LITM Singer-songwriter brings you tunes Jacob Beaman, Jess Corbin, Powers of The Monk, Lawrence Timoni and Sons of Racketeers!
1. Jacob Beaman – You and I
Jacob Beaman's first single You and I is not so much a song as a love letter in handwriting form, dated and placed in a wax seal of indie pop coziness. Imagine this: you see the closing credits of a rom-com, the title "happily ever after" appears on screen… but instead of going black, Jacob keeps the reel rolling. His voice is close, enveloped in soft acoustics that unfold into rich symphonies like a love growing richer with age. It's sweet, but never sugary, ethereal, yet firmly rooted in genuine love. The sorcery here is the way regular love sounds so incredible in his care, as if fairytales need not close with credits rolling; they can just keep unfolding, song after song. You and I isn't a debut—that's a first chapter, and if this is how Jacob begins his epic, we're in for a year of soundtrack-brain-wrangle-by-heart-thumping-sincerity.
2. Jess Corbin – Shame
Jess Corbin's Shame isn't a play-by-your-ear song—it's an ear-grab by the collar, a whisper of the tale, and the echo buzzes itself around your chest. Captured with her dream team of musicians, the song shimmers with textured production and Corbin's spellbinding, soul-cinching vocals upfront. There's a heady combination of mandolin twangs, pulsing bass, and glowing electric guitar that makes Shame sound ageless but new. But the real magic elixir? Corbin's delivery. She doesn't sing; she lives through the melody, etching each note into memory. The song glides like a confession stall where weakness and power exist hand in hand—sorrow has never been so lovely. And when the final note disappears, the silence is almost deafening, as if the song will not let go. This is not another indie treasure—it's evidence that Jess Corbin has become a master at music that echoes long after the play button stays down.
3. Powers of the Monk – Bread & Circuses
If Bread & Circuses were a painting, it would be up on a surrealist gallery wall, lions bellowing in one corner, hospital machinery beeping in another, and a violin cutting through it all with spooky beauty. Powers of the Monk has created a fever dream of audio here: acoustic lullabies transform into end-of-the-world siren songs, with the lyrics careening between hallucinatory whispers and societal gut punches. It's disorienting, cinematic, and utterly addictive. The hook "The lions eat the clowns" isn't merely catchy; it's a threat set in verse, a carnival mask pulled off to show bared teeth. By the finale, with visions of "bubble babies floating in space," the song soars into cosmic insanity, turning fear into transfiguration. This isn't wallpaper music—it's an immersive journey through history, politics, psychology, and spectacle. Bread & Circuses doesn't so much want to be heard; it wants to be felt, debated, and perhaps even feared a bit.
4. Lawrence Timoni – Good Enough (Still I Try)
Good Enough (Still I Try) by Lawrence Timoni is dancing in your bare feet at 2 o'clock in the morning in your kitchen with your inner critic taunting you from the corner. Equal measures existential horror and summer jam, the Berlin artist makes impostor syndrome a confetti cannon of rhythm and humor. His lyrics are self-deprecating gold, "perfection's a prison, and guess who's the warden? ", and his airlock vocals give them a wink instead of a whine. The delivery is snappy, energetic, and irresistibly catchy, and you find yourself swaying even as the lyrics bring to mind every instance of self-doubt you've ever experienced. It's not very often you get to hear a song that makes second-guessing life decisions sound like a party trick, but Timoni succeeds. Good Enough (Still I Try) isn't about knowing all the answers; it's about mocking the questions while the beat continues to roll.
Catharsis never felt so danceable.
5. Sons of Racketeers – Beat The Press Gang
Just imagine being pushed into the Old English Navy under duress, but at least there's a spectacular fiddle solo to soothe the pain. Sons of Racketeers' Beat The Press Gang is a thunderous folk-punk anthem that takes a sombre slice of history and makes it into a hot, stomping, pint-swilling fight song. From the introductory violin riff through the raucous accordion grooves, this song won't sit still—it charges ahead with the ferocity of a saloon full of revolutionaries. The narrative is colourful, the pace relentless, and the integration of tradition with punk rawness feels charged instead of retro. This ain't music; it's shared catharsis. You can almost hear the chorus ringing out over beer-drenched festival grounds, fists raised, voices raw. With Beat The Press Gang, Sons of Racketeers show folk-punk isn't just living, it's throwing its fists and calling for another round.
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