“Stand Back For You” Finds Electric Guest at Their Most Honest—and 10K Is Just Around the Corner16/7/2025 
Electric Guest is done playing it safe. Their new single “Stand Back For You” is not just a song—it’s a signal flare for what’s to come with their upcoming album 10K, due out October 10. And if this track is the bar, the rest of the record is going to be something special. Written over several years and carried through emotional limbo, “Stand Back For You” hits different. Asa Taccone’s vocals blend heartbreak and acceptance, set against a sleek, soulful groove that feels both intimate and expansive. It’s still undeniably Electric Guest, but more stripped back, more raw. The hooks are still sharp, but now they come with weight. Taccone says he couldn’t touch the song for long stretches because of how personal it was. That honesty bleeds into every lyric. “If you want a plant to flower, you must give it the sun it needs,” he reflects. “Sometimes in love, you must take the second stage.” That line alone could define the track—and maybe the album too.
10K—named after a loan Taccone received to pursue music full-time—is shaping up to be a manifesto of creative freedom. The duo ditched label pressure and built the record with friends, collaborators, and instincts. Guests include The Weeknd, Carly Rae Jepsen, Kacy Hill, and a sprawling cast of over 30 artists and creatives. It’s a return to the hunger and heart that built Electric Guest in the first place.
With “Stand Back For You,” they haven’t just dropped a single—they’ve opened a door. And we can’t wait to hear what’s on the other side.
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With Take Me To The Water, Byron Bay-based singer-songwriter Ally Palmer delivers an album steeped in vulnerability, renewal, and emotional honesty. Across its genre-spanning tracks, Ally draws from personal experience and her deep connection to nature — particularly water — to craft a record that feels both intimate and expansive. We caught up with Ally to talk about the emotional heart of the album, the story behind its standout collaborations, and what it means to launch this body of work back home.
“Take Me To The Water” is such a raw and moving title track. Can you take us back to the moment of writing it? That song came from a place of intense loss and shock. It was a really heavy writing process because I was pulling from real, personal experiences — I’d lost someone very special to me, and writing it became a way of releasing some of that pain. I knew early on that this track needed to lead the album. It sums up the overall message of the record so clearly — letting go, healing, and finding peace. You made an interesting choice to split the song and its outro into two separate pieces. Why was that important? During production, it became clear the outro had such a different energy to the rest of the song. The title track felt powerful on its own, and the outro worked better as its own moment. It’s like a deep exhale — a release after carrying so much emotional weight. That shift in tone almost represents a sense of relief or calm after the storm. The album moves between soul, folk, and even touches of jazz. How did you approach blending such a diverse palette of sounds? I really focused on creating a natural flow — something that feels good to listen to from start to finish. The record starts off quite soul-heavy, then gradually leans into a more folky sound. That transition felt organic to me, and reflects my own musical influences and the emotions I was moving through while writing. One of the standout moments is “Let The River,” a collaboration with Dusty Boots. What brought you two together, and what’s the story behind that song? We’ve been collaborating on each other’s music for a few years now. When we got together for some writing sessions, we ended up writing a song inspired by our local river. Both of us are really connected to nature — especially water and the ocean. The river is a place we go to for peace, for inspiration, for grounding. That shared connection really shaped the song and gave it this spiritual depth. “A Change Is Coming Soon” moves from despair to hope. Did that emotional arc come naturally, or was it influenced by what was happening in the world? It happened quite naturally. I started writing it on acoustic guitar and from the beginning, I could hear the full arrangement in my head. It begins in a place of disillusionment — losing faith in humanity — but I really wanted it to build into something more hopeful. That sense of wanting change, of believing in something better, is a big part of the record. You don’t shy away from themes of grief and personal loss on this album. Was there a particular song that felt healing to write? Yes, Never Stop Loving You was especially meaningful. I wrote it just after my grandmother passed away. Her loss was still so fresh, and writing the song was a way for me to process that. It was tough, but also really beautiful — a way to honour her memory and find a bit of peace in the process. You’ve mentioned being inspired by artists like Norah Jones and Leon Bridges. What draws you to them, and how do you feel their influence shows up in your music? What I love about those artists is how honest and authentic their songwriting is. Their music feels like a true reflection of who they are. With this album, I really wanted to do the same — to show a more vulnerable side in my lyrics and make music that feels like my true self. I wasn’t trying to fit into a particular genre — I just wanted it to feel real. And finally, you’re launching the album with a hometown show in Byron Bay. What does that moment mean to you? Byron has such a rich creative energy. Being surrounded by so many artists here has helped me grow — not just creatively, but personally. It’s helped me become more open, more vulnerable in my songwriting. I feel so excited to be sharing this album and this new sound with the world, and it means a lot to be starting that journey right here at home.
To celebrate the release, Ally will launch the album with a special, free hometown show at Electric Mermaid Barbershop in Brunswick Heads on Friday, July 19.
