“Nice to Know You” exhibits a fully-formed confidence that flows through all aspects of the song: the melodies, the arrangements (including the assertive bass line), the anthemic chorus, and maybe best of all, Ash Molloy’s assured and wide-ranging vocal presence.

One of the song’s subtle assets is its use of an instrumental counter-melody beneath the main melody. You can hear it first, if quietly, around 0:31, underneath the lyrics that begin with “And the way you say you’re sorry.” It’s that sing-song-y synthesizer line that leaps up and then back down; a clearer version recurs around 1:10 as Molloy repeats “Nice to know you.” Coming full circle, Molloy herself sings the counter-melody as a coda starting around 3:33. Let’s just say I appreciate the craft, especially as it is couched within something of a ’90s-early-’00s alt-rock vibe; or, think Sky Ferreira for you Sky Ferreira fans.

Ash Molloy is a singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist originally from Newfoundland; she’s been recording since 2023. “Nice To Know You” is her tenth single. You can hear them all on Spotify. Oh and she writes her melodies on her fiddle and has an undergraduate degree in behavioral neuroscience, so there’s that too. Keep an eye on this one.

The Brisbane-based singer/songwriter Ruby Gilbert has a gift for evoking lonely Western landscapes, as noted when she previously appeared here in 2021. She’s at it again, marvelously, in “Goddamn Fool.” Brisker than “No Vacancy,” the song still aches with her distinctive variety of Americana. There’s banjo, a foot-tapping backbeat, evocative guitar flourishes, and, at center, Gilbert’s fetching, throaty vocals, laced with just the right amount of reverb. And don’t miss that signature trumpet, haunting the rear of the mix until the very end.

So help me out here. I’m mystified why musicians with so much obvious authority and quality as Ruby Gilbert exist at the fringes of our musical culture while copycat pop stars with nothing at all interesting to say garner gobs of attention, not to mention sycophantic praise from so-called critics. Have we become that shallow? And this isn’t me, from a bygone generation, claiming everything was better back in the day; it’s me finding wonderful music from the here and now and wondering what happened to our collective ability to recognize and reward actual excellence. End of quiet rant.

Support Ruby Gilbert by checking her out on Bandcamp, and (gasp) buying something you like. What this talented Australian lacks in quantity–she released a four-song EP in 2018 and but four singles since–she more than compensates for in quality. “Goddamn Fool” came out in September, her first release since 2021.

With its friendly vibe and strummy groove, “Once It Starts to Kick In” develops over an agreeable mix of crunchy, bell-like guitars and a perky synth line. The song so deftly ambles along that I was surprised when I noted the length (4:44); it feels shorter than that, never hurrying yet never wearing out its welcome.

Front man and songwriter Brian Russ has an appealing, everyman voice that manages to convey innocence and experience simultaneously–which is kind of what the music itself does here, with the juxtaposition of the substantive guitar work and that playful synth line. Speaking of, I like in particular how the synthesizer, after dutifully playing its instrumental hook a couple of times, breaks out at 3:42 for an extended, off-script solo.

By the time Russ was writing the songs for this album, in 2022, he had had 20 years of experience on the Brooklyn music scene, which you may or may not recall was quite the engaged and engaging environment back there in the ’00s. He was in his early 20s then, putting him now in his 40s and eager to write songs reflective of his current life stage. Although Russ originally wrote these songs for Unisex, a previous band of his, by 2024 that band had more or less dissolved; he ended up recording the songs by himself with the help of the Unisex drummer. Then, this year, he assembled a new group of musicians and as such decided to change the group’s name. The album had been titled Hand Gestures; this became the band’s name too. Russ by the way is also the founder of the indie label Campers’ Rule Records, which released Hand Gestures on Halloween. You can listen to the album, and buy it, via Bandcamp.

With a retro lilt and a buzzy undertone, “Twos” both charms and unnerves. On the one hand we have front person Sara Mae Henke and their lovely silver tone, propelling the song effortlessly forward; on the other hand they sing an elusive tale of dating two people at once that seems purposefuly to mix light (chimes!) and dark (crunch!). If you sense something vaguely disquieting in the ambiance, that hunch is reinforced by a video that layers a campy, vintage vampire scenario onto the proceedings, complete with pitch-dark black-and-white blood.

Musically, I sense a hint of Neko Case in the air here, which can only be a good thing; both Henke’s resonant voice and the song’s carefully chosen words have a Neko-ish panache, as does the sturdy melodicism and chord progressions on display. And as with many a Neko song, “Twos” all but compels, and rewards, multiple listens.

