LITM Singer-songwriter picks tunes brought to you fencah, Forty Elephant Gang, Kate Kristine and more!

LITM Singer-songwriter picks tunes featuring fenca, Forty Elephant Gang, Kate Kristine, Shannon Hudson and 23 Fields!

1. Fencah – Daydream

"Daydream" by Fencah is precisely what the name suggests, a foggy, floating piece of reverie sheathed in sound. The song drifts along with languid ease, creating an atmosphere akin to falling into a half-sleep on a lazy day. It doesn't intrude on your consciousness with bombastic fireworks; rather, it insinuates itself silently, pushing your mind towards something softer and more strange. Fencah blurs mood over spectacle, creating something more of a state of mind than a song. It's cinematic but never suffocating, intimate without being heavy-handed. Ideal for zoning out, studying, or simply letting your mind drift, "Daydream" works like sonic incense, slow-burning, aromatic, and lingering long after it's finished. It's music that doesn't merely play in the background; it sculpts the space around you. In brief: dreamy, immersive, and softly hypnotic.

2. Forty Elephant Gang – Dark Shadows

"Dark Shadows" is Forty Elephant Gang's lesson in blending grit and grandeur. It's London-accented Americana, rootsy mandolin and pedal steel clashing with electric guitar riffs that sound like they dragged themselves out of a smoky basement. The outcome? A cinematic, wind-whipped song that feels half-campfire tale, half-barroom confession. There is a crudeness to the lo-fi production, a DIY sincerity that grounds things even as the song commits to epic gesture. Informed by literature but rooted in lived feeling, it takes longing and defiance in equal proportions. The vocals are emotive, the harmonies are dense, and instrumental interplay, particularly the mandolin and guitar duos, is some serious virtuosity. "Dark Shadows" doesn't so much play, but instead unfurls, sucking you into misty landscapes and late nights spent brooding. This is British Americana at its most atmospheric: real, poetic, and precariously rough around the edges.

3. Kate Kristine – call me, drunk

Kate Kristine returns with a song that's half-confessional, half-indie-pop therapy session. "Call me, drunk" leans into unpretty vulnerability, the sort most of us would rather sweep under the carpet. Kristine, though, brings it centre stage in sultry vocals and production that is so close-up you get the sense of listening in on her inner thoughts. It's a song about habits we sometimes don't break, urges we sometimes can't resist, and the odd loneliness that connects them all. Following her breakout “Swallow Me Whole,” this single continues her thread of brutally honest storytelling—but with an even bolder edge. It’s not wallowing, though; there’s power in the way she turns private chaos into collective catharsis. Imagine Phoebe Bridgers ducking into a neon-lit dive bar to spill her heart, and you’ll get the vibe. “Call me, drunk” isn’t polished perfection—it’s real, raw, and all the more addictive for it.

4. Shannon Hudson – Air To Your Fire

At times, the most subtle songs do burn hottest, and Shannon Hudson's "Air To Your Fire" is evidence. This song doesn't hurry, doesn't detonate, it smoulders quietly, drawing you in with subtle allure. Hudson's voice drifts without affectation, bearing a soft crunch that renders the entire affair conversational, as if he's reaching across the table to assure you. The production is crisp but never sterile, with melodies and grooves that flow over easily. The thing that makes the song special is that it avoids sensationalism, no overwrought crescendos, just a matter-of-fact unrolling that resonates with the theme of subtle support. "Air To Your Fire" is not about bigger gestures but about presence, about reassurance that requires no patching words. It’s tender, intimate, and disarmingly relatable. If this is where Hudson’s career is headed, he’s someone worth keeping both ears on.

5. 23 Fields – Summer Life

23 Fields knows how to bottle up nostalgia and pour it straight into your headphones. The first single, "Summer Life," the lead-off from their second album To Follow This Year's Fashion, immediately gets things going with tapping percussion and soaring violin lines that immediately conjure sun-kissed skies and afternoons of gold. There's a natural warmth to the arrangement, a rootsy, folk-oriented feel that is both comfortable and rejuvenating. The vocals ring with raspy authenticity, leading you through reminiscences of sun-drenched afternoons as the instrumentation swells and warps like a warm gust in high grass. In contrast with their darker, more sombre songs later on in the album, "Summer Life" is all about lightness, a paean to simplicity, happiness, and that exquisite feeling of timelessness that you only experience when summer lies out ahead of you like an infinite expanse. It's alternative folk in the right way: rich, emotive, and drenched in atmosphere. A soft but bright opener that grabs you from the beginning.

