Danny Neill

MorganEve Swain’s “Babylon”, the second album from The Huntress and Holder of Hands, is a vivid, heavily weighted folk-rock album that traces how grief changes shape over time. Over a decade on from losing her husband Dave Lamb, Swain channels that long private reckoning into something communal and forward-looking — moving and epic, with a rough-hewn buoyancy that ultimately nudges toward light.

On “These Are The Days That Turn Into Years”, their seventh studio album, Pharis & Jason Romero, following their 2022 release, channel four years of living, touring, parenting and banjo-building into their most open-hearted set yet. Tracked in their riverside Horsefly barn, it feels lived-in and luminous — a pure rootsy joyride that will send you straight back to the opening track.

Eleven songs of top-drawer Americana, “Coin-O-Matic” is pure Deer Tick: unfiltered, honest, at ease in their own skin. Two decades in and self-produced for the first time, they draw on Rhode Island’s half-mythic characters and wear the Springsteen influence honestly with the closing five-song sweep, ultimately confirming the album’s quality — a long-storied band taking aim and hitting all their targets.

Neon Summer Skin is built around a simple revelation: childhood doesn’t end on schedule, and its afterglow can hit hardest when you think you’ve left it behind. Bedouine returns to the instruments of her early years — piano, trumpet, brass — and wraps memory in bossa nova sway, jazz warmth, and a touch of psychedelia. The result is intimate without being small, and deeply, unguardedly felt.

On first listen, REXEN sounds like an introspective singer-songwriter. He isn’t. “The Chauffeur,” his first full studio album, recorded at Real World Studios with John Parish on the mix, swings from intoxicated baritone croon to high register, bending faintly sinister Americana into one new shape after another. The result is an album designed for deep engagement, one that rewards close listening and lingers long after it ends.

GALVEZTON is the one-man vehicle of songwriter Robert Kuhn, and on “Ocean Cabaret” he folds surf-streaked psych, folk and Gulf Coast dust into something all his own. These were the late-night kitchen songs his wife overheard and pushed him to release — recordings kept intentionally bare, foregrounding voice, guitar and the emotional grain of his writing. Music for healing.

On their self-titled debut, The MerKaBa Brotherhood — duo Roman Norfleet and Andre Raiah — treat rhythm as a vessel for hidden knowledge, shaping sound the way mystics shape symbols. Drawing on esoteric texts, sacred imagery and improvisation, this coded manuscript turns noise into philosophy, vibration into shared language, parachuting us into the place where all the in-between notes live.

Mallory Hawk’s self-released debut album “Chinook” — named for the twin-rotored helicopter that haunted her Fayetteville childhood — arrives July 31st, 2026. Lead single and accompanying video “Revolver” is a jangly yet lush, yearning love song about being a hopeless sucker for someone, caught in the endless cycles of faulty loyalty. Written entirely by Hawk and recorded at Philadelphia’s Headroom Studios with producer Sam Acchione.

Lemoncello return with their second album Perfect Place via Claddagh Records, still carrying the quiet confidence of a duo who have already carved out a distinctive place in contemporary Irish folk. Laura Quirke and Claire Kinsella have continued to refine the intimate, instinctive interplay that first brought them to our attention; this is their strongest statement yet.

Maisy Owen’s debut Dark On A Sunny Day is a singer-songwriter album that, for a first attempt, shows remarkable maturity and a kind of timelessness in her style. Even when stripped down to the bare bones of voice and guitar, it still has enough detail to hold its spell. Maisy Owen sounds like she has a fascinating journey ahead.

White Fence’s Orange, out now via Drag City, is Tim Presley’s first album in seven years — and it sounds freer and more expansive than ever. With Ty Segall again in the producer’s chair, these songs are built for electricity, celebrating melody whilst unafraid to show hurt, fear, and despair. There is an audible joy in the playing.

Blood Sucking Maniacs, the self-titled debut from Terry Allen’s multigenerational family band, is out now on Paradise of Bachelors. Spanning five generations and 121 years across twenty-two tracks, it folds in Jo Harvey Allen, sons, grandsons, Panhandle Mystery Band stalwarts and a barrelhouse-piano-playing matriarch captured on seventies cassette. Free, wild, tender, and gloriously unruly — Americana cross-pollinated across the ages.