There’s a disarming honesty to the way Seraina Telli talks about music — not as a career move or a grand plan, but as something that simply helped her survive the tougher moments and made life feel lighter. That instinct to turn personal solace into shared strength runs through everything she does. From discovering Alicia Keys and nervously singing her first school‑play solo, to opening for Bryan Adams and finding new creative freedom on her latest album GREEN, her story is one of growth, grit and quiet determination. With a UK tour on the horizon and momentum building around her new material, she’s stepping into a chapter that feels more confident, colourful and completely her own.

New York singer‑songwriter Melody Stolpp, who records under the name Sweetbreads, has always written like someone trying to make sense of the emotional static in her own head. Her debut album, Punisher of Love, doesn’t pretend to have the answers — instead, it sits in the uncertainty, tracing the shape of anxious attachment, self‑doubt, and the strange stories we tell ourselves just to get through the day.

Nothing But Thieves have always been a band built on connection — the kind forged in sweat‑fogged rooms, in the shared catharsis of a chorus, in the strange electricity that passes between strangers who suddenly feel like family. With their fifth album Stray Dogs, released today via RCA/Sony Music, that instinct isn’t just present; it’s the entire thesis.

Good Health Good Wealth are a collision of humour, honesty and North London sass, wrapped in genre‑dodging ambition. What began as a lockdown exchange of demos between two musicians searching for something more authentic, has grown into one of the UK’s most quietly explosive new acts. Their world is built on momentum, mischief and a refusal to sit neatly in any box, and this interview digs right into the heart of that energy.

Few heavy bands have carved their legacy as fiercely — or as vulnerably — as The Amity Affliction. Across nearly two decades, the Australian four‑piece have turned pain into catharsis, grief into connection, and personal turmoil into arena‑shaking anthems. Their music has always been visceral, emotional, and unflinchingly honest.

After more than a decade of quietly reshaping the UK’s alt‑folk landscape, This Is The Kit return with their seventh album Ghost Coat — a record that feels both intimate and expansive, rooted in friendship, ritual and the strange ways we try to make sense of the world. Released January 15th, 2027 via Memphis Industries, it’s a project shaped by community, collaboration and the soft, uncanny magic that has always lived inside Kate Stables’ songwriting.

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.