The Noisy has been a rotating cast of characters fronted by Henke, a Philadelphia-based singer, songwriter, and poet. “Twos” is a track from The Noisy’s 2024 album The Secret Ingredient is More Meat, which is being re-released with extra material in October by Audio Antihero Records (now to be entitled The Secret Ingredient is Even More Meat).

photo credit: Morgan Kelley

If this sounds like quintessential Italo-disco there’s good reason: the artist known simply as Cerrone, a Frenchman with Italian parents, was a pioneer in the pulsating, glistening genre back in the late ’70s. After encountering Rahim Redcar (whose intermittent performing name is Christine and the Queens) when both participated in events during the 2024 Paris Olympics and Paralympics, Cerrone and Redcar came together this year to release a four-track EP in July called Catching Feelings.

“Last One” is a splendid example of what these two can do as a team, Cerrone with his dynamic and shimmering beats, Christine and the Queens with their impassioned vocals and intrinsic sense of drama. The chorus is a particular delight, the one-measure instrumental lead-ins to each lyrical line lending a syncopated feel to what is actually an on-the-beat melody. And while I’m not a groove-oriented listener (at all) I’m ongoingly impressed here by the diversity of sound and feel of Cerrone’s creations–this isn’t just a push-button backing track but a calculated mixture of unabashed electronics and drumming that sounds organic (Cerrone did begin musical life as a drummer so that might even be him with the sticks). That said, I also like the moment mid-song where the beat is stripped away, increasing the theatrics with a less-is-more gesture. Likewise I urge you not to miss the 10-ish-second fadeout, with its subtle assortment of shutdown sounds.

You can check out the EP, and buy it, via Bandcamp. And for those who may not have seen it, I’ll use the opportunity to send you to YouTube to see one of my all-time favorite videos: Christine and the Queens’ endlessly riveting performance of “Tilted.”

photo credit: Thomas Spault

“The Day is Long Enough” begins with a lovely sense of spacious vulnerability, and doesn’t take long to show off its fetching chorus. The 21-year-old Claire Barbour sings with both authority and reserve as the song combines lo-fi immediacy with a sneaky sense of production know-how. The simple, engaging melodies provide a throughline for a song that slowly transforms itself from bedroom ambiance to, by 1:47, the feel of a full (if gentle) band playing, a transition preceded by Barbour providing us with an unexpected taste of airy, jazz-inflected singing starting at 1:26.

And remember that gorgeous chorus that gets introduced near the beginning? This smartly crafted song withholds the chorus’s lyrical and musical resolution until its third and final iteration, as Barbour at last completes her thought that begins with “I can’t say it all enough,” singing, at 2:22, with wonderful offhand phrasing, “how the light makes me high.” The song, it turns out, is at least partially about those famously long Scandinavian summer days.

There is not much yet to learn online about Claire Barbour. Her submission letter here identifies her as “Stockholm/New York based” and notes that she was born in New England; her internet trail at this point is all but nonexistent. “The Day is Long Enough” was released last month on Hvilan Grammofon, an independent label based in Stockholm.

There’s a deep Wall-of-Sound blur to the aural landscape here–try as the ear might to discern what exactly is doing what and when to create the murky clamor of noise that underpins “Fading,” explanations are not forthcoming. No matter: the song’s amiable melodies and Sean Lissner’s laid-back vocals combine with the amorphous noise to create an oddly welcoming environment.

But things change. At 1:37 a trap door opens and the background din shifts forward and seems now to be constructed, at least partially, of intersecting screams. For some 35 seconds we are embroiled in something of a sonic bad dream, where strangled words fall short of comprehension, the listener offered no immediate way out except to focus on the unflappable lead guitar line that competes concurrently with the noise. (The screaming is real, and credited to bassist Jaden Amjadi.) Things slide back to the previously established noise norm but with a residual edge; there’s a sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop. The song goes on to revisit its two previous responses: at 3:04, Lissner reprises his reassuring “oo-oo”s, first heard around 1:07; but, as before, these are followed by the disorienting scream-noise. The song seeks simultaneously to soothe and agitate. As does the world at large.

Steel wool, a material at once tough and fuzzy, seems oddly apt to the sonic palette this Los Angeles-based quartet produces. “Fading” is a track from the band’s five-song self-titled EP, which was released in April. You can listen to it and buy it, for a price of your choosing, via Bandcamp.

