If Hollywood’s golden glow ever had a soundtrack to its darker underbelly, Lola Wild just wrote it. Her new single “Girls in Hollywood” is a cinematic, slow-burning indie-pop elegy that feels both dazzling and devastating, a mirrorball cracking under its own light. Co-produced with multi-instrumentalist Jim Wallis at London’s iconic Strong Room Studios, the track balances shimmering retro textures with raw emotional grit. Think ABBA’s nostalgia-fueled pop sheen colliding with the atmospheric melancholy of Weyes Blood or Suki Waterhouse.

Mahuna doesn’t so much write songs as he exhumes memories and lets them flicker into melody. His new single “Far-Off Summer’s Night” is a perfect example: an intimate, ghostly lament lifted from his debut album Forever Is Mine—a record already praised for its lyrical tenderness and sonic weight. But here, stripped down to twilight and shadow, Mahuna reaches for something even more fragile.

Electro-punk duo Fierbinteanu aren’t exactly known for subtlety, and thank goodness for that. Their new single and video “Women of the World” is a riotous celebration of joyful womanhood, delivered with the kind of chaotic charisma that makes you grin, flinch, and dance all at once. Released September 12, the track is a hypnotic hyper-pop thumper that takes their avant-garde pop instincts and cranks them into something both danceable and defiantly unhinged.

Halloween has its candy, costumes, and horror flick marathons — and now it’s got its next big anthem. Olivia Millin, the 20-year-old global pop powerhouse who stormed iTunes and radio with her #1 hit “TTYL,” is back with a track that feels destined to haunt dancefloors for years to come. “Soul for the Taking” isn’t just another pop single — it’s a full-on Halloween experience, the kind of song that oozes fog machine vibes, strobe lights, and the delicious thrill of being just a little bit scared.

Sometimes a song doesn’t just sound heavy — it feels heavy, like the weight of its riffs and words is pressing down on your chest. That’s exactly the sensation you get when you put on “Dark Days”, the latest single from Canberra’s own pop-metal disruptor, Machine on a Break. Part confession, part battle cry, this track fuses pounding double-kick drums, serrated drop-tuned guitars, and unsettling synths into a piece of music that sounds as brooding as the story behind it.

If you’ve ever loved a song that makes you dance first and think later, “THANATOS” is for you. MURDAH SRVC — the art-meets-pop project fronted by singer-songwriter and manga artist CHE, produced by John Lui at the foot of Mt. Etna — has taken an old-school late-90s/early-00s dance vibe and turned it into something bittersweet, cinematic, and weirdly moral. The result is a glossy club cut with a heart that’s been stabbed and stitched back together.

We spoke to CHE from MURDAH SRVC about their journey so far.

Every once in a while, a new artist comes along who makes you sit up and say, “Wait… how old did you say he is?” That’s exactly the reaction you’ll have when you hear JNZI, the 14-year-old from Australia who’s already crashing through speakers worldwide with his debut single, “Speaker.”

The backstory only adds to its charm. Block, newly arrived in the East Village from Chapel Hill, lived above a record store, running around with fellow dreamers at 3 a.m., soaking in a city alive with painters, filmmakers, and misfits. That energy bleeds into every track. The album is the sound of someone catching a wave they didn’t even know they’d been waiting for.

Every now and then, a song comes along that doesn’t just ask to be heard—it demands you stop, sit in silence, and let it take you somewhere uncomfortable. Suffocating Swan, the latest single from Istanbul’s rising experimentalist Melting Phase, is exactly that kind of track. It’s not background music. It’s not Spotify fodder. It’s a fierce, allegorical meditation on life’s crushing weight, dressed in sonic textures that are as suffocating as they are strangely beautiful.

If there’s one thing Lemon know how to do, it’s wrap big truths in even bigger grooves. Their ninth single of 2025, Maybe It’s You, is technically a breakup song—but don’t expect some weepy ballad or bitter scorched-earth rant. Instead, the Amsterdam outfit lean hard into their self-coined “Nedchester” sound—a swirl of indie rock, funked-up soul, and those baggy, blissed-out grooves that defined the Madchester scene. Think Stone Roses shaking hands with The Charlatans, but through a distinctly Dutch filter.

