The New Underground

A Gritty, Celestial Walk Through The City of Wind

Every city has a pulse, but Chicago’s beats through its people. It’s a rhythm of elevated trains, of lakefront gusts, of a specific, unshakeable cool. It’s this very rhythm that Chicago’s own Danny Strange, a core component of the collective Thirty Radio, captures with stunning clarity on his new 6-track EP, STAR CHILD.

This isn't an album of grand, sweeping statements. It’s a collection of moments—a sonic Polaroid collection of a life lived in the shadow of skyscrapers and the glow of streetlights. STAR CHILD is a deliberate and precise excavation of the person behind the artist, a project that feels less like a performance and more like an invitation to walk a mile in his worn-in sneakers.

From the very first track, Strange establishes a vibe that is both grounded and ethereal—a "starchild" with his feet firmly planted on Chicago concrete. He opens Track 3, "CLOUD CITY," with the declarative, "I got my swagger from my city," and you feel it. The track is the audio equivalent of a crisp, autumn walk through Humboldt Park with a joint in hand; it’s not about euphoria, but a deep, resonant contentment. It’s the sound of a man completely at home in his own skin and his own zip code.

This Chicago-centric energy isn't just a backdrop; it's the lifeblood of the entire project. Strange continues to weave these city motifs throughout, but the standout, the track we haven't been able to shake here at the TNU office, is "SUITS." It’s a masterclass in subtle social commentary, a song that simmers with the tension of the innate masking performed by a Black man navigating urban spaces. It’s sharp, observant, and delivered with a weary intelligence that is both poignant and powerful.

And then there are the mysteries that make a project like this so compelling. We find ourselves utterly curious about the enigmatic "Paul," who is referenced in the title and throughout the hazy, reflective "PAUL'S CAR." Who is he? A mentor? A friend? A symbol of a past life? Strange offers glimpses, letting the listener fill in the blanks, making the experience feel collaborative and deeply personal.

Overall, STAR CHILD is more than just a strong debut from a promising Chicago voice. It’s a document. A precise, unfiltered look into the everyday—the suits we wear, the cars we ride in, the city air we breathe. Danny Strange hasn’t just given us a few new songs to add to a playlist; he’s offered a piece of his world. And for that act of generous, stellar storytelling, we are profoundly grateful.

The New Underground Verdict: Essential Listening.

Forget the album of the summer. Rhett Rhapsody has delivered the album of the session. In an era of curated personas and sanitized desire, his latest opus, ‘STOOGE’, is a glorious, unapologetic dive into the deep end of the id. This isn’t just a collection of songs; it’s an 11-track, neon-drenched manifesto that frames kink, play, and the pursuit of bliss as the highest forms of self-actualization. It’s a gooner’s paradise, a dedicated space where the brain is switched off, the body is switched on, and shame is a forgotten scent.

The journey begins with the lead single, “Efficacy,” which serves as the perfect thesis statement. Over a disco-funk bassline that operates with surgical precision, Rhett reframes sexual exploration as a clinical experiment in self-regulation. The now-iconic line, “This experiment’s a lubricant,” is the key that unlocks the entire album. It’s not just about physical lubrication, but about the easing of psychic friction—using focused, intentional release to quiet the noise of the world. The cover art, featuring Rhett as a clown biting into a brain, is no longer just a striking image; it’s the album’s core philosophy. This is about consuming your own overthinking, devouring your inhibitions, and finding profound truth in the primal.

From there, ‘STOOGE’ unfolds as a dedicated and ecstatic exploration of this theme. The air is thick with the scent of poppers and the whisper of sub/dom dynamics. Tracks are punctuated with breathless, mantra-like repetitions of “soooo gooood,” less as a lyric and more as a physiological report from the front lines of feeling. This is an album deeply in love with the texture of pleasure—the chemical, the physical, the psychological. It’s a celebration of the roles we play, both in the bedroom and in the world, arguing that to be a ‘stooge’—a player, a jester, a devoted submissive—is not to be a fool, but to be free.

While the entire record is a continuous, throbbing highlight, we at The New Underground find ourselves particularly drawn to its masterful architecture. The album doesn’t just end; it resets. The final track, “Down 2 Clown,” is a slow, pulsing comedown, a blissed-out sigh of exhaustion and contentment. Its final, dissipating synth note doesn’t fade to silence but bleeds perfectly, seamlessly, into the opening beat of the first track, “Up N’ Coming.”

This is no accident. It’s a profound statement. ‘STOOGE’ is designed as an infinite loop, a ouroboros of pleasure. The “clown” goes down, only to be “up and coming” again. The session never truly ends; it merely pauses before the desire to play, to experiment, to feel, begins its inevitable climb once more. It mirrors the very cycle of kink and release the album so vividly describes.

‘STOOGE’ is more than an acceptance of one’s full self; it’s a radiant, dizzying embrace of the kinks of life. Rhett Rhapsody hasn’t just made a great pop record. He’s built a church for the devoted, a manual for the modern hedonist, and a party that never has to stop. All you have to do is press play, and agree to be the stooge.

We fucked up.

In our last issue, we sang the praises of a new ambient EP titled ‘SanctuaryMoth,’ attributing it to the Denver artist we know as moth.sanctuary. We were wrong. The artist herself reached out to state, clearly and unequivocally, that she did not create this release.

The post has been deleted. Our apologies to the artist are extended publicly and profusely. We got swept up in the narrative—the apparent sonic left-turn, the thematic resonance—and failed in our most basic duty: verification. This is on us.

But this error opens a far more complex and necessary conversation that the underground needs to have now.

The Sanctity of the Alias

An artist’s moniker, especially in the underground, is more than a name; it’s a vessel. It carries the weight of their work, their reputation, and the trust of their community. For an artist like moth.sanctuary, who has painstakingly built a beacon of intensity and integrity in the Denver scene, that name is earned. It is copyrighted in the minds of everyone who has ever felt the floor shake at one of her shows.