The Columbus, Ohio-based Smug Brothers return to Fingertips with more of their durable lo-fi pop rock, in which the “pop” has little to do with its contemporary usage but refers rather to the platonic ideal of modern music that’s incisive, immediate, and admirably well-built. This is the pop of “power pop” and “jangle pop” but less confining. It’s music made by humans with three-dimensional instruments and a reflexive predilection for the Beatlesque.

This song’s particular charms are rooted in the way it ongoingly anchors its melodies away from the downbeat (i.e., the first beat in a 4/4 measure). This creates a slinky, seductive atmosphere in which the song becomes its own backstory–a propulsive backbeat on the one hand, melodies that weave between the lines on the other. Kyle Melton’s sturdy vocals begin the verses within a megaphone filter, inviting us to lean in, before allowing his Tweedy-ish tone to fully inhabit a song that eschews narrative for the stringing together of evocative lyrical phrases. All in all these guys operate so far from what passes for popular music here in 2025 that I can nearly imagine a moment of cultural whiplash that would bring them straight to the forefront of the zeitgeist. Don’t laugh: any indie band forever remains one canny song placement away from if not fortune then at least fame.

“Take It Out On Me” is a song from the 11th Smug Brothers album, entitled Stuck on Beta, released earlier this month on Anyway Records; check it out via Bandcamp. MP3 courtesy of the band. The band has also released seven EPs and nine singles, all of which are also up there on Bandcamp. The band has previously been featured here in 2023 and 2019.

Driven by brisk, clangy guitar chords, “Solar Babes” has an unmistakable poignancy about it, even as I can’t quite put my finger on what’s driving that impression. Some of this seems built into Jesse LeGallais’ voice, with its fetching, slightly nasal timbre. Some of it may be generated by the verse’s insistent, two-chord melody, the sing-song-y quality of which creates an underlying innocence to the proceedings.

The chorus, comprising little more than the word “fight,” creates a passing sense of movement even as it’s still built on the same two-chord foundation. The breakthrough happens around 1:15, after one more round of verses: we find ourselves in an extended bridge or bridge-like section that offers the ear the sorts of chord progressions the song has previously withheld from us, and which sound all but heroic in context. Equally heroic is how the opening chords are re-cast at the end in a brief, quasi-Springsteen-esque conclusion (2:07). Wrapping up in under three minutes, the song invites and rewards multiple listens.

Storm Recorder is the Nova Scotia-based duo of LeGallais and Palmer Jamieson. LeGallais was based in Montreal for 15 years, playing in an assortment of bands, before moving to Halifax; Jamieson is a Halifax-based producer who runs his own studio. LeGallais initially intended to record a solo project with Jamieson. Their level of affinity ended up turning the record into a new, joint project called Storm Recorder. “Solar Babes” is the opening track on the album Always Coming Home, which they position as an homage to the Ursula LeGuin novel of the same name. A particular inspiration for the duo comes from a LeGuin quotation the band has posted on its Bandcamp page: “We live in capitalism, its power seems inescapable–but then, so did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings.” These are words that feel especially welcome right about now. Thanks to LeGallais for the MP3.

A confident burst of thoughtful indie rock, “Serious Man” hooks the ear first with its jangly guitar riff and then witih its characteristic time-signature hiccup, arising first as we hear the titular phrase around 0:13: those two extra beats required to fit the music to the words manage both to interrupt and to reaffirm the appealing flow. Nothing like a little asymmetry to make the world a better place in this age of overly perfected beats and AI-induced conformity. Nothing, too, like Tim Howard’s reassuring, unpolished voice, to remind us that we want and need human beings out there expressing themselves. (Why anyone would want to hear a machine expressing itself remains a puzzle to my organic brain and my beating heart.)

“Serious Man” is brisk and to the point, but also expansive enough to include some incisive octave harmonies, some scratchy guitar work, and, as unexpected as it is welcome, a bass solo (1:35-1:47). Best of all is the underlying sense of humor that subtly supports the enterprise, knowingly undercutting the singer’s effort to assert his seriousness. It’s not laugh out loud humor, at all; it’s weary-acceptance-of-the-human condition humor. Although Howard’s low-register vocal following the bass solo (1:47) does provoke a soft smile, at least for me.

Soltero is a shape-shifting project fronted by Howard, which got started back in 2001. Sometimes a solo project, Soltero is now a trio. “Serious Man” is the lead track from Soltero’s ninth album, Staying Alive, released last month. You can check the whole thing out, and buy it, over on Bandcamp. This is the first album Soltero has recorded since the American-born Howard relocated to Berlin in 2018. Soltero has been featured five previous times on Fingertips, most recently in 2023; see the Artist Index for all the links.