 After six long years away from solo releases, Jay Som is back—and she’s not just dipping a toe in. With “Float,” the first taste of her upcoming album Belong (out October 10 via Lucky Number), Melina Duterte emerges sounding sharper, more expansive, and more emotionally locked-in than ever before. Featuring none other than Jim Adkins of Jimmy Eat World, “Float” is a euphoric gut-punch of emo-adjacent indie-rock, steeped in early-2000s nostalgia but never content to coast on aesthetics alone. Duterte’s layered production and Adkins’ unmistakable tone weave together like memory and muscle, recalling the golden era of rock radio without being shackled to it. But this isn’t some cutesy reunion tour of past influences—Jay Som sounds like someone who’s weathered the in-between years, both in her personal life and professional career. “This song is about desperately trying to hold on to past versions of yourself,” she says. It shows. There’s vulnerability in the bones of this track, offset by a confidence that comes from growth, not posturing.
The return of Jay Som isn’t just exciting—it’s essential. If Float is any indication, Belong is going to be the kind of record that marks a new chapter not just for Duterte, but for the genre at large. She’s no longer proving herself—she’s owning it. 
There’s a moment when you hit play on Clear As Mud Pt 1, and it feels like you’ve just stepped into someone else’s world—messy, muddy, raw—but familiar in a way that catches you off guard. That’s the gift Maddy Jane offers on this new EP: a deeply personal, sharply crafted body of work that doubles as an open invitation into her most self-assured era yet.
The Tasmanian singer-songwriter has always worn her heart on her flannelette sleeve, but on Clear As Mud Pt 1, she’s wielding that vulnerability with new intention—and power. Across six tracks, Maddy explores identity, queerness, trauma, healing, and the strange comfort of not having everything figured out. It’s deeply Australian storytelling—unfiltered, grounded in place, and delivered with that unmistakable Maddy Jane twang that somehow sounds both weathered and wide-eyed. Opening track It Can’t Be Heartbreak If It’s Not Love is an immediate emotional sucker punch. Slide guitars sigh beneath Maddy’s quietly devastating vocals as she parses the complexities of queer longing and emotional wreckage. It’s country in its DNA, rock in its delivery, and unmistakably queer in its soul. There’s a rawness to the way she sings that feels like a friend letting you in on something they haven’t said out loud before—confessional but never contrived.
The heart of the EP lies in its centrepiece: A Woman Is A Woman and its poetic follow-up Pt 2. These two tracks together form a powerful manifesto of self-reclamation. The first is electric—full of witchy imagery, roaring guitars, and the kind of lyrical honesty that could shake loose the dust of decades of societal repression. The second part is a bold, spoken-word continuation that leans into abstraction without losing clarity. It's one of the most boundary-pushing moments in Maddy’s catalogue to date—a reminder that she’s not just writing songs, she’s casting spells.
Elsewhere, the EP roots itself in the land that shaped Maddy’s perspective. June captures the grey weight of Tasmania’s longest, coldest month with eerie accuracy—bittersweet and beautiful in equal measure. It’s where her influences (think Crowded House, Neil Finn, and Paul Kelly) quietly surface. There’s a certain warmth that cuts through the melancholy, a soft assurance that the darkness doesn’t last.
And then comes Thylacine—perhaps the EP’s most anthemic moment. Named for the mythic Tasmanian tiger, the song is less about extinction than endurance. It rages with a sense of place, of belief in what others say is long gone. Musically, it’s a controlled storm: urgent, punk-tinged, but still country at heart. “It’s hope. It’s rage,” she says of the creature—and that could just as easily describe the track itself.
Closing with Dishes in the Sink, Maddy brings things full circle in the gentlest way. It’s a warm, slow exhale after the emotional weight of what’s come before. There’s a kind of grace in its ordinariness—acknowledging the chaos but choosing comfort anyway. It’s a fitting conclusion to an EP that never shies away from life’s messiness but still manages to find clarity in the mud. With Clear As Mud Pt 1, Maddy Jane proves that evolution doesn’t have to mean shedding who you are. Instead, she leans into her roots—sonically, geographically, emotionally—and emerges with something entirely her own. This is an artist in full command of her vision. A little wild, a little worn, but clearer than ever. 
It’s been nearly six years since Electric Guest graced us with new music, and in that time, the indie pop landscape has shifted considerably. Trends have come and gone, but the emotional core of a great pop song remains timeless—and that’s precisely what Asa Taccone and Matthew Compton deliver with their new single “Play Your Guitar.”
