From the honey-sweet dance breaks to the sharp, erratic lunges, to the left-hand turns into rhythmically precarious traffic, miarklez tricks you into becoming an accomplice to the assembly line, both before and after listening, and oh, ain’t it fun to hear those puzzle pieces snap into place.

B.A. Johnston provides a surreal outlook on the world, focusing on minute details and intimacy in a way that feels incredibly creative yet grounded and real.

Beyond its emotional depth and the musical fluency on full display within, :3 is an expertly-crafted EP; full of the kind of texture and nuance that’d make any audiophile blush. Long story short: spin this EP ‘til the grooves wear out, sure; but go see Cherry Pick – it’s believin’. Trust me.

Different seasons represent different points of our lives, which Lapell conveys through colours and images in her lyrics. The warmth of this record reminds me of the leaves in the fall.

Blending classical North Indian music with modal jazz, the output is a synthesis of harmonies that fuse rhythm, tone, and structure. I’m particularly enamoured by their name; “amrita” is the Sanskrit word for a nectar promising immortality. 

What is this beautiful power pop? Alex Edkins can actually sing? Are those honest to goodness hooks that aren’t buried under an endless wave of metallic feedback? Am I losing my mind here? No, this is real and it’s so good.

The solid rhythm, cascading fuzz delays, and warm rock and roll organ are familiar but welcoming garage rock territory. The band’s not reinventing the wheel, by any means. The real payoff is their distinct musical sound, their specific timbre and swagger, their characteristic spooky resonance and vice-tight ensemble playing; harmony decomposed into volatile compounds, the emergent property that is Big Evil Rat.

Pre-Breaker’s titular album is one hell of a debut. It comes in hard and serves as a cathartic release for those who find themselves troubled by corporate greed, the horror of war, and the police state. 

Evil Ebenezer is a Vancouver-based rapper with a grimy flow and a battle tested delivery, whose new album, Steroid Era, uses the great game of baseball as a metaphor for striving for authenticity in a complicated industry. His flow and cadence drips with confidence, as he swaggers through battles and tribulations, skin thick and calloused, toughened and creased, like a perfectly broken-in catcher’s mitt.

Solitary Songs exists in the mercy of its own brilliant means, with a magical, fated quality. If you’re looking for a record that combines the collaborative warmth of a tight-knit prairie community with the solitary, cosmic searching of a brilliant songwriter, do not pass this one by. It’s a masterclass in modern folk melancholy, and it deserves a permanent home on your turntable.

By wrapping deeply alienated lyricism in laid-back rhythms, shimmering guitars, and sunny production, Zoon doesn't just look back at childhood trauma. Instead, they squeeze a vital, survivalist beauty right out of it.

As a whole, the album tells a vivid story. To me, it felt like listening to an ancient tree recounting its life from a single spot in the forest: growing from a sapling to a dilapidated, fungal log, enduring fierce floods and burning fires, until at the end of it all, something new emerges.

Sloan’s poetic sentiments, captivating songwriting and delicate voice hold our hand through these changing seasons and life lessons as summer ends and the leaves begin to fall.