July 2026
quietly observant beneath the joyous non-stop party of the disco and bathhouse 70s
You’re in the right place, this is a music blog, but did you guys watch the World Cup? The dramatic games and goals and controversies? I’ve been a huge fan since the 1974 Dutch team blew my mind, revolutionizing the game with Johan Cruyff and Total Football and so much Oranje flair… my 13-year old heart broke when they lost the final to establishmentarian West Germany.
Trigger warning: feel free to skip ahead, but I need to hold space for myself to spew a little vitriol here. It was infuriating to see brainless American capitalist thuggery (with a Swiss accomplice) fucking with the beauty and tradition and basic principals of fairness of the game.
Eyes did roll at the halftime delirium of A.I. Madonna grooving through the polished video slop of “Music,” hogging all the beauty filters while Ronaldo and Ronaldinho got stuck looking… well… fat, climaxing with her showing up pitch-side looking like she’d been embalmed and propped up against a stake.
And what about Tom Cruise challenging Nicole Kidman’s AMC Theaters spot corn for corn?
OK, back to being (mostly) nice. I’ve been a huge Messi fan since he rocked a shaggy flow; he always struck me as a sweet and humble guy, giving thanks to God when he scores rather that posing like a monument to himself like the other guy. Messi and Argentina delivered the greatest dramaturgy this time around (at least until Spain shut things down). I saw people sneering online about his tears after the final, like “oh who cares, he’s a billionaire,” which is really ungenerous — he plays the game like no one ever has or will, he creates magic, an art form unto himself, and it was genuinely poignant to witness his incredible WC story coming to an end. Anyone who’s been blessed to see him play at that level should understand.
But yeah, you’re right, I hear you! I’ve been indulging in too much discernment, not to say bitterness — it’s Summer! There’s Art to dive into, a veritable brine-scented sea of it. You could argue this is not the season to be sinking into the meaty minestrone of soul-exposing expression we used to call record albums, and yet we still do.
But bitch it’s 90 degrees out so let’s first jump into some poolside blondness.
Cannelle actually has blue hair and I’m gonna say her brand of pop is a little bit hyper. She’s from rural France but she’s very street couture and her last name is Ferragu, so for those still wondering yeah she’s pretty cool. “Stereo” and “Dis-Moi” off her Cinna album pair well with a slushy and micro-shorts, if you feel ready for the outer limits of fun.
l'or dans mes mains et diamands sur le corps / gold in my hands and diamonds on my body
ce soir, j'viens et, j'mettrais ma plus belle robe / tonight I’m coming out, I’ll wear my finest dress
ils en redemandent encore et encore / they keep coming back for more and more
musique à fond on est sérrés corps à corps / music blasting, we’re pressed close, body to body
NYC LAX la nouvelle ère (oooh!) / NYC to LAX, the new era (oooh!)
je veux tout ce qui brille, j'veux la terre entière (waww!) / I want everything that shines, I want the whole world (waww!)
pas besoin d'en parler ou de trop en faire / no need to talk about it or make a big fuss
nan, nan, nan, just go ahead and play it / nah, nah, nah, just go ahead and play it
So like I must’ve put the Chemical Brothers on a mixtape or two in the 90s — I have their Surrender CD — but they’ve been firmly off my brainwaves this millennium. Arty Norwegian pop goddess Aurora delighted slowgraffitti back in ‘23 with the woozy “Cure for Me” and has a single with a billion plus plays on Spotify, and now she has teamed up with the Brother on the left, Tom Rowlands, and they’re calling themselves Tomora, which sounds like a Japanese word for something that hasn’t happened yet, and they’re illuminating many lives including mine. “Ring the Alarm” raised multitudes from the dead last year with its executive dance edicts, and their new COME CLOSER album is teeming with moreness, including the Beyond-Björk fervor of “I DRINK THE LIGHT.”
In the midst of all the ultra-modern and frankly futuristic seductions of my recent playlists, Laura Nyro has offered a smash cut counterpoint — a 60s world-view that straddles counterculture singer-songwriter flavor and razzle-dazzle midcentury Broadway-meets-Vegas showmanship. I always thought of her as someone who existed in the slipstream of Joni Mitchell, with a spottier discography, but I did a deeper dive and — OK, basically I was ill-informed. Wrong even. I’m finding an artist with her own, tremendous scope — her compositions are nothing if not rousing, particularly when she hits high notes with her vibrato, which she does often. Born Laura Nigro (pronounced NIGH-Grow thankfully) in the Bronx, jazz and classic soul are palpable in her rich sonic stews. I’ve been particularly captivated by a piece on New York Tendaberry that feels like the perfect non-sequitur to all we’re living through in 2026, building to a sweet, naive and powerful call to action…
Come on, people! Come on, children! There’s a king at the glory river
And the precious king [Mamdani? —Ed.], he loved the people to sing
Babes in the blinkin’ sun sang, “We shall overcome”
And I got fury in my soul, fury’s gonna take me to the glory goal
In my mind I can’t study war no more
Save the people! Save the children! Save the country, save the country now!
