You know how this goes! Listening links are embedded in the album title; when available, purchase links are also included or noted (in parentheses) after the review.

The Black Crowes, A Pound of Feathers. Arguably the last American roots-rockers to break big before the advent of grunge, the Crowes’ first three albums were classics, and they’ve never made a total stinker. But their recent revival has proved extra special; while their 2024 comeback album only took flight halfway through, their newest rockets skyward from the get-go. Guitarist Rich Robinson fires off one unstoppable riff and perfectly judged break after another; brother Chris’ crackling vocal rasp and motor mouth delivery mounts astride the greasy grooves, spinning lyrical yarns of road roguery with self-awareness and style to spare. But there’s pain and regret lurking in the dank corners of the party : reflective comedowns “Pharmacy Chronicles”, “High and Lonesome” and “Queen of the B-Sides” cut the decadent fog generated by slamming rockers “Cruel Streak” and “Do the Parasite”; and the bill comes due on apocalyptic finale “Doomsday Doggerel”. The highlight here is “Eros Blues” – a widescreen multisectional plea for any deliverance available, with a towering gospel choir joining the Robinsons at the climax. A pile-driving, sharply etched tangle of shadows and light, A Pound of Feathers moves the body, mind and heart. A highly recommended Instant Favorite for 2026, on par with the Crowes’ best.

The Dear Hunter, Sunya. One of these days, Casey Crescenzo and his merry band might finish up their self-titled six-album magnum opus; in the meantime, we have the third installment in the completely different Indigo Child cycle. Leaving the repressive authoritarian city of 2022’s Antimai, our nameless protagonist heads for “The Wasteland”, where today’s best Beach Boys/Queen harmonies ride atop dystopian sunshine prog-funk – and that’s just for starters! “Marauders” is hyperspeed punk-pop, complete with cheesy organ licks; “The Bazaareteria” slips into medium-tempo funk with interlocking instrumental bits orbiting each other. Then there’s three-parter “The Glass Desert”, morphing from sonic sheets of synthesizer and wordless vocal via double-time drive and plaintive horn textures into countrified dream-rock. Which then glides through a synth transition into the title track, an emotive paean to self-actualization (complete with agnostic romantic idealism as ethical foundation). It makes for a killer power ballad and an effective closing track – but this feels like another “To Be Continued” moment. Still, Sunya is an intriguing, attention-grabbing listen throughout; this material should go down like gangbusters on The Dear Hunter’s upcoming US tour. (Buy from the band’s Cave and Canary Goods here.)

Peter Hammill: A Headlong Stretch: The Fie! Albums, 1992-1996. Judging that he was “more capable of under-promoting myself than anyone else on the planet”, Hammill kissed major-label life goodbye with this quartet of albums – wildly varying in style, wildly creative throughout. The “Becalm” album Fireships is PH at his most accessible, riding memorable melodies in reserved yet dramatic style, with David Lord providing gorgeous, dead-on synthetic orchestrations. “Aloud” sequel The Noise has Hammill back in stentorian mode over New Wave/post-punk backing, bellowing a tribute to the chaos of Van der Graaf Generator on the title track and utterly inhabiting the baleful, harrowing closer “Primo on the Parapet”. Roaring Forties mixes the two modes to stunning effect on the Beatlesque takedown “Sharply Unclear”, the aerated power-rock of “You Can’t Want What You Always Get”, the calm-through-storm-and-back arch of the epic that yields the box set’s title, and the hymnic soul ballad “Your Tall Ship” (an elegy to Hammill’s father). X My Heart is more of a one-man show, with space to savor the finely-crafted melody and oratory, along with my very favorite Hammill song, “A Better Time” (the a cappella version gets me every time). Hammill is unquestionably both an acquired taste and an astounding artist, and there are plenty of marvelous moments here. (Buy from Burning Shed here.)

Joe Jackson, Hope and Fury. The man of a thousand voices is back – and he’s still an thoroughly contrary sod! Replete with callbacks to his Look Sharp and Night and Day eras at the head of a feisty quintet, Jackson is as musically eclectic – and as lyrically allergic to others’ demands for respect and obedience – as ever. From the hip-hop hooligan chanting of “Burning-On-Sea” through to the luscious semiclassical balladry of “See You in September” he’s here in all his splendor and vulgarity, deftly wielding his gift for melody (“Made God Laugh”, “After All This Time”), his awkward humor (“Do Do Do”), his unstoppable genre-hopping (the jazzy “Face in the Crowd”), his penchant for ambitious topics (“End of the Pier”, with a tune that channels the soul of Elgar) and his irresistible urge to take the mickey out of any sacred cow in sight (even the commodification of the rainbow on “Fabulous People”). Fifty years on, Jackson’s musical and satirical powers remain at a peak, with the tears of a clown breaking through on occasion; and even his sandpaper voice and whiz-bang piano skills are miraculously intact. Not for fans only, but if you ever have been one, definitely check this out.

Bruce Soord, Ghosts in the Park. Soord characterizes his recent Pineapple Thief albums as occupied with broad societal concerns, while his solo work zooms in on what’s personal. The songs on Ghosts in the Park certainly qualify for the latter: delicate, allusive meditations on his parents’ aging and eventual passing, the mounting grief of all parties observed with dark grace. The music, composed by Soord in hotel rooms on tour even as his mother and father declined, suits the subject matter to perfection: somber guitar sketches and hovering vocal lines, looped into additive rhythm beds (“Day of Wrath”), set off with stinging electric leads (“Kept Me Thinking”) and silence when least expected (the title track). From the extended personal reverie “Meet Me on the Downs” to the protestations of baffled elders (and/or their children?) on “You Made a Promise”, Ghosts in the Dark leaves its mark gently, quietly, its occasional outbursts plumbing the depth of despair, pain and acceptance at human life’s end. Not everyday listening, but a moving, affecting experience nonetheless. (Buy from Burning Shed here.)

Stephen Thelen, Fractal Guitar 4. Connoisseurs of suspended soundscapes and odd-time rhythm grids, rejoice! Robert Fripp may be observing his 80th birthday in retirement, but Swiss guitarist and composer Thelen keeps extending and developing the Crimsonian tradition with each of his prolific releases. The latest installment in a series that pairs the mathematics of his breakthrough ensemble Sonar with the alchemical properties of sonic treatments and effects, Fractal Guitar 4 is a whirlwind tour through hard-charging energy grooves (the album’s bookends “In Search of the Miraculous”), more relaxed world music pulses (“Fractal Guitar Goes to Africa”) crepuscular meditations (“Creatures of the Night”) and a cinematic hero’s journey (the two-part “Eclipse”). With fellow guitarists Eivind Aarset and Jon Durant launching into the spaces Thelen conjures and drummer Yogev Gabay sliding alongside with supple polyrhythms, there’s tension and release aplenty, as the core group and guests like touch guitar master Markus Reuter drift off, lock in, rinse, and repeat in unanticipated, inevitable patterns. Head-spinning and soul-cleansing, it’s a worthwhile journey to unheard-of musical destinations. (Buy from Bandcamp at the link above.)

— Rick Krueger