The appearance of this other ‘SanctuaryMoth’ EP—whether a deliberate act of mimicry, an innocent oversight, or a cynical platform algorithm—highlights a pervasive disease in the digital age: the erosion of artistic identity.

We must ask: when does inspiration become impersonation? When does a similar name cross the line into confusion? The underground has always thrived on shared themes and sonic kinship, but it is built on a foundation of individual voice. To see an artist’s identity, her hard-won territory, potentially co-opted is to watch that foundation crack. It forces an artist to become a defender, a negotiator, a brand manager—roles that siphon energy from the sacred act of creation.

The Freedom to Create vs. The Responsibility to Respect

Yes, artists should have the freedom to choose any name. The underground is a haven for reinvention. But true freedom in a community comes with responsibility. The choice to adopt a moniker strikingly similar to an established artist, especially within the same broad genre and region, is not an act of punk rebellion; it’s an act of negligence, at best. It forces the original artist into a conversation they never asked to have. It dilutes their signal. It makes our job as amplifiers harder, and more importantly, it betrays the communal trust that allows underground scenes to thrive.

This isn’t about claiming a common word. This is about the specific, unique identity of moth.sanctuary—an identity known for visceral industrial power, for curating insane shows, for just wrapping a West Coast tour. That specific identity was, in this instance, obscured.

Moving Forward: A Call for Diligence

So, where does this leave us? It leaves us with a mandate.

· For Platforms: Do better. The onus cannot solely be on artists to police their own identities. Streaming services and social media sites must improve their verification and discovery algorithms to prevent this kind of confusion. · For Artists: Be unique. Do your research. Build your own legacy; don’t borrow someone else’s aura. · For Us, the Media & the Community: Our excitement to uncover the new must be tempered with rigorous diligence. We must listen harder, verify first, and champion clear, authentic voices.

Our commitment to you, and to artists like moth.sanctuary, is to learn from this. We will be better. The real moth.sanctuary is a vital force, and we will continue to support her actual work with the clarity and respect it demands. Stay tuned for that. The underground depends on getting this right.

From the crumbling concrete and the hum of faulty neon, a different kind of signal is bleeding through. It’s not the punishing, righteous assault we’ve come to expect from Denver’s premier architect of audio anguish, moth.sanctuary. No, this is something else. Something quieter, and somehow, far more terrifying.

The new EP, ‘SanctuaryMoth’, is a five-track detour into the ghost-ridden frequencies of ambient. Forget what you think you know. This isn’t background music for incense and yoga; this is the sound of a soul decompressing in a vacuum, a transmission from the silent, hollowed-out spaces between the beats.

It opens with “I Hold My Loves Hands at the windshear wastes,” a title that reads like a line from a recovered data-log. The track itself feels exactly as described: a distant embrace from a familiar body. The warmth is there, a pad swelling like a memory, but the connection is fractured, digital, mediated by an impossible distance. It’s dissociative in the best of ways—a welcome unspooling from the tyranny of the physical self. This isn't music for the mosh pit; it's for the liminal bus ride home at 4 AM, when the city feels like a dream you’re about to forget.

This theme of haunting intimacy carries through the entire release, building not to a crescendo, but to a profound, lingering question. The closing track, and our definitive favorite, “Why Do You Leave Me Out,” is a masterstroke. It poses a question that echoes through the high-altitude isolation of the Front Range. It’s a sentiment we’ve heard whispered from other Denver-based artists, a pattern we’re beginning to side-eye with serious intent. Is it the geography? The thin air? The peculiar social alchemy of a city in constant, chaotic flux? moth.sanctuary taps into this regional neurosis with unnerving accuracy. The question isn’t screamed; it’s breathed into the void, left to hang in the sterile air.

And that’s the genius here. ‘SanctuaryMoth’ is a complete sonic juxtaposition to the corrosive industrial beats that have made moth.sanctuary a beacon in the rave and warehouse scene. Yet, the project holds the same raw intensity. The tension is just inverted. Where their live sets are a physical catharsis, this EP is a psychological one. The same hand that twists a mixer into a frenzy now holds it with a surgeon’s precision, suturing soundscapes that are equally devastating.

This is not a side-project. This is the other side of the same coin. It’s the deep, necessary inhalation after the scream.

The EP is out everywhere now. Absorb it in the dark. Let it score your own quiet catastrophes.

And when you’re ready to exhale, don’t you dare miss one of their insane live shows. Fresh off a West Coast tour, they remain a vital, pulsing nerve in the Denver underground. They are the sanctuary and the storm.

If the Los Angeles underground has a pulse, it’s a four-on-the-floor kick drum filtered through a dusty sampler, and for over a decade, one of its most consistent architects has been Lowprah. This is an artist who operates not with the clamor of a seeker of spotlight, but with the quiet confidence of a master craftsperson. They haven't just been present in the scene; they have, as we at The New Underground have observed since their introduction in 2014, always resided in "massive rooms"—both in the literal sense of commanding dancefloors and in the curated, influential circles of digital music.

Our first encounter was via their collaboration with the enigmatic SOFTXSHUG, a name that carries its own weight from associations with the likes of Azealia Banks and the amorphous sounds of LONE AMORPHOUS. This wasn't a random pairing; it was a signal. It placed Lowprah squarely in a realm of artists who treat sound as texture, mood, and narrative. This foundational understanding of collaborative alchemy has continued through work with LA staples like Matty Cakes, Amina Banks, and Chloe Coyote, proving Lowprah is as much a community-focused force as a solo one.

But 2025 has unveiled a particularly fascinating chapter in the Lowprah narrative: a study in contrasts, a diptych of releases that speaks to the duality of modern life. The year began with ‘Smoke Break’—a title evoking a momentary pause, a fleeting exhalation. Lowprah most recently arrived with almost ironic timing, is the brilliantly titled ‘Detrimenthol’. While we hesitate to draw a direct narrative line (we’d rather not make an ass of ourselves, as the saying goes), the thematic link is irresistible. If ‘Smoke Break’ is the deep breath in, ‘Detrimenthol’ is the potent, cooling, yet potentially hazardous exhale.

