New Music Friday: 9/26/25

Many thanks, as always, to the indispensable Pause & Play for rounding up releases every New Music Friday. Here's the stuff that made a solid first impression this week:

"At the Same Time," Absolute Losers
I wish I could tell you that this song's snotty three-chords-and-the-truth energy is maintained at a steady level throughout Absolute Losers' new In the Crowd LP, but for our purposes today, it's enough that they managed to bash it out for a solid two minutes and 54 seconds here. I won't be surprised if we hear stronger stuff from the band in the future.

"Catch the Lightning," Ben Arnold
I'm wildly overselling "Catch the Lightning" — and Ben Arnold in general — when I say John Prine was the first artist I thought of in the opening moments of this song. Not that you won't hear a connection, primarily in Arnold's wry, husky vocal tone, but this is far more straightforward and polished than pretty much anything Prine ever deigned to record. Still, if you're in the mood for some pleasant singer-songwriter stuff that's just shaggy enough to land on the right side of the line between "well-produced" and "excessively mannered," this might rub you the right way.

"Virgin Heartbreak," Baby Nova
What I know about Baby Nova boils down to this: She's got a big, alluringly husky voice and pop-star looks, as well as a knack for either writing or interpreting effortlessly catchy songs about this not being her first rodeo. If she doesn't become a household name, it's because someone really didn't know how to do their job.

"Wreck," Neko Case
I am not a betting man, but I'd still be willing to bet that you don't need me to sell you on the new Neko Case record. If you're somehow among the few who aren't hyped to hear her return after a seven-year layoff, I think "Wreck" will nudge you the rest of the way home — this is a perfect gem of a song, one that blends sheer poetry with an arrangement that beautifully buttresses her soaring vocals with a driving beat and swirling strings. Possibly one of the 21st century's finest odes to being madly in love.

"Sweeter," Clover County
While "Wreck" is about loving without reservation, "Sweeter" is about feeling like you should hold back parts of yourself until you're sure the other person will be a responsible custodian for your heart. This is the first I've heard from Clover County, and now I want to hear more — this simple but intoxicating combination of simple country-folk instrumentation, clever lyrics, and finely burred vocals promises an artist with a lot to offer.

"Piece of My Mind," the Earls of Babylon
According to guitarist Brian Ray's website, the Earls of Babylon are a revitalized version of the garage rock band that had a regional hit in 1966, and then disbanded for nearly 60 years before original members Earl Valentino and Earl Byrd asked guitarist Brian Ray and guitarist/vocalist Steve Conte to join them for the single "My Little Frankenstein," released last year. Upon closer inspection, however, that appears to be a pot of hooey cooked up as a way of building some mythology behind Conte and Ray's project, then abandoned for the new release "Piece of My Mind."

If that's the case, it's understandable; what those two are doing is more than strong enough to stand on its own without a made-up backstory, and if you're a garage rock enthusiast, you'll fall in love just as fast either way. A song with its guitar strap loosened as far as it'll go and an oil drum full of 'tude to go with its tackle box packed with hooks.

"Heard What You Said," Arima Ederra
Arima Ederra's got such an appealing voice that you don't need to do much to make her songs interesting — the right producer could plunk her down in front of a piano and a single mic and be done with it. "Heard What You Said" isn't quite that minimalistic, but it's still smart about the ways in which it highlights her strengths as a vocalist, with subtle guitars buzzing around a stately beat while she unravels the ways in which someone you think you know can hurt and disappoint you. A song with stealthy but significant appeal.

"Diva," Mikayla Geier
At the unlikely intersection of Donna Summer disco slink and Toni Basil-style pop quirk sits "Diva." At its core, this is really just another "I don't think you're ready for this jelly"-type tongue-in-cheek warning to a guy who isn't prepared for the divalicious delights that the object of his affection has to offer, but Geier sells it energetically enough to pass muster. Disposable, but tasty while it lasts.

"A Knife in the Mud," Dave Hause
In a catalog heavy with Springsteen-style populist anthems, I'm not sure Dave Hause has ever recorded anything this heavily indebted to the Boss — and the fact that it still kicks such copious ass serves, I suppose, as some sort of lesson regarding the value of owning up to one's influences. (Listening from a slightly different perspective, one might say it's the best song Frank Turner hasn't recorded in about a decade; as my father-in-law likes to say, six of one, half a dozen of another.)

"Fleeting," Sarah Kinsley
Sarah Kinsley's "Fleeting" exists in a world where there are no solid surfaces, only billowing clouds of sleek synths and her soaring voice, and yet there are also countless dance floors upon which the inhabitants can shake their tail feathers all day and all night. The type of song that makes clubbing seem like something other than a dismally irritating way to spend an evening.

