JW Paris - Anything

London-based JW Paris recently released their latest single ‘Anything’ via Blaggers Records.

*banner image credit: Taylor Conboy

Artwork credit: Daniel Collins. Courtesy of Vanadian Avenue

With Blur’s ‘Tracey Jacks’ emblazoned across their hearts, JW Paris takes a wry look at modern life in London. Soaked in Camden’s past, they point to a broader, far more dystopian present in this anarchy-driven moment of guitar joy.

London may not sprawl endlessly, but it remains disorienting enough for anyone to lose their footing. The protagonist here edges close to being overwhelmed by the city’s intensity, searching for meaning and a sense of cultural or political quiet, only to find the opposite.

Musically, the track draws on the razor-edged guitar work of Elastica and the melodic sensibility of ‘Modern Life Is Rubbish’. Danny Collins and Aaron Forde deliver verse vocals with a controlled, cunning quality reminiscent of Louise Wener’s ‘Bedhead’-era performances. The chorus then opens out into a rush of art-rock euphoria straight from the mid-’90s playbook, anchoring the song firmly within its influences while keeping its own voice intact.

Time and time again, JW Paris proves they’re nothing short of remarkable. Soon, the world will catch up!

Fitzroy Holt - Around the Wreakin

Dudley’s Fitzroy Holt is back with his new single ‘Around the Wreakin’, the first to be released via Libertines drummer Gary Powell’s label 25 Hour Convenience Store.

*banner image credit: Patsy Wesson

In 2024, Holt was in a poignant mood. His three singles straying from Love to Shack to Curtis Mayfield. He was setting himself out as a serious player of introspective soul music.

Artwork courtesy of Fear PR

‘Around the Wreakin’, however, is a different beast. Animalistic guitars resound into dank landscapes whilst Holt’s vocal is a rabid monster. A febrile juggernaut careering faster than 100mph to blow a hole into the UK music scene.

A new standard has been set!

The guitars boom like the Black Keys until the closing stages, when the bluesy licks catch fire. There is something truly devastating about his playing here. Even the protracted notes sound like volcanic eruptions.

All sonic development pales into insignificance when Holt lets rip on the mic. Gone are the smooth, crisp vocals we’ve become accustomed to, and in comes brutalist and guttural rage. Holt didn’t need to be set apart from the pack, but this has made said gap irretrievable.