‘Detrimenthol’ is a masterwork of function and feeling. This 15-track solo expedition is a "full house" of electronic motifs—the soulful swing of house, the relentless drive of techno, and the squelching, mind-bending arcs of acid. Yet, to categorize it merely by genre is to miss its profound purpose. Lowprah has engineered something far more valuable: a "safe space for the everyday worker who happens to be an art enthusiast."

This is the album's genius. It understands its audience. It is the soundtrack for the solo rave in a bedroom after a draining shift, the necessary catharsis where the day’s frustrations are metabolized into rhythmic motion. Conversely, it is equally a toolkit for the DJ, a collection of "tracks to get the actual party going," built with the impeccable sound design and intuitive flow that only a veteran producer and selector can conjure.

Lowprah doesn’t demand your attention with gimmicks or aggressive self-promotion. Instead, they earn it through consistency, quality, and a deep, empathetic understanding of why we need this music. They build the massive rooms—the sonic architectures—and trust us to find our way inside, whether we're alone with our headphones or surrounded by a crowd moving as one. In a landscape often obsessed with the next big thing, Lowprah is a welcome constant: a reliable, brilliant architect of the groove, always ready to provide the perfect soundtrack for the break, the detriment, and the dance in between.

The Chicago multi-hyphenate returns with a potent, of-the-moment manifesto on living, creating, and letting life happen.

There’s a certain energy that announces a true return. It’s not just a notification of presence; it’s a re-establishment of ethos, a reclamation of space. Grizzy Mack’s latest full-length offering, ‘Currents,’ is exactly that: a 12-track, sprawling “I’M BACK!” that feels less like a calculated statement and more like an unstoppable force of nature finally breaking through. This isn’t an album obsessed with grand theories, but rather a document of an artist deeply immersed in the flow of their own life.

In a recent conversation with The New Underground, Mack revealed that ‘Currents’ began humbly, intended as a small EP to break a creative dry spell. But as often happens with organic art, the project had its own ideas. “It’s just like a consequence of me living life,” Mack explained. This philosophy is the album’s bedrock. Where 2022’s ‘Homonoir’ theorized about finding peace within chaos, ‘Currents’ simply exists within it, capturing moments in real-time. It is, as Mack puts it, “current to the current times.”

This raw, present-tense approach is nowhere more potent than on the haunting “IIIIDDDKKKKKK.” Over a drowsy, slouching beat, Mack murmurs lyrics like “into the K I’m drowsy, slouchy” and “leave me where you found me.” The track is a plunge into deep, perhaps chemically-altered, waters, heavy with a sense of weariness. Yet, there’s no panic in the abyss. Instead, a powerful air of radical acceptance rings through—a willingness to be carried by the current, even into the unknown.

But ‘Currents’ is far from a solitary float. It is, at its heart, a celebration of community. The electrifying third track, “Whispers,” plays like a modern-day cypher, featuring blistering verses from Luh Kunt, Lassai, and the iconic Kidd Kenn. Each artist gets a turn to spit bars, creating a dynamic and collaborative energy that is the lifeblood of the Chicago underground. This spirit of collaboration wasn’t a calculated move; it was innate. When asked about the features, Mack quipped, “the features chose ME, baby. Haha they all just happened organically.” This organic curation extends to the boastful “No Casting” with Kristopher Lay, a track born from a late-night hang that perfectly captures the joy of “popping our shit!” among friends.

This reliance on his circle is Mack’s primary fuel. He cites peers like Docx, Eric Dontè, and Kunt Pills as direct inspirations, noting, “The idea of Collaboration is what keeps me going.” It’s this symbiotic relationship with his environment that makes ‘Currents’ so vital. It’s an album that sounds like its creation: spontaneous, community-driven, and fiercely present.

Looking forward, Mack is already riding the next wave, teasing ‘Homoblanco,’ another duo tape with Myso, and even playfully musing about a potential ‘Currents PM’ remix project. But the true power of ‘Currents’ might lie in its latent potential for manifestation. Mack leaves us with a final thought: “I feel like a lot of the times when I look back on certain songs, there are things I've manifested or things I’ve talked about that have come to fruition… so I like to write down stuff consciously to be like ‘OK let's let this happen’.”

‘Currents’ is more than an album; it’s a ritual of presence. It’s Grizzy Mack planting his feet firmly in the now, surrounded by his collaborators, and documenting the world as it flows by. He’s not fighting the tide, but masterfully riding it, and in doing so, has delivered his most compelling and authentic work to date. Welcome back.

‘Currents’ is available now on all streaming platforms.

Here at The New Underground, we are constantly sifting through the digital static, searching for a signal that feels both authentic and necessary. Rarely does an album arrive that feels less like a release and more like a sanctuary. Kardinal Bloo’s latest offering, ‘Birds Rap Too,’ is precisely that: a warm, immersive, and crucially important safe house for the mind and soul, emanating from the heart of Austin, Texas.

From the first beat, Bloo constructs a world that is immediately familiar yet entirely his own. The production is a masterclass in atmospheric cohesion, weaving together the smoky cadence of jazz, the intimate comfort of lofi, and the head-nodding integrity of boom bap. This isn't a mere collage of influences; it’s a seamless fusion, a sonic ecosystem where every element exists in symbiotic harmony. The beats don’t just accompany the rhymes; they breathe with them, providing a lush, living backdrop for Bloo’s philosophical musings.

And what musings they are. Bloo’s lyrical approach is a study in beautiful contradiction—sometimes ultra-deep, sometimes ultra-simple, but always devastatingly direct. He possesses the unique ability to distill profound wisdom into a line that sticks with you for days. On the brilliantly titled “Chickenhead Litmus Test,” he offers a quiet piece of revolutionary advice: “Why you ain’t communing with the sun? Ask the trees how they day went.” It’s more than a bar; it’s a prescription. It’s a call to reconnect with the natural world and, in doing so, reconnect with ourselves. This ethos of care—for the earth, for you, for I—pulses through the album’s core.

