Music and Recording Reviews

Yard Act: You're Gonna Need a Little Music
Island Records RPBLP59051. Justin Meldal-Johnsen, prod.; Derek Coburn, Matt Peel, Danny Blackman, Jay Russell, Justin Meldal-Johnsen, engs.
Performance *****
Sonics ****

You're Gonna Need a Little Music is Yard Act's third album, and it's their first to be recorded together as a band in a studio. Their first two albums were made on laptops, each member recording their own piece separately. That may be what makes this their best album so far.

Their earlier work's directness and simplicity remain, but here it is fuller and more self-assured. This is a band finding its stride. Like another quartet hailing from Leeds, Gang of Four, Yard Act's music is an astute, sometimes witty look at the world they live in. That's not to say it's an album of Ray Davies–ish vignettes, because, also like Gang of Four, their music is more abstract than that, full of wordplay that is sometimes surreal, sometimes absurd.

Yard Act is less interested in accurately describing a moment in time than in showing what it feels like to be in or observing it. A good example is "Empty Pledges," which moves from a pun on Howard Devoto to "Table service in fancy bars/Another hoop they make you jump through/What's wrong with just pushing in and shouting 'Excuse me love' dead loud." Which captures, somehow, the invasive character of gentrification in British towns and cities.

The sound is jerky postpunk funk. Lyrically it is often opaque, but instrumentally it is just great fun. In a parallel universe, "Cherophobe Rock" would be a huge international hit. It sounds like bubble-gum pop would sound if the bubble-gum came rolled in a cigarette. "Janey Said" is a sideways look at a relationship souring, including this odd half-rhyme: "Anything like that/That you wanna get off your chest/Get a therapist." The song alternates between spoken word and the sweet-sounding chorus, like a poem on top of a jagged soundscape. Across the album, light and shade together create a sublime awkwardness.—Phil Brett

Fruit Bats: The Landfill
Merge Records MRG887CD (auditioned as CD). 2026. Eric D. Johnson, Thom Monahan, prods.; Justin Francis, Bobby Tis, engs.
Performance ****
Sonics ****

There's a natural chemistry running through the latest record from Fruit Bats, and much of it can be traced to Eric D. Johnson's longstanding relationship with members of The Shins. That collaboration blossoms in magnificent sounds. Songs like "Think Aboutcha" bloom with tubular guitars that twist through a cosmic sonic landscape while never losing their acoustic folk-rock footing. They strike a balance between big and small that's intoxicating.

"That Goddamn Sun" echoes the melodic warmth and widescreen emotional pull of classic Flaming Lips recordings, balancing intimacy and grandeur in a way that feels effortless. The album's arrangements manage to sound both expansive and personal. That isn't easy, but Johnson and company make it seem instinctive.

Johnson's high, airy vocals remain an acquired taste, but they work here because they show restraint. Johnson's voice drifts comfortably within the arrangements, adding texture and emotion without upsetting the delicate equilibrium around it. More force would capsize the mood these tracks so carefully establish. The album's emotional center may be the piano-driven ballad "Silverfish in the Sink." Stripped of the usual swirling guitars and layered atmosphere, the song exposes Johnson at his most vulnerable. It's a quietly stunning performance that underscores the weight behind this album's dreamy exterior.

Johnson has said the record was created with "chemistry instead of polish," but it delivers both, a real achievement. Songs like "Wild Pony Tower Moment" reflect both Johnson at cruising altitude and a sound that seems lived-in and warm. They are polished not by intent but by the confidence of musicians who understand exactly how to serve the song, where "big" and "small" are equal in impact.—Ray Chelstowski

Hiss Golden Messenger: I'm People
Chrysalis Records BRV511 (auditioned as LP). 2026. Josh Kaufman, M.C. Taylor, prods.; Chris Boerner, eng.
Performance *****
Sonics ****

Sometimes it takes a significant shift for an artist to unlock a new dimension. That sense of release sits at the center of the latest album from Hiss Golden Messenger and its leader, M.C. Taylor. The record marks his first for Chrysalis Records. The fresh start sparked something special. This new record is defined by openness, collaboration, and a communal spirit that frequently recalls the loose, soulful warmth of classic early-1970s Van Morrison recordings made around Woodstock, New York.

Drawing from songs written across New Mexico, California, and North Carolina, Taylor entered a decommissioned church in upstate New York with longtime collaborator Josh Kaufman and crafted what may be the finest album of his career. The woodsy intimacy familiar to longtime listeners remains, but now the music expands outward via an inspired cast of contributors. Appearances by Bruce Hornsby, Eric D. Johnson, Amy Helm, Marcus King, and members of Dawes add layers of harmony and texture that give the songs a sense of community.

As with Taylor's earlier work, many of the tracks are anchored by understated grooves and his relaxed vocal phrasing, a style that has long made his music feel effortlessly cool. The sonic richness here is so immersive that it can momentarily distract from the weight of the lyrics. Beneath the warmth and sway, Taylor wrestles with themes of fatherhood, heartbreak, aging, and hope. Those themes emerge most clearly in quieter moments, as in "Mercy Avenue," where whispering saxophone and flute drift through the arrangement with a grace that deepens the album's Morrison-like atmosphere.

I'm People feels like a modern hippie record in the best sense of the phrase. It's earthy, reflective, and built for rolled-down windows and open roads upstate.—Ray Chelstowski

Aaron Lee Tasjan: Get Over It, Underdog
Blue Élan Records BER1583CD (auditioned as CD). 2026. Tasjan, Mark Miller, prods.; Justin Francis, Bobby Tis, engs.
Performance ****
Sonics *****

Back in the day, pop-music artists were expected to stay within clearly marked boundaries, refining a recognizable sound that audiences could easily identify. On his latest album, Aaron Lee Tasjan throws that notion aside. Get Over It, Underdog is ambitious, covering the indie spectrum so thoroughly that pinning the album to a single genre is impossible. Underdog plays like a musical buffet,tasty and overflowing with influences, textures, and flavors that work together despite their differences.

What keeps the album grounded is Tasjan's deep reverence for songwriting craft and the mentors who shaped him. The spirit of the late Todd Snider looms large. Their co-written track "The Real," completed shortly before Snider's passing, is especially poignant. More than a tribute, it captures the conversational wit, warmth, and honesty that made Snider such a beloved songwriter. Tasjan carries his influence forward proudly.

Elsewhere, Tasjan channels a wide range of musical voices while maintaining his own identity. "Science Friction" carries the observational humor of signature John Prine; other moments lean into a melodic Americana more associated with Pete Droge. Tasjan's humor, vulnerability, and a laid-back confidence makes even his most adventurous adventures approachable.

The challenge, at least initially, is figuring out where to start. Tasjan covers so much territory that the album can feel restless. One moment, he's embracing roots rock; the next, he's leaning into glam. The sequencing doesn't prioritize smooth transitions. Instead, the album functions as a showcase for Tasjan's range and curiosity, his refusal to be boxed in. Unpredictability is much of the appeal. In place of a neatly packaged artistic statement, Tasjan delivers a kind of self-portrait of an artist unafraid to follow every instinct, wherever it may lead.—Ray Chelstowski