Pamphlets aren’t a band that formed so much as they collided into existence — a Craigslist ad, a post‑Covid Brooklyn haze, and a stroke of cosmic coincidence that put Ben Griffin and Jeremy Marquez in the same room at exactly the right moment. What began as a solitary exchange of Logic files between two friends quickly grew into one of the most compelling DIY exports from the Brooklyn/Philly underground: a project shaped by post‑punk urgency, indie‑sleaze swagger, and the emotional weight of living through a world that feels increasingly off‑axis. With their new album Somewhere in Zacatecas, Pamphlets push deeper into that tension — bigger, louder, more deliberate — without losing the raw, heart‑on‑sleeve spark that made their earliest songs resonate.

There’s a particular kind of band you only ever seem to find in New York — the ones who blur the line between performance art, emotional honesty, and absolute, unfiltered chaos. Um, Jennifer? are exactly that kind of band. Born from a residency, a performance piece, and (apparently) a ceiling‑fan‑related epiphany, they’ve carved out a space where jazz singers sit comfortably beside breakbeats, where femininity and cannibalism coexist as themes, and where confidence has grown from the messy thrill of early demos into something sharper, louder, and defiantly their own. Speaking from their one‑bedroom, bunk‑bed‑stacked apartment, Fig and Eli unpacked their story with the same energy that fuels their music — part deadpan absurdity, part heartfelt truth, and entirely Um, Jennifer?

Spycamera aren’t just a band; they’re a mood, a world, a flicker of static on the edge of a surveillance feed. Born out of lockdown restlessness and decades of shared musical DNA, their sound feels like a transmission from a parallel timeline — part dystopian retro‑future, part genre‑spliced alt‑rock fever dream. With 40 tracks already in the vault before they even settled on a name, Spycamera emerged fully formed: paranoid, playful, cinematic, and defiantly unprivate in a world where every moment is captured. Their debut album 12 ROOMS turned summer 2026 into a multi‑sensory breadcrumb trail, each track a doorway into their strange, stylish universe.

Basht’s story doesn’t begin with a grand plan or a carefully engineered lineup — it starts with a solo gig, a borrowed backing band, and the unmistakable spark that something bigger was happening. What followed was a collision of personalities, influences, and instinct that turned a one‑off rehearsal into the foundation of one of Ireland’s most exciting new rock acts. Across festival fields, late‑night writing sessions, and a debut album they’re fiercely proud of, Basht have carved out a sound that’s as immediate as the moment they first plugged in together.

There’s a swagger about Jimmy Pinch’s album Symptoms Of A Lean Condition, an aura of cool self-possession that hangs over the whole enterprise like a fog of upmarket aftershave.

For three decades, Bittersweet Blue has lived in Ash folklore — whispered about, half‑remembered, rumoured on bootlegs, and treasured by the few who ever heard it live. Now, in a move that feels both nostalgic and quietly monumental, the band have resurrected the long‑lost track as part of the 30th Anniversary celebrations for their debut album 1977. And it’s not just a curiosity: it’s a time capsule, cracked open and restored with care, humour and a bit of detective work.

For more than fifty years, Bob Harris has been the steady heartbeat of British music broadcasting — a voice that has guided generations of listeners through discovery, devotion and the quiet magic of late‑night radio. This December, that legacy takes centre stage at the Royal Albert Hall, where an extraordinary gathering of artists will honour “Whispering Bob” across two sold‑out nights of music, memories and gratitude.

The Shania Twainsaw Massacre might have the most mischievous band name in Britain, but behind the tongue‑in‑cheek chaos sits a project built on vulnerability, friendship and a fearless collision of genres. What began as bedroom demos and a joke name that somehow wasn’t already taken has evolved into one of Bristol’s most compelling underground acts — a band where grunge grit, post‑hardcore intensity and pop‑leaning melodic instinct coexist in a way that feels both unpredictable and strangely inevitable. At the centre is Connie, a songwriter whose honesty, anxieties and obsessions shape every track, and whose collaborators — Nick, Tam, Ellis and Sam — amplify that raw emotional core into something loud, strange and beautifully human.

Glasgow has never been short of great indie‑pop bands, but every so often one arrives with a spark that feels unmistakably their own. Count Florida — the trio of Mel Whittle, Scott Argo and Andrew Milk — have quietly become one of the city’s most compelling DIY voices, and their new single ‘Last Selfie’ marks a beautifully vulnerable leap forward.