This sense of sanctuary culminates in the album’s breathtaking closer, “Love + Discernment.” Our writers found themselves returning to this track repeatedly, finding in its gentle cadence a place of safety and comfort. Here, Bloo strips everything back for a candid conversation, advocating for a life led by compassion and careful judgment. It’s a vulnerable and powerful manifesto that serves as the album’s emotional anchor.

‘Birds Rap Too’ is also a testament to community. The album is richly adorned with collaborations, primarily from the talented duo Yourstru.ly and RA Washington. Their contributions, especially within the choruses and backing vocals, are not mere features; they are essential textures in the album’s tapestry, adding layers of harmony and perspective that make the world Bloo builds feel populated, loved, and real.

But make no mistake—for all its smoothness and comfort, this is a bold and unflinching statement. The sanctuary Bloo builds is not an escape from the world’s troubles; it is a fortified place from which to face them. The album’s closing line is a clarion call that leaves no doubt about where Bloo stands: “Might beat the fuck out some fascists because I love my people.” It’s a jarring, powerful, and ultimately perfect conclusion. It clarifies that the love and peace preached throughout the album is not passive. It is active, protective, and fiercely committed to justice.

‘Birds Rap Too’ is more than an album; it’s a balm and a battle cry. It is the sound of an artist fully in tune with his environment, his community, and his own moral compass. In a world that often values noise over nuance, Kardinal Bloo has given us a profound gift: a quiet, sturdy place to stand, to reflect, and to gather strength for whatever comes next.

At The New Underground, we don’t just listen to music; we seek out experiences. We crave those rare albums that function not as a collection of songs, but as a portal—a temporary escape into a world more vivid, more visceral, and more vibrantly honest than our own. Cyrus Chrome’s latest opus, SNTHTX, is precisely that: a meticulously crafted, euphoric, and deeply human journey that establishes Chrome not just as a pop innovator, but as a premier cartographer of the modern emotional landscape.

The mission statement is declared from the very first breath. “Gonna party all night - board jets to take flight,” Chrome announces on the opening track, “Airtight.” It’s a promise of hedonistic escape, and the track itself is a fulfillment unlike any other. “Airtight” is a kaleidoscopic marvel, a pop masterpiece built from a collision of sounds that shouldn’t cohere but somehow do, forging a new alloy of pure auditory pleasure. It’s the sound of a night beginning with limitless potential, the sonic equivalent of champagne bubbles hitting the brain.

But as any seasoned reveler knows, the best parties are found in the unexpected corners. For us at TNU, that moment is the devastating pull of “1 nite.” The track opens with a synth that doesn’t just invite you in; it operates like a tornado, violently and irresistibly sucking you into its core. The genius revelation is what you find there: not chaos, but the calm, confident eye of the storm. It’s a sanctuary for the sexy and the self-possessed, a throbbing, intimate party where the only requirement is to surrender to the rhythm. To hear it is to feel honored, a privileged guest at Chrome’s most exclusive gathering.

This balance between the euphoric and the introspective is the album’s beating heart. Just as the night must eventually turn to quiet reflection, SNTHTX pivots beautifully to its emotional core with “clarity.” Here, Chrome strips back the production to remain lyrically transparent, navigating the fragile aftermath of heartbreak. This is no wallowing dirge; it’s a song of hard-won realization and resilient self-worth. You can feel it sitting in your hands, solid and real—a trophy earned from past battles.

Of course, no Chrome experience is complete without a shot of addictive, dance-floor venom. Enter “obsessed,” a soft jersey club anthem that is as cunning as it is catchy. The title is a warning and a description. There must be drugs in this track—a subliminal frequency or an hypnotic rhythm that rewires the listener’s pleasure centers. It was after this track that our obsession with the album crystallized, moving from appreciation to outright need.

Chrome brings this meticulously constructed journey to a close with “purified.” The title is the thesis. The entire album—the parties, the heartbreak, the obsession—has been a refining fire, and this final track is the gleaming result. The blend of half-rap, half-sung confession—“Tell me what you wanna do with all this body”—is a moment of breathtaking vulnerability and power. It’s an offering and a challenge, encapsulating the album’s central theme of claiming one’s space, one’s sound, and one’s self.

SNTHTX is not for the casual listener. It is a complex, layered work for the adult PC music consumer—an audience that demands production sophistication alongside lyrical substance. It is a sexy escape, yes, but one that understands that true ecstasy is born from self-awareness. Cyrus Chrome has not only delivered an album; they have engineered a world. And it is a world we are infinitely grateful to inhabit.

In the sprawling, genre-defiant ecosystem of the More Peaches collective, where the industrial clang of Iron Hox meets the hyperkinetic cut-ups of Move Like Jagged Cuts, one name has consistently carved out a space that is both audaciously carnal and unexpectedly vulnerable: BIG PHARMA. As the architect behind some of the label's most irresistibly danceable and lyrically forthright tracks, PHARMA has never been one for subtlety. And with the announcement of a third album, ‘LEGS’, they are doubling down—or perhaps tripling down—on their singular vision.

The album’s self-described theme—“legs, butt, and toes - my favorite things”—is a masterclass in PHARMA’s brand of provocative minimalism. It’s a statement so blunt it circles back to being profound. In a musical landscape often cluttered with abstract metaphor and emotional obfuscation, BIG PHARMA offers a refreshing, unadulterated directness. This isn’t about reading between the lines; it’s about the lines themselves, drawn with the bold, unshakeable confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want.

