No Frills Reviews

Ben Kweller Dollar Store (feat. Waxahatchee)

Veteran singer-songwriter, Ben Kweller, previews his first album since the tragic death of his teenage son, with a grungy, alt-country rumination on existential angst. Dollar Store is a masterclass in slow-burning quiet>loud dynamics. Built on a gorgeous riff, Kweller croons gently as tension bubbles beneath the surface, before turning the volume up and unleashing a cathartic outpouring for an explosive finale.

Fake Dad Machinery

Ahead of a new EP due next month, LA duo, Fake Dad tackle music industry misogyny with an immediately memorable grunge-pop banger. Righteous anger doesn’t often sound as sweet as this.

fakemink Easter Pink

Rising underground star, fakemink, may be close to a breakout moment with this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it slice of fuzzy, electro-infused rap. The production combines the murky sonics of late 00’s cloud-rap with the accessibility of indie-pop crossovers of the era, like MGMT. The perfect scene for the Londoner’s effortlessly relentless flow; not a moment is wasted.

JPEGMAFIA Valentine’s Day Freestyle ‘25

JPEGMAFIA marked Valentine’s Day in characteristic fashion – hating. As he digs out rap rivals for their misdeeds, with references to “fuckin’ on a younger bitch”, you might think he’s picking at the remains of Drake, but anyone paying attention to his social media activity knows that he could be aiming at any number of targets. And, as is customary, he spends plenty of time holding up a mirror to his detractors.

After last year’s I LAY DOWN MY LIFE FOR YOU offered a somewhat subdued take on his frenzied production, the unpolished freestyle format provides a further glimpse into a more traditional style as he cuts up a sugary sweet, 90’s R&B sample. A fitting backdrop as he manages to make his vitriol sound nonchalantly smoothly.

Macklemore fucked up

With the US slowly sliding plummeting towards fascism and not even pretending anymore about its backing of atrocities overseas, it’s as good a time as ever for those with a platform to make their voices heard. Step forward, Macklemore. Best known for somewhat schmaltzy crossover hits, Macklemore has always stuck to his principles and remained fiercely independent. He’s perhaps a decade removed from the peak of his prominence, but the dude is still a bonafide popstar, and could be coasting on those old hits for years to come.

So all credit to him for his recent run of no-nonsense protest songs. There’s no skirting round the issues, no both sides-ing vaguery; this is pure plain-talking. He calls out Musk and his Nazi salute, he makes no bones about calling it a genocide, and he draws the lines to make clear that what happens abroad and what happens at home are intertwined. You could argue that some of this borders on simplicity, but that’s kind of the point because where the fuck has all the “well, it’s a complex issue” compromise got us. Macklemore is making a case that he’s one of music’s most important voices in 2025.

Mclusky way of the exploding dickhead/unpopular parts of a pig

The cult post-hardcore heroes make a triumphant return after two decades with the release of this double single, ahead of a new album later this year. Still as angry. Still as heavy. Still as catchy. Still as gloriously absurd. Welcome back.

PUNCHBAG Fuck It

South London sibling duo, PUNCHBAG, straddle the line between insufferable youthful obnoxiousness and infectious youthful energy. Their debut single with legendary independent label, Mute Records, captures that dichotomy. The vibes of over-earnest stadium rock in the opening verse almost had me tapping out early, with Clara Bach sounding like an androgynous Brandon Flowers. But the chorus’ transformation into euphoric, wild-eyed, electro-pop nihilism is simply irresistible. A band sure to be generating plenty of buzz over the coming year.

Snakes With Tits Tyranny

Tyranny is the centrepiece of the impressive debut EP from Newcastle’s Snakes With Tits. Amidst a hazily serene blend of shoegaze and stoner psychedelia, Tyranny punches through the speakers in a blitz of scuzzy, Stooges-esque garage rock surrealism. As frontwoman, Shellie Critchlow becomes increasingly crazed over “who put the mould in the marmalade”, you start to believe that this silly soundbite may in fact be one of the great questions of our time.