Karin was always the alpha of the Dreijer siblings, and when The Knife got put back in its sheath she vaulted into ever greater glory as Fever Ray, whilst sweet little Olof seemed to have wilted and disembodied behind his medieval bird mask. But now he’s coming out, even gayer than sis, and we will forgive him for going a bit on the nose with the title of his debut album, Loud Bloom. He’s at his best when he’s backing a diva such as, well, Diva Cruz (of Colombia) on “Acuyuye” or the Zulu flavors of amazingly-named Toya Delazy on “Makwande.” The edgy, experimental sounds and textures he’s know for are still there, but they’re in the service of some very un-Scandinavian spice. Not unlike Goat getting down with MC Yallah come to think of it.
Acuyuyé, acuyuyé acuyuyé, acuyuyé
Afinen los cueros, caballeros, que la pachanga va a empezar / Tune up the leathers, gentlemen, the party is going to begin
Repique el timbal, compai Manolo, que ahora me toca a mí bailar / Play the timbale, friend Manolo, now it’s my turn to dance
Iba para las mercedes, me encontré a Pedro José / I was going to the mercedes, I met Pedro José
Con su cachimbo de oro, fume usted que yo fumé / With his golden hookah, you smoke what I smoked
Una vieja que bailando dio más de cuarenta vueltas / An old woman who danced more than forty laps
De tiro rompió la puerta y todavía la andan buscando / Broke the door with a shot and they’re still looking for her
OK so I realize if this was a for real publication an editor would be like no way, cut this, but this is Substack praise Jesus, and I simply must sneak in a quick mention for a song from six years ago that’s just now hitting my Sally Shapiro girlypop g-spot. Discovery Zone (JJ Weihl on her driver’s license) is not even Swedish and against all odds she’s bringing ascension to my summer of ‘26.
And since we’re doing quick takes, I’ve already ejaculated plenty of prose on Two Shell so let’s just enjoy their reduced and caramelized take on Cassius, “Step Inside,” together, can we?
And incidentally 2025’s favorite honeydripper Derby has been teasing us with new droplets of his irresistible elixir…
Put some sugar on my tongue, sugar, sugar on me, baby
Shower me with some so I can know how you forgave me
To take you, tell 'em, "Bring the army and the navy"
They will need to find a place where they can lay me
Sugar in my lungs, sugar knows where I am aching
Sugar keep my love, sugar stay 'til I am aging
I can think of many reasons you would blame me
I can't find a single rеason you would save me…
Oh oh, and slowgraffitti reigning world champion John Glacier just turned up on fellow South London sad and sexy rapper Jadasea’s Holly Grove album, on a track called “Lemon Cherry” which deserves to have its lyrics luxuriated in. I can’t find them or reliably parse them myself but maybe you can! Ach scheisse it isn’t on YouTube or Bandcamp; it’s all so obscure and unattainable! Here it is if you do Spotify:
Perhaps you’ll continue to indulge me if I sneak in a favorite track off slowgraffitti’s perpetual favorite freaky Kiwi hierophant Aldous Harding’s latest one, which, speaking of La Mitchell, has a lovely Joni-esque coda.
I lost my head in San Francisco
You begged me not to drink alone
I run the bridge while you are sleeping
I beat down her silver stitch
Salt over my skin, watching the canyon
Cream over berries, wings of migration
Wait for the taxi, curls relaxing
Can only brace when Jeremy drives
As for him, he’s coming down Folsom
As for him, he’s counting down Folsom…
Not only that, clever little Aldous wormholed her way into a Sleaford Mods track, serving little twee girl sweetness across the table from the shouty protests of Jason Williamson, and there’s a remix by Extenddntwrk that bangs it best in slowgraffitti’s humble opinion. [Sadly I can’t find it anywhere but Spotify…]
[Jason] Put myself as the central thing
Squeezing the life out of thinking outside
Live in a box, ah, fucking please
I may not be here for shit
Evеryday, innit, I don't know anyone that is
So when you bring in the Dalеks
Remember they don't do escalators
[Aldous] And now my life is much better
Since I behaved in a way that never
And now my life is much better
Since I behaved in a way that never
Raises suspicion
There’s so much to say about Nirosta Steel that I should do a deep dive and write an essay, but honestly there’s a lot being written about him elsewhere so I’ll just say he’s famously been a collaborator of the much revered Arthur Russell, and he was sitting on a trove of his own work that stretched back 40 years when ULYSSA Records came calling. They ended up putting out a comp called My Skyscraper. His style is actually pretty parallel to Russell’s, sort of stripped back and understated, with confidently uncertain vocals, but pregnant with intensity, with a folk cadence that wanders into unexpected areas of exploration, grounded in feeling. I think of it as the authentic expression of a thoughtful gay spirit, quietly observant beneath the joyous non-stop party of the disco and bathhouse 70s. The stabs of “Fly Robin Fly” strings on “BOSS TRIX (BENNY’S SONG)” nicely embody the sense of place.