The lead single, “Just The Tip,” featuring label mates Iron Hox and Docx, is a mission statement set to a throbbing beat. The lyrics—“can I get just the tip? When I move up do it slow - get it soaking, make it drip.”—leave little to the imagination. But to dismiss this as mere explicitness is to miss the point entirely. This is music about the physics and poetry of intimacy: the tension, the anticipation, the specific instructions that become a language of their own. The production, a sleek fusion of deep house and something darker, more industrial—doubtless a fingerprint of the Iron Hox collaboration—creates a palpable atmosphere of a late-night session where pleasure is both the question and the answer.

However, to pigeonhole BIG PHARMA as solely a purveyor of party-starting hedonism would be a critical error. Earlier this year, the standalone single “Music Saves My Life Everyday” (with Docx) revealed a different, more introspective layer to the artist. Built on a foundation of uplifting Jersey club rhythms and a soulful piano loop, the track is a genuine, arms-raised anthem of gratitude. It’s a powerful reminder that for the artists of More Peaches, the dance floor isn’t just a place of escape; it’s a site of salvation. This duality is key to understanding PHARMA’s appeal: the same artist who crafts odes to physical attributes can also write a heartfelt paean to the very medium that gives them purpose.

This juxtaposition is what makes the forthcoming ‘LEGS’ such an anticipated release. What promises on the surface to be a fun, body-positive romp likely contains multitudes. Will we get tracks that explore the strength and foundation of "legs," both literal and metaphorical? Will the celebration of "butt" veer into themes of power, attraction, and identity? And what of "toes"—the often-overlooked detail that completes the picture? In the hands of a less interesting artist, this could be a gimmick. With BIG PHARMA, it feels like a focused, almost conceptual art project disguised as a party record.

As part of the "notorious lineup" of More Peaches, BIG PHARMA embodies the label's core ethos: a fearless commitment to personal expression, a collaborative spirit, and a deep, unwavering faith in the power of a good beat. They are the collective's id, fully unleashed and utterly uncompromising.

At The New Underground, we’re constantly sifting through the digital ether for sounds that feel not just new, but necessary. xj bailey’s latest offering, Green Grows on the Sea of Black, is exactly that: a necessary, deeply personal document of destruction and regrowth, masterfully woven into a luscious tapestry of sound that defies easy categorization.

On first listen, the album is an immersive experience. bailey crafts a world where the hazy, textured guitars of shoegaze bleed into the improvisational spirit of jazz and the glitchy, fragmented beats of avant-garde electronica. It’s a headphone album in the truest sense, designed to pull you into its intimate, often melancholic, but ultimately warm embrace. Nowhere is this more evident than on the standout track, “iiintricate,” a song that feels almost physically warm and fuzzy, as if laced with a gentle dose of THC. It’s a perfect auditory representation of the album’s central theme: finding comfort in the complicated.

In a conversation with The New Underground, bailey revealed the profound personal journey that birthed this record. “The album itself is about my experience moving to Portland from SoCal after a horrible break up,” they explained. This wasn't just a change of zip code; it was a flight towards a fresh start, and the album is the meticulously detailed audio diary of that voyage. While their previous LP, d i s s o n a n c e, thrived on angst, Green Grows… is a “slow burn,” exploring the complex aftermath of messy breakups, love, lust, obsession, and navigating life with bipolar disorder, all while touching on the self-medication and therapy that often accompany such struggles.

This raw honesty is matched by a painstaking writing process. “God it took me so long to write the final versions of these songs,” bailey admits, describing a habit of constant creation. Tracks like “lorelei,” “HUH?,” and “break time’s over” evolved through countless iterations, with piles of cut verses and abandoned instrumentals left on the cutting room floor. This meticulous refinement is audible; every sound feels intentional, every fuzzy layer serves the song’s emotional core.

The album’s profound theme is perfectly crystallized in its cover art and title. Driving north to Portland a year after the devastating wildfires, bailey was struck by the scarred landscape. “Then I saw a beautiful little cluster of greenish yellow trees surrounded by the burnt forest and snapped a pic,” they shared. “It made me feel like everything was gonna be fine, and that things still grow after burning down.” Green Grows on the Sea of Black is that philosophy set to music—a testament to the resilience of life and hope emerging from absolute desolation.

This spirit of growth extends to the album's collaborations. True to form, it features a verse from bailey’s sister and Pink Jacket Music confidant, Kosmo. But for this chapter, the circle widens, welcoming a stunning feature from 2zenith on “lorelei” and, most poignantly, a reunion on the closer “clean break.” The track features drums and bass from Nathan Morgan and Andrew Lawrence, former bandmates from bailey’s 2019-era project, Beach Shade. “I wouldn’t be here without them,” bailey states, making the collaboration a full-circle moment that beautifully bookends this new beginning.

Based in the Pacific Northwest but with a heart still in California, xj bailey (a Capricorn whose disciplined artistry is evident in this refined work) is plotting a return to the stage for the first time in five years. If these live shows channel even a fraction of the detailed, emotional depth of Green Grows on the Sea of Black, they will be unmissable events.

This album is more than a collection of songs; it’s a map of a healing psyche. It’s the sound of green shoots stubbornly pushing through the ash, and it’s one of the most compelling and beautifully crafted records you’ll hear this year.

‘Green Grows on the Sea of Black’ is available now on all streaming platforms. Stay tuned to The New Underground for news on upcoming shows.

It’s a greeting that has become a familiar, almost intimate, signal across the digital underground. A beat tag that precedes a journey, a promise of the genre-fluid and emotionally raw production to come. With the release of his debut EP, ‘unveiling,’ Goochems doesn’t just make good on that promise; he cements it into a stunning, six-track manifesto that feels less like an introduction and more like a full, breathtaking reveal.

The project opens on what the artist himself has cited as his favorite creation: “take my soul.” The track is a masterclass in tonal whiplash, beginning as a trance-inducing, heavy-hearted dirge before executing a sudden, breathtaking pivot into a frenetic Jersey club rhythm. It’s a jarring, brilliant choice that mirrors the disorienting nature of the emotions he’s channeling—one moment you’re submerged in deep reflection, the next, you’re physically compelled to move, to dance through the pain. It’s this refusal to be pinned down that defines the entire EP.

