speaks to. The video is as gorgeously composed as it is emotionally unsettling, allowing the viewer to sit inside the very limbo the song conjures.

What sets Stenger apart, particularly with this release, is his trust in the listener. He doesn’t rush to the hook, doesn’t overstate his message, doesn’t force a resolution. Instead, he asks you to stay. To sit with the discomfort. To notice the small turns of phrase, the undercurrents, the silences between sounds. It’s the kind of songwriting that rewards patience—and more importantly, presence.

With “Lingering”, Cameron Stenger offers a compelling introduction to Lighter, an album that already promises to be his most emotionally ambitious to date. If the rest of the record carries even a fraction of the resonance heard here, Stenger won’t just be returning—he’ll be redefining the shape of his artistic identity.

For now, “Lingering” is enough. It’s a song that doesn’t beg to be played again. It just waits—on the edge of your day, in the corner of your mind—until you come back to it. And you will.

Award-winning Canadian Folk/Americana artist Robert Thomas and the sessionmen channel a youthful spark and the warmth of lifelong friendship on “Kick the Can,” the nostalgic and upbeat opening track from their sophomore album The Way We Roll, out now.

A deeply personal and resonant record, The Way We Roll captures Thomas’ reflections on his Atlantic Canadian upbringing with sharp lyricism and a rich, organic sound. From the bittersweet “Springhill” and stripped-down piano ballad “Beside You,” to bluegrass-tinged moments like “Lake Louise” and “A River Runs Through,” the album draws vivid emotional lines between joy, heartbreak, nostalgia, and resilience.

Rooted in a real childhood memory of moving from L.A. to Ohio, “Kick the Can” recalls the night Thomas, then the new kid in town, was invited to join a group of neighborhood kids for a game that changed everything. “In about two hours, I had more friends than I ever had in LA,” he shares. “I had a helluva good time in Columbus for the next two years.”

Fun, insightful, and infused with a spirit of community, “Kick the Can” showcases the Folk/Americana magic that defines The Way We Roll. Produced, engineered, and mixed by JUNO Award–winners Catherine MacLellan and Mark Westberg, the track brings together rich acoustic textures, spirited harmonies, and top-tier musicianship from the sessionmen (Ray Legere, Jon Arsenault) and a handpicked roster of guest players.

British-born, France-based singer-songwriter Simon Scardanelli delivers a thunderous call to arms with his latest single, “Battle Ships,” a gritty and rebellious folk-rock anthem drawn from his forthcoming climate-themed folk-opera La Mer.

Both defiant and mythic in tone, “Battle Ships” imagines a mythical race waging war against humankind in a last-ditch rebellion against our environmental destruction. Featuring raw acoustic textures, urgent vocals, and an unexpected dose of ukulele power, the track feels like an uprising in motion – intimate and cinematic in equal measure.

Originally written for La Mer (slated for release in late 2025), the track earned its place on Scardanelli’s new album after proving to be a showstopper in his live sets. “It brings the house down live,” Simon shares. “There’s not many times you get to hear a ukulele played with this kind of aggression.”

New England folk songwriter Dan Pallotta has a new single out entitled, “Working Man’s Son,” a powerful, upbeat and introspective folk track that captures the emotional tension of gratitude and guilt in a son’s relationship with his father.

The inspiration for the song came from Pallotta’s relationship with his father, who passed away three years ago. Pallotta reflects on the complex feelings that come with being the son of a working-class father.” Pallotta explains.

Speaking of the song’s title, Pallotta states, “It’s lenticular. It means at once intense pride on one hand, and a heavy burden and sorrow on the other.”

The song’s production reflects the emotional depth of the lyrics, with Pallotta opting for a more upbeat arrangement after initially considering a slow, intimate piano ballad. “We tried that ten different ways and it was dragging. Once I decided to pick up the tempo and raise the key to about the top of my voice, the existing arrangement came together,” he explains.

The track’s mood is both melancholic and inspiring, with a powerful sense of tribute and loss interwoven into the music. Pallotta’s poignant lyrics and thoughtful storytelling are complemented by his collaborators, including multi-instrumentalist Peter Davis, who contributed a variety of elements, including djembe, cajon, shruti box, electric guitar, and bass to the recording.