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LITM Pop Picks Featuring Barbonus, 9’o clock, Jamie Sidwell and More!

LITM Pop picks tunes for the weekend brought to you by Barbonus, 9’o clock, Jamie Sidwell, Oryah and LEO!

1. Barbonus – Just Silence

Barbonus obviously understands the strength of a perfectly timed pause. "Just Silence" isn't a song; it's like cracking open a window in the middle of a virtual thunderstorm and discovering the silence outside is louder than the storm inside. His deep, smooth vocals float above minimalist electropop rhythms like smoke rising in a dimly lit room. It's melancholy, yes, but weirdly reassuring, like the aural equivalent of gazing into the abyss and discovering it… strangely chic. This song demonstrates that electropop doesn't necessarily require glitter and neon; at times, it flourishes under restraint, shadow, and muted despair. For indie electronic enthusiasts wanting introspection without sacrificing cool cred, Barbonus has created a dark, tasty haven in which silence speaks louder than words ever might. It’s not background music—it’s a reminder that even in a world buzzing with noise, quiet still has the final word.

2. 9’o Clock – Game Fit

If you’ve ever wondered what happens when hip-hop swagger crashes headfirst into punk-fueled chaos, “Game Fit” is your answer. Born of a half-baked demo on a riverboat (yes, for real), this song somehow coheres biscuits-fueled arguments, hurried WhatsApp messages, and impromptu recording energy into a sound monster. It's chaotic in the best possible way: growling verses, massive chorus energy, and an undertow of cinematic drama that keeps it from imploding under its own glorious size. You can practically sense the tension among band members coursing through the lines, anger, elation, desire, bravado, all sewn together like a patchwork quilt of sound. What's the outcome? A song that won't fit neatly in one category, because mayhem doesn't play by rules. "Game Fit" is evidence that if you combine anger, beer, and a little tape-op shouted encouragement from the side of the stage, you don't merely create music—you instigate a mini-riot in less than four minutes.

3. Jamie Sidwell – Speak To You Always

Jamie Sidwell can do one thing extremely, extremely well: take a simple concept and make it seem monumental. ".Speak To You Always" doesn't yell in your face, it slips alongside, pats your shoulder, and before you know it, you're in its presence. This song is almost like an impromptu conversation one night when you weren't planning on talking, but every sentence feels oddly profound. Sidwell’s delivery is restrained yet confident, floating effortlessly over a backdrop that’s just lush enough to wrap you up but never so heavy that it drowns out the intimacy. It’s the kind of song you play on repeat without realising you’ve been in its world for half an hour. Think of it as indie minimalism with a warm, human touch, never rushed, never forced. Sidwell’s charm lies in his ability to make music feel personal, even if you’ve never met him. A beautifully understated gem.

4. Oryah – Fall Back

“Fall Back” is the sound of cinematic introspection bottled into a track. Oryah creates music that feels bigger than the room you’re in, yet somehow still touches the personal corners of your heart. The production is sophisticated but never cleaned to the bone, so the emotional heft of the track seeps into every pulse. There's a pull and push to the arrangement, a tension between uplifting parts and subdued introspection, that encourages you to lean forward a little more each time you listen. It's not a song; it's a soundtrack to a film not yet made, where the protagonist finally realises what she's running from. Oryah strikes a balance between atmosphere and intimacy, presenting something enveloping without being suffocating. "Fall Back" is not so much about flash but about resonance, the kind of song that sticks with you after the fact, like a bad thought that won't leave you alone. A quiet but forceful listen.

5. LEO – Warm

LEO (or LOS LEO, should you prefer) presents the sort of song that catches you off guard and arrives squarely in your chest. "Warm" is stripped-down indie folk/pop in its best form—tender guitar melodies, atmospheric room, and vocals that have both vulnerability and strength in equal portions. The tune sounds serious, nearly reverent, but it isn't heavy; rather, it moves with a natural ease, as if a person were giving comfort without a single word. What gets it to shine is the emotional authenticity; there's nothing here that's been overproduced, just raw longing for wondering who will keep you safe when the lights go out. Reviews commend it for its poignancy, and rightly so: it's quietly heartbreaking, but strangely uplifting. This is the kind of song that gets you in the mood to stop, catch your breath, and perhaps text someone you love. LEO doesn't only warm you up, he leaves an afterglow.

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LITM Singer-Songwriter presents Jacob Beaman, Jess Corbin, Powers of The Monk and More!

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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