This emotional whiplash continues on the stunning second track, “wait for uuu.” It opens with the hollowed-out confession, “I’ll never see you again.” Then, a pause. The distinct sound of Goochems clearing his throat. The line repeats, but the texture is different—raw, strained, as if the initial attempt was a thought and the second is the painful, vocalized reality. This isn’t just production; it’s theater. It’s the audio equivalent of a filmmaker zooming in on an actor’s face to capture the exact moment a realization cracks through. The lyric that follows—“I wish you well even if I hate you, too”—is an uncomfortable, profoundly truthful duality that Goochems doesn’t shy away from. He sits in the contradiction, and for its bravery and its flawless execution, “wait for uuu” is our early favorite here at The New Underground.

Of course, the EP also features the track that first broke him out of the algorithm: “shoegaze909.” A more modern, rhythm-driven take on the classic shoegaze ethos, the track layers ethereal, washed-out vocals over a relentless, crisp 909 break. It’s a song that has rightly garnered thousands of streams and accolades from fellow artists, proving that innovation often lives in the fusion of seemingly opposed worlds.

In a landscape crowded with hobbyists posing as auteurs, Goochems’ 2025 debut proves he is the real thing. But to focus on the posers is to miss the point entirely. As ‘unveiling’ so powerfully demonstrates, Goochems’ main currency isn’t technical prowess alone—though he has it in spades—it’s a radical transparency and honesty. He is an artist concerned with the ugly, complicated, and beautiful truth of feeling, translating it into sound with a clarity that is nothing short of captivating. He isn’t measuring himself against anyone else. He’s too busy unveiling something real.

In an industry that often mistakes deliberation for artistry, Bubble Messages operates with the prolific, unfiltered urgency of a true auteur. Just 90 days after the strategically brilliant debut ‘Sound Track’, the artist returns with ‘RAWR’—a project that doubles down on the initial blueprint while fearlessly venturing into even rawer territory. This rapid-fire release isn’t a rush job; it’s a statement of immense creative confidence, proving that the well of inspiration for this master of fine arts is deep, potent, and far from dry.

To understand the seismic impact of ‘RAWR’, one must first appreciate the masterful groundwork laid by ‘Sound Track’. That debut was more than a collection of songs; it was a calculated introduction to a unique artistic vision. It showcased Bubble Messages' singular ability to sculpt language, playing with words in a way that was both beautifully sexual and intellectually growing. But perhaps most impressively, it demonstrated a preternatural understanding of the cultural landscape.

‘Sound Track’ boasted monumental features that signaled Bubble’s reach from the very start. The album tapped into the white-hot energy of viral sensation KARRAHBOOO, fresh off her own massive collaboration on the Glorilla and Anycia track "Finesse."

This wasn't just a feature; it was a convergence of rising stars, placing Bubble Messages squarely in the center of the current hip-hop conversation. Furthermore, by enlisting the production talents of Docx, the album anchored its avant-garde lyricism in beats that were both contemporary and classic. This strategic pairing of a trending vocal firebrand with a proven hitmaker revealed an artist who is not just a creator, but a savvy curator—a master of their fine art.

This context makes the arrival of ‘RAWR’ all the more powerful. The new album takes the foundational elements of its predecessor and strips them back to their most essential, visceral core. This is an unfiltered deep dive into the id. Tracks like “Got Head From A Tree” replace subtle wordplay with breathtaking candor, a move that feels less like shock tactics and more like an artistic shedding of skin.

The album continues the tradition of impeccable collaborations, further cementing Bubble’s place in a vibrant ecosystem. The haunting “Jelly” features Chicago native Grizzy Mack, their chemistry weaving a narrative over a beat that sounds like a chilling, neon-lit city night. The potent “Bubbles” brings together the production prowess of Docx and a razor-sharp verse from Luh Kunt, who closes the track with the iconic, self-assured pop of his shit: “bitches wanna be me but they can’t.” It’s a claim that, in the world Bubble has built, feels undeniably true.

The project closes with the masterful “Cola,” a track that exemplifies Bubble’s elevated craft. The metaphor is deftly handled, the production evokes a specific, windswept atmosphere, and the delivery is like a soft, addictive promise. It’s the work of an artist in complete control of their medium.

‘RAWR’ is more than a sophomore album; it’s an evolution. Bubble Messages uses it to tell us that the critical and cultural acclaim from ‘Sound Track’ wasn’t a fluke, but a preview. They have taken the reach they masterfully built and used it to invite us even deeper into their world—and it’s a invitation that is impossible to refuse.

‘RAWR’ is available now on all streaming platforms. For a deeper dive into the mind of this modern auteur, follow Bubble Messages on YouTube for vlogs and music videos that further illuminate the life behind the potent music.

In the landscape of contemporary art, work of interdisciplinary artist Hayashi Wilder stands as a monument to intimate reclamation. Their piece, “Things I Took From My Father,” showcased by esteemed institutions like Genesis, Bunker Projects, and Madison’s The BUBBLER, is not something one simply views. It is an environment one enters, a silence one inhabits, and a story of trauma that masterfully pivots into a testament of survival.

At its core, the piece is anchored in the act of hair braiding—a ritual steeped in history, culture, and familial connection. But Wilder subverts this tradition, transforming the comb and the strand into instruments of forensic memory. They guide us to understand that for them, the site of care—the head, the hair—became the site of ultimate betrayal. It collapses the sacred and the profane, locating trauma not as an abstract specter but in the very fabric of the body, in its most visible and identity-laden feature.

This is where Wilder’s genius truly unfolds. The work is not a passive recounting of pain. It is an active, deliberate act of taking back. The ritual of braiding, once tainted, is purified through a new, chosen intimacy: the act of doing their partner’s hair. This becomes a healing dialectic—a way to rewrite the narrative of touch from one of taking to one of giving. Wilder’s poignant confession, “I always give away parts of myself so I can keep my home whole,” lays bare the economy of self-preservation that so many survivors understand. It is a candid admission of the bargains we make to protect our peace.