Raining down on you
Please (It's all coming down)
Don't shake that thang (Peace and love)
Please (It's all coming down)
(Raining down on you)
Please (It's all coming down)
Don't shake that thang
(Blessings of peace and love)
Til you're next to me
Don't play that mojo hand
(It's all coming down)
Til you're next to me again…
Fief is the nom de plume of a mysterious Salt Lake City-an who also goes by Thangorodrim and Sequestered Keep, in case those variants roll off the tongue more easily for you. The genre is Dungeon Synth, and in fact the compositions on Fief VII are in the medieval and renaissance style, but instead of using, say, lutes and clavichords, he recreates that sound with synths. Tbh the synths mimic the original instruments so well that the main wow factor is the process, but close listening reveals a silky sheen, a kind of ‘80s texture (1980s to be clear), I think, or have I just talked myself into it? Is it authenticity masquerading as artificiality??? In any case, VII is chockabloc with 15th Century bangers I didn’t know how much I craved.
All well and good and terribly posh I hear you say, but where the fuck do I find some good old stanky for real hip-hop, college boy? Glad you asked, girl — I’ve got just the thing: Fox BD is from West Memphis, Arkansas and he lays it down raw in every sense of the word. This is true peak-experience proletarian shit — it sounds completely unproduced, which is perfect. Finessin Distribution Deals puts the real drugs and conceptual dollars first and hits its highest note on “G6” with Sexyy Red:
She off pink tusi, don't know how to control herself
Ho lyin' like she ain't drunk liquor, but I smell it on her breath
She get higher than Bobby and Whitney, cocaine make her heart melt
He know I'm fine as fuck, he can't control his self (It's Sexyy)
And this nigga off drank, he can't control his self
He fried, I'm fried, friend fried, we nailed
Stеady rollin' up blunts, OMG, send help
I got a lean addiction, shе got a Xanax habit
I stuffed a Perc' in her booty hole and she cum right after
I knew the bitch wasn't shit, she listen to Sexyy for all her captions
She moved from the suburbs to the hood,
wrong decision, her pussy adapted (It's Sexyy)
Who said they want a G6? Baby, I'm G6 captain
All the niggas fuck with Sexyy, they know I get shit crackin'
I can tell that she rollin', but the bitch tryna act classy
Off the Yerks, I be bool, off the X, I get ratchet
You know when you know you’re a fan but you can’t find a specific song that gives you that Mmmhh feeling? That short, sharp grunt of satisfaction? That’s been me and JPEGMAFIA, but on EXPERIMENTAL RAP he’s delivered some baubles I can confidently display on my July Christmas tree. On “¥ (Yen),” a mantra of “I got money in the bank, shawty what you drank?” gives way to some incandescent Formula One-speed rap poetics. About guns, hos, haters, and being the best of course. “Burning Hammer” starts with a punk rock vibe and breaks out into a suite of disparate parts, even incorporating flamenco guitar and a mariachi horn. It’s like JPEG’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
Drop that burnin’ hammer, this a finish, you ain’t never kickin’
Check the body camera, in a copper’s face, I’m probably spittin’
Beam right in his face, he said a prayer (he said a prayer)
Niggas gossipin’, choppers gon’ clear the air
Quit window shoppin’, boy, you need profit for coppin’
Yo’ bitch a bopper and you not gonna make it with her beside
All my bitches bad, I ain’t never missed
Drop that money, pick it off the floor, what you pocketin’?
I’ma chase paper because that cash, I can lay with it
You chasin’ bitches more than a bag, you will never get it
Blancmange are perhaps the new wave band with the highest ratio of genius to forgottenness: Happy Families was a college-age favorite of mama’s (meaning me), a perfect expression of that angular, throaty and theatrical esthetic of the early 80s, and it did get some airplay, but its thorny British elegance didn’t conquer the US the way your Spandau Ballets and Depeche Modes did. The point here is that ‘mange main man Neil Arthur is back with a new album that is very good indeed — he teamed up with living legend Vince Clark, who as you know co-founded Depeche Mode and gave them that gay sound on their first album despite, improbably, not being gay himself, and then quickly split to form Yazoo with Alison Moyet, and… where was I? Right, so Neil and Vince have teamed up as Doublespeak, with a bloke named Benge producing, and made a dazzling covers album, very much in their playfully severe, color-blocked electronic style. There’s some Abba on there, calling back to Erasure’s early re-appraisal album Abba-esque from 1992. A delightful surprise is “Richard” by super-obscure slowgraffitti fave Ed Dowie. And this very toothsome indeed rendition of Fad Gadget’s “Back to Nature.”
I’m going a little back and forth on Mary in the Junkyard — I want to like them because of how “Crash Landing,” the first single off of Role Model Hermit, captivated me — it has a lovely perfume of horror about it (“You opened up / You opened up like a coconut” is Siouxsie-worthy stuff) and is darkening the warm, dark parts of my summer.
OK, we should shut up and dance Berlin style now and there’s nothing like a little Brutalismus 3000 (Victoria Vassiliki Daldas and Theo Zeitner) to get us partying like it’s 2008 and there’s plenty of crystal in the castle…
I think we fucked it up
You said as much
We’re out of touch
Two buildings and weak constructions
I’m so good at false assumptions