Republica’s 30th anniversary is a full‑scale cultural resurfacing. A band whose sound once defined the pulse of late‑90s British alternative music is stepping back into the spotlight with a nationwide tour, a deluxe album reissue, and a renewed sense of urgency that feels anything but nostalgic.

Succulents didn’t arrive with a grand plan or a neatly packaged origin story — they bloomed slowly, quietly, almost accidentally, the way the best indie projects often do. What began as Laurie Hulme’s years‑in‑the‑making lofi sketches eventually found their shape during lockdown, then found their voice when Lucy returned to Manchester and stepped into the frame. Together, they’ve built a duo that feels both deeply personal and wonderfully unpretentious: cassette‑backed, melody‑forward, and anchored in the kind of DIY charm that can only come from someone who’s spent decades obsessing over songs, tunings, and the strange magic of making music on your own terms.

Echo & The Bunnymen have never been a band that simply continues. They endure, they mutate, they brood, they blaze. And now, twelve years since their last album of new material, they’ve returned with Apples For Isaac — a record that feels less like a comeback and more like a reckoning.

Clifton Downs, Bristol | Saturday 29 & Sunday 30 August 2026

There are festivals that feel like a collection of stages, tents and artists, and then there are festivals that feel like a city has temporarily relocated itself onto a hill.

FORWARDS is very much the latter.

LOSERS have never been a band that followed a straight line, and in this conversation with Tom Bellamy, that winding journey comes sharply into focus. From the ashes of The Cooper Temple Clause to late‑night Berlin sessions, from remixing The Prodigy to rediscovering creativity through an old piano bought on eBay, Tom traces the band’s evolution with disarming honesty. Across themes of transformation, experimentation, emotional rebirth and the strange alchemy of long‑term collaboration, this interview digs into the DNA of a group who have spent years shapeshifting their way into something unmistakably their own.

Two decades after Costello Music crashed into the UK charts and cemented The Fratellis as one of the country’s most infectious indie‑rock exports, the band are preparing to celebrate its 20th anniversary properly — even if the party is arriving a little later than planned.

Young Knives have always thrived on being the outsiders — the art‑rock misfits who somehow gate‑crashed the mid‑2000s indie boom with sharp suits, sharper riffs and a sense of humour that cut through the noise. Now, two decades on from the album that made them cult heroes, the band are stepping back into the spotlight to celebrate the record that changed everything.

Joy Crookes has always written like someone who sees the world in widescreen — soul, jazz, R&B, politics, identity, the messiness of love, all folded into songs that feel lived‑in and unmistakably hers. With ‘Painkiller’, her new single featuring Florida rap innovator Denzel Curry, she sharpens that instinct again, delivering a track that feels both intimate and cinematic, bruised and bold, nostalgic yet unmistakably forward‑facing.

Dolours arrive with the kind of name that already feels like a mood — heavy, atmospheric, and slightly tongue‑in‑cheek in the way only a Midlands‑born band could pull off. Formed in early 2026 on a Shrewsbury industrial estate that might as well have been designed for post‑punk incubation, they channel frustration, humour and emotional abrasion into something sharp, danceable and defiantly odd. Their early singles have begun rippling through the Midlands alternative scene, carried by a sonic palette that swings from breakcore to hardcore and every “core” they can physically play, stitched together with a mischievous self‑awareness that makes Dolours feel less like a new band and more like a fully formed world.

Gold Cup are a three‑piece built on fast riffs, loud instincts and the kind of dry humour that could only come from a band forged in Manchester’s scruffy rehearsal spaces and late‑night pub corners. They’re a group who treat mythology with a wink, punk with reverence, and the idea of “being a band” with the sort of chaotic enthusiasm that makes everything feel alive. From writing their first track in a jam room to accidentally driving to the wrong city on tour, Gold Cup operate on instinct, noise, and a shared love of anything that rattles the bones. This interview digs into the origins, influences, misadventures and future plans of a band who are clearly having far too much fun to slow down.

Against The Current have never been a band to sit still. Across fifteen years, the New York‑born trio have shapeshifted from teenage pop‑punk hopefuls into one of alternative rock’s most globally recognised, fiercely self‑driven outfits. Now, with their third album Till Death & Back arriving on 30th October 2026, they’re stepping into their boldest, most thematically charged era yet — one built on fate, fire, and the versions of ourselves we leave behind.