Central to the piece’s power are the questions Wilder poses—questions that hang in the air, dense and unanswerable: “Is her blackness sexual? Is her wetness blackness?” These are not riddles to be solved but portals into the complex intersection of Blackness, femininity, desire, and trauma. To sit with these questions, as the curators at The New Underground wisely did, is to understand that some truths are too vast for simple answers. They require silence and space to resonate, to acknowledge the layers of objectification and hypersexualization that Black bodies endure, and to witness Wilder wrestle with these forces on a profoundly personal level.

And from this space of questioning and stillness emerges the reclamation. The declaration, “I name my hair power and I tell power to take its time,” is nothing short of a coronation. It is the full-circle moment where what was taken is renamed, reclaimed, and given autonomy. The hair—the site of trauma—is transformed into a symbol of self-possessed strength, allowed to grow, to change, to “bloom in any direction it sees fit.”

Wilder concludes with an instruction, a benediction, and a manifesto all in one: “When you get home - soak your feet, cut off your hair, kiss your lover, and choose survival. Always.”

This final line is the heart of the piece. It is melancholic, yes, acknowledging the daily weariness that trauma inflicts. Yet, it is also profoundly empowering. It frames survival not as a grand, one-time victory, but as a conscious, daily practice of care—a series of small, loving acts for the self and the chosen family. It is an almost sacred recipe for perseverance.

Hayashi Wilder’s “Things I Took From My Father” ultimately achieves a rare feat. It does not just expose a wound; it performs the delicate surgery of healing in front of us. It invites us into the stillness where inner change occurs and leaves us not with a sense of despair, but with a quiet, resonant peace. It assures us that to simply be—to choose survival, always—is more than enough. It is everything.

At The New Underground, we are devoted to the explorers, the sonic cartographers who map territories unknown. Few artists embody this spirit quite like the enigmatic project Move Like Jagged Cuts. Following the cryptic blueprint of a planned four-part series, MLJC has returned with the second installment, ‘Jagged Set 2: Both of My Palms Beside Me,’ exclusively on More Peaches’ Bandcamp. It is a work that deepens the mystery while offering a startling, intimate clarity.

Where the first record laid the groundwork, this second chapter builds a peculiar and beautiful home within it. Comprising seven tracks—named sequentially from “Ninth Cut” to “Fifteenth Cut”—the album feels less like a collection of songs and more like pages from a deeply personal auditory journal. The artist’s self-imposed rule of sampling only records “at least 50 years old” is no sterile technical constraint; it is an act of musical archaeology. These samples are spiritual ingredients, ghostly textures woven into the fabric of the present to create something entirely new and timeless.

Harmonically, the album is defined by the warm, breathy presence of the harmonium. In our conversation, MLJC revealed this instrument was the core around which many melodies were built. It provides an organic, almost devotional heart to the electronic and experimental excursions. This is not cold, digital production; it is hand-crafted, tactile, and human.

This humanity shines brightest on the closing masterpiece, “Fifteenth Cut,” our undeniable standout. The track opens not with a melody, but with an environment—a kaleidoscopic swirl of sound that evokes ancient bagpipes echoing in a digital cavern. It is both disorienting and profoundly comforting, a description that perfectly matches MLJC’s process vocals that somehow sound like a hug to the ear.

When we asked about the track’s meaning, the artist offered a stream of consciousness that is the key to understanding not just the song, but their entire ethos: “It's release from shame. It's release from like disappointment. It's kind of like a mantra, almost it's like me talking to me - telling me… I don't know like, live presently.”

This is the album’s thesis: release. The title, ‘Both of My Palms Beside Me,’ suggests a state of openness, of acceptance, of having nothing to hide and nothing to grasp. The music embodies this, allowing layers of old samples and droning harmonium (“those Chef Boyardee kind of Tones,” as they wonderfully described them) to coalesce into a meditative, transformative whole. It is honest in the most candid way—a conversation with the self, shared generously with the listener.

In an era of algorithmic playlists and genre-blurring ambiguity, it takes a singular vision to create something that feels both fresh and fiercely focused. Jaynsanity’s second album, ‘WHO NOT OUTSIDE’, is that vision realized—a twelve-track incendiary device dropped squarely onto the dancefloor. This isn’t just a collection of songs; it’s a statement, a call to arms, and a masterclass in underground dance music synthesis that demands movement and commands attention.

From the very first beat of the opening track, “DUNGAREE,” the album’s mission is clear: to bridge the gaps between the most potent strains of Black electronic music. The track is a tectonic plate shift of sound, welding the frantic, skittering pulse of Detroit footwork to the deep, sub-bass pressure and amen breaks of jungle. It’s a disorienting, exhilarating opening that refuses to let the listener get comfortable, immediately establishing that ‘WHO NOT OUTSIDE’ operates on its own terms.

Just as the jungle breaks reach a fever pitch, Jaynsanity pivots with masterful crowd-reading intuition. “GIRLS GIRL” locks into the instantly recognizable, cheeky bounce of Jersey Club. This one-two punch in the album’s opening acts is more than just a display of range; it’s a declaration of intent. Jaynsanity isn’t merely sampling these genres as a stylistic flourish. He speaks their language fluently, understanding the shared DNA of sweat, release, and community that connects them.

This communal energy is the album’s beating heart. Nowhere is this more evident than on the anthemic “BIG ONE,” where a commanding, looped chant—“Damn, baby I wanna see you come and do yo big one”—becomes more than a hook. It’s a mantra, a challenge issued to every listener to bring their utmost energy to the moment. It encapsulates the album’s ethos: this is music for participation, not passive listening.

This spirit of collaboration explodes on “Yerr,” a posse cut that feels less like a featured track and more like a gathering. By calling on the ever-famous Eric Dontè, Jaynsanity reinforces his role not as a solitary auteur, but as a central node in a vibrant creative network. The track is a celebration of unity, a moment of shared voice and amplified power on a album full of statements.