There’s debut singles, and then there’s statements. Welcome to the Sharktank, the first offering from Dopamine Fix, feels like the latter—a sonic gut punch that throws you into a world of shadows and teeth and doesn’t let you surface for air. This isn’t the kind of song you casually hum along to. It’s the kind of song that stares you dead in the eye and dares you to keep listening.

Every now and then, a new voice comes along that feels less like an introduction and more like a reckoning. J.mar’s debut single Dark Days is exactly that kind of statement piece. Born in Madagascar, raised in Perth, and now stepping boldly into the Australian hip hop scene, J.mar arrives with a track that’s raw, personal, and impossible to ignore.

Some albums feel like projects, and others feel like pilgrimages. Marianne Nowottny’s Marzanna is definitely the latter. Long whispered about, nearly derailed by broken hard drives and lost files, and stretched across a five-year haze of stops and starts, the record has finally surfaced—and it’s worth every ounce of the struggle that went into making it. This isn’t just a covers album; it’s a séance. With Marzanna, Nowottny resurrects her longtime alter ego and reanimates songs by Kate Bush, Bowie, Joni, and Siouxsie—not as nostalgia pieces, but as living, breathing works reimagined in her singular voice.

Taylor Lally isn’t afraid to make a song title that sounds like it wandered straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon. “Yabadabadooda” lands like a wink and a grin, but don’t let the playful name fool you. This single is a clever little trip through lo-fi textures, hip-hop grooves, and dreamy alt-pop haze, with lyrics that walk the tightrope between tongue-in-cheek humor and unexpected vulnerability.

Adrienne Levay’s “Do You Miss Me?” is the kind of song that feels like it’s happening in the quiet just after midnight—the fire’s dying down, there’s a glass half-full on the table, and the air is heavy with words that haven’t been spoken yet. It’s not a flashy track, and that’s exactly what makes it so disarming.

Giuseppe Bonaccorso’s new single L'Ombra della Terra (“The Shadow of the Earth”) doesn’t just sound like a song—it feels like a manifesto. Following the stark and provocative Playground in Gaza, Bonaccorso doubles down on his identity as a composer who isn’t afraid to make art that’s both intellectually rigorous and emotionally raw. At just over four minutes, the track is sprawling and theatrical, packing in more ideas, textures, and tension than most artists manage across an entire record.

Ray Curenton’s Ripples of the Past is one of those rare albums that sneaks up on you—not with bombast or flashy production, but with a quiet kind of gravity. It’s an intimate project that feels less like an album you press play on and more like a conversation you fall into with an old friend who’s suddenly willing to tell you the real story. Out September 12, this is Curenton’s first full-length foray into indie folk, and it already feels like a defining moment in his career.

CMAT’s EURO-COUNTRY is the sort of album that walks a tightrope between glittery pop escapism and gritty, soul-stirring commentary—and somehow, CMAT (Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson) doesn’t slip once. Her third LP feels like her most fully realised work yet: she leans into her personality, her heritage, and her politics with sharpened lyrics, bombastic hooks, and emotional undercurrents that you can’t ignore.

If you’ve been craving a rock track that doesn’t pull punches, Highet’s “Your Eyes Don’t See” is about to become your new obsession. Bursting with high-octane energy, the Vancouver-based father-son duo deliver a song that feels like it was built for blasting out of car windows and shaking the walls of a dive bar stage.

Kristen Castro’s Capricorn Baby feels like the kind of record you stumble onto when you need it most—the one that cracks open your chest and makes you feel seen, messy humanity and all. It’s not just an album; it’s a diary, a healing ritual, and a creative manifesto all rolled into one. The fact that Castro wrote, produced, mixed, and shaped every inch of it herself makes the project feel even more intimate—like she’s letting you step into her living room while she bares her soul track by track.