"Mothers of Riches," Kate Le Bon
A recent New Yorker profile compared Kate Le Bon to Laurie Anderson, and while I can understand where the writer's coming from — there are only so many artists one can draw upon when attempting to RIYL a female singer-songwriter who seems to strive for singularity this ruthlessly — I also think it does Le Bon a disservice, because while you really need to be a certain type of person to enjoy or even appreciate a lot of Anderson's stuff, tracks like "Mothers of Riches" are really pretty user-friendly. I'd argue that a more sensible reference point might be earlyish Annie Lennox, but either way, you should really listen to this.

"This Won't Last Forever," joan
The phrase "this won't last forever" is commonly associated with soothing during trying times, but as joan reminds us here, it's really true of everything; whether you're riding high or in the hole, it's worth remembering that nothing is ever permanent, no matter how interminable it might feel. Words to live by at a time when we seem to be heading in every single wrong direction at once, uttered in service of a synthy little pop nugget with no rough edges and a sharp melodic hook.

"Meteorite," Caroline Kingsbury
In Kingsbury's own words: “We wrote ‘Meteorite’ as a nostalgia-filled movie scene of sorts, trying to capture — sonically and lyrically — the uncertain longing of falling in love with someone new. Love can feel so foreign, like a visitor on fire crashing into us from another world.”

Mission accomplished.

"As I Roved Out," Robert Plant
I haven't had a chance to listen to the rest of Robert Plant's new Saving Grace album, but I intend to; as I wrote (gulp) more than a decade ago, he's one of the few aging rock legends who's stubbornly insisted on using his career standing as a forum for musical growth with zero regard for commercial relevance. Everything I've read says Saving Grace is another refusal to play it safe or trade on past glories, and if the haunting, Middle East-inflected "As I Roved Out" is any indication, I'll definitely dig the rest of the record.

"Leona Street," Pool Kids
Here's a catchy pop-punk number that uses the singer's recent "fitness kick" as the funny lens for a look at how the people in our past tend to hold onto their old pictures of us, no matter how much we might have changed since we were part of each other's lives. For something that bops along like it doesn't have a care in the world, it's actually kind of poignant.

"I See How It Is," the Starting Line
Much the same way "Leona Street" is more thoughtful than it might seem on the surface, "I See How It Is" has hidden depths waiting for attentive listeners. Kenny Vasoli's nicotine-stained vocals make every line sound like a disaffected shrug, but this is actually a really tender love song that sort of marvels at the way the protagonist learned to stop second-guessing and simply follow his heart. Also, it sort of stomps.

"Giving Up Air," the Temper Trap
I'd completely forgotten about the Temper Tramp, and for good reason — they've been dormant for close to a decade. If these guys annoyed you when they were popular, I doubt "Giving Up Air" will change your mind, but if you're in the mood for something gently anthemic that manages to stir the soul even as it sounds like it could accompany anything from a rom-com montage to a cellphone commercial, this song proves they haven't lost their touch.

"When We Play," Thakzin featuring Xolani Guitars
While he isn't a household name here in the States (yet), Thakzin is a pretty big deal in South Africa, where he's credited with coming up with the Afro-house sound known as 3-step. (As he put it, "I just removed one kick, and I was like, oh, okay, there’s a lot of space.") The trance-y "When We Play" is an effective if subtle calling card for his production style; it doesn't strike me as anything groundbreaking, but it's still a pleasantly hypnotic listen.

"UFO," UFOs (Phoenix / Braxe + Falcon)
I hadn't thought about Phoenix in about as long as I'd thought about the Temper Trap, but they aren't emerging from a nine-year hiatus — instead, they've just formed a Pitchfork-world supergroup with Braxe + Falcon which they've dubbed UFOs. Like assholes, they titled their debut single "UFO," so good luck to anybody who isn't aware of the personnel involved and just tries Googling "UFOs UFO." If you can find it, though, this is an extremely pleasant if somewhat insubstantial song — the type of thing that floats along on synths and good vibes just long enough to leave you wanting a little more.

"I Don't Care," Mark Ward
Mark Ward comes on like a slightly more adenoidal Graham Parker, spitting bile at the hypocrisy of right-wing grifters through a savory squall of classic rock chords and a basher's beat that'd earn a thumbs up from Nick Lowe in 1979. While it isn't true that they don't make 'em like this anymore, they certainly don't make as many of 'em, and "I Don't Care" makes you wish they would.