And what statements they are. The chant “SERVE THE PARTY WERK THE PARTY,” is more than a lyric; it’s the album’s entire operational directive. Each track is engineered with a specific function: to make a body move. The production is crisp, percussive, and relentless. Hi-hats skitter like sparks on concrete, kicks land with chest-caving force, and vocal samples are weaponized for maximum call-and-response impact. This is functional dance music in its purest, most potent form.

Here at The New Underground, our mission is to do more than just skim the surface of the latest releases. We want to plunge into the depths, to rescue the gems that might have slipped past the mainstream radar and give them the spotlight they deserve. Today, we’re setting our sights on a record that is as audacious as its name: the self-titled album from art-pop provocateur Kunt Pills, released March 8, 2024.

This isn’t just an album; it’s a declaration. Over eleven tracks, Kunt Pills constructs a world that is simultaneously intimate and explosive, blending soft-focus bedroom pop with avant-garde synthscapes and orchestral grandeur. It’s a journey of self-discovery that is as messy and beautiful as the process itself, and it establishes its creator not just as a musician, but as a true artist in every sense of the word.

The album opens with its mission statement: “Artist.” On the surface, it’s a soft, bedroom bubblegum track, all hazy vocals and a seemingly sweet melody. But lean in closer, and the lyrics deliver a knockout punch. The line, “I think you’re not a novice. I think you’ve caught an artist,” is a breathtakingly bold stance. In a landscape often obsessed with humility and relatability, Kunt Pills subverts expectation by stating her own value with unshakable confidence. And she’s right. This isn’t arrogance; it’s a simple, factual claim backed by the sheer songwriting prowess on display. Her ability to package such a potent message in a deceptively simple, kunty package is nothing short of amazing. It’s the perfect thesis for the entire album to follow.

From there, she immediately pivots into the fan-favorite (and a personal pick for standout track) “stumbling.” This is where the album’s heart truly reveals itself. Built on a foundation of deep, resonant synths, the track is an anthem for the beautifully awkward process of finding oneself. It’s about the missteps, the uncertainties, and the small epiphanies found in the dark. The production feels both vast and claustrophobic, mirroring the internal chaos of self-exploration. It’s a powerful, relatable sentiment that showcases her depth beyond the razor-sharp persona.

Throughout the album’s runtime, Kunt Pills continues to unfold like a complex origami. Each track adds another layer, another facet of her identity, whether it’s through biting wit, vulnerable confession, or pure sonic experimentation. The journey culminates in the stunning closer, “Exe.” This is where the album truly transcends. Departing from the synthetic beds of earlier tracks, “Exe” swells with orchestral strings and a dramatic, cinematic weight. The comparison is immediate and apt: it evokes the fearless genre-blending of 90s Björk fused with the sleek, rhythmic sophistication of Janet Jackson’s most ambitious work. It’s a breathtaking finale that feels both nostalgic and utterly fresh, proving that her artistic vision knows no bounds.

Cincinnati's music scene has always pulsed with an undercurrent of raw talent, and right now, Chloe Hotline is conducting the voltage. The rapper, producer, and undeniable creative force isn't just making waves locally; she's carving a unique path in the broader alt-hip-hop and experimental landscape, marked significantly by a crucial early collaboration: working with the phenomenon known as Ethel Cain.

Yes, before Ethel Cain ascended to cult stardom with her haunting Preacher’s Daughter, Chloe Hotline was in the studio, laying down tracks and forging a creative connection. This isn't just trivia; it's a testament to Hotline's instinct for groundbreaking artistry and her position at the bleeding edge of emerging sounds. She recognized Cain's potent vision early, a foresight that mirrors her own willingness to push boundaries.

Now, Hotline steps fully into her own spotlight with the release of her ambitious 14-track album, "Ridgeland." This isn't a tentative debut; it's a confident declaration of artistic arrival, showcasing her evolution as both a producer crafting immersive soundscapes and an MC with razor-sharp delivery and compelling vulnerability.

"Ridgeland" is a Cincy summit meeting. Hotline curates a formidable roster of collaborators, featuring Tyfaizon, xj Bailey, loreann, LATEXLEAK, Censored Dialogue, and Waylin Flaza. Each feature feels intentional, adding distinct textures to Hotline's sonic tapestry without overshadowing her central vision. The album flows with a self-assured cohesion, moving seamlessly between gritty beats, atmospheric production, and moments of introspective clarity.

And speaking of clarity, let's talk about "Looks." This track is an instant anthem of self-possession. Built on a thumping, infectious beat, Hotline's declaration, "Oh I look GOOD!," isn't just a lyric; it's a mantra, a battle cry, a pure shot of unfiltered confidence. It distills the album's undercurrent of empowerment into a potent, repeatable hook. In a world constantly demanding self-doubt, "Looks" is the necessary counter-programming we need blasting through our speakers.

What makes Chloe Hotline so compelling is the element of surprise. Just as she aligned with Ethel Cain before the mainstream caught on, her own music defies easy categorization. She blends rap with experimental production flourishes, Southern hip-hop swagger with a distinctly Midwestern grit, and moments of braggadocio with genuine introspection. You never quite know where a Hotline track will take you sonically or emotionally, but the journey is always captivating.

"Ridgeland" solidifies Chloe Hotline as far more than just an early Ethel Cain collaborator. She is a formidable artist in her own right: a skilled producer shaping unique sound worlds, a charismatic rapper with stories to tell, and a curator amplifying the voices of her talented peers. The album is a sprawling, confident map of her artistic territory – a "Ridgeland" she's building brick by sonic brick.

Cincinnati, take note: Your next major export is here. Chloe Hotline has arrived, she looks GOOD, and with "Ridgeland," she's proven she has the vision, the talent, and the undeniable surprises up her sleeve to command attention far beyond the 513. The buzz started with foresight; the empire is being built on "Ridgeland."