From the moment the track opens with a quietly pulsing four-on-the-floor beat and an intimate acoustic riff, there’s a sense that Electric Guest are inviting you into something personal. And they are. Inspired by a devastating moment backstage—when Taccone’s guitarist received a call that his wife was leaving him—the song unfolds like a whispered letter to grief, catharsis, and the solace of sound. “He really played with all of himself,” Taccone recalls. And in a world as fractured and overstimulated as ours, that kind of vulnerable performance feels like a quiet revolution. Sonically, “Play Your Guitar” is a masterclass in restraint and release. The production is clean, feather-light, and deceptively complex. Soft synths weave in and out of the acoustic textures, while Taccone’s voice—gentle but laced with emotion—drifts over lines like “synthesize it, multiply it, advertise it over,” capturing the digital-age disorientation many of us feel. Then comes the chorus, a weightless affirmation that sometimes clarity doesn’t come from answers, but from the act of expression itself. Just play. Electric Guest’s strength has always been in making sadness sound euphoric, in wrapping bittersweet ideas in hook-laden bliss—and “Play Your Guitar” does exactly that. It’s no surprise given Taccone’s far-reaching pop credentials (from Feel It Still to Charli XCX to The Idol) that this song feels simultaneously like a personal diary and a chart-ready earworm.
The accompanying iPhone-style video adds a sense of real-world grounding, featuring a parade of friends (HAIM, Jordana, Portugal. The Man) and unfiltered joy. But don’t be fooled—this song isn’t just feel-good fluff. It’s a tender reminder that when the world makes no sense, art can still anchor you.
Electric Guest aren’t chasing trends. They’re playing from the heart—and that, in 2025, might be the most radical thing of all. 
From the depths of Tasmania’s tangled coastline comes a howl of identity, rage, and resilience. Maddy Jane’s new single “Thylacine” doesn’t just growl — it roars. A genre-defying, poetic powerhouse of a track, “Thylacine” lands as the first release from her upcoming EP Clear as Mud Pt 1, and it’s as untamed as the extinct creature it’s named after. Produced by Alex Burnett (Sparkadia) and Oli Horton, the track fuses elements of country, indie-rock, and folk-punk into something uniquely raw and modern. Driven by charging drums, distorted twangs, and Maddy’s unmistakable vocal edge, the track captures a visceral feeling of belief in something intangible — the mythic, the maternal, the fury beneath the surface. “Even if you’ve never seen one, you still believe,” she sings, using the Tasmanian tiger as a potent metaphor for female rage, spiritual wildness, and generational identity. “Thylacine” arrives alongside previous singles “A Woman Is A Woman” and “It Can’t Be Heartbreak if It’s Not Love,” rounding out a trilogy that positions Maddy not only as a songwriter with guts but one unafraid to wade into murky, muddy emotional terrain. There’s a rare clarity in her contradictions: witchy and worn, rural and queer, fashion-forward in a sheep shearer’s jacket. The result? A sound as rugged and beautiful as Bruny Island itself — unpredictable, magnetic, and ferociously alive. If this is just a taste of Clear as Mud Pt 1, we’re in for a wild, wonderful storm come June 27. 
Amaya Laucirica’s second single “Road to Us,” taken from her forthcoming album The Blue Hour, is a slow-burning masterpiece—introspective, textural, and emotionally piercing. Produced by James Cecil (Architecture in Helsinki), the track wraps listeners in layers of lush guitar, subtle drum programming, and Laucirica’s unmistakably ethereal vocals. But it’s the emotional core of the song that truly resonates: a tender examination of how love evolves when the chaos of travel and creative freedom gives way to the steadier rhythms of parenthood and domesticity.
“Where is the road to us?” she asks, not with resentment but with reverence, her voice drifting like memory across a richly woven sonic landscape. This is a song built not on grand declarations but on the quiet, universal ache of change.
The accompanying video, shot by Adalita and edited by Geoffrey O’Connor, is a moving visual extension of the song’s themes. Traversing Melbourne’s iconic cityscapes and winding toward the golden hour glow of Cape Paterson’s beach, the clip beautifully captures the emotional push and pull between past and present. With its cinematic palette and meditative pacing, it feels like a love letter to shared histories and the search for renewal.
“Road to Us” cements Laucirica’s gift for crafting deeply personal songs that feel timeless. With The Blue Hour set for release later this year, this single offers a vivid and moving preview of what promises to be her most intimate and expansive work to date. 
Jessie Monk’s new album Mis O’ The Mountains is a lush, layered journey through myth, loss, and transformation. We caught up with the Naarm-based artist to dive into the stories, symbols, and sounds behind the record — from orca dreams to reversed vocals, cosmic giggles to collective grief.
This album feels super personal and mythic at the same time—how did the story of Mis first come into your life, and what made you want to tell it through music? I found the myth by chance, listening to a podcast on grief by This Jungian Life. They were referencing Sharon Blackie’s book If Women Rose Rooted, and the resonance I felt with the myth was deeply moving. I never intended to write an album that followed the arc of that story — I was just writing through my own grieving process. But at some point, I realised I was writing Mis’ story, because I was living it. I had songs for every chapter, because I’d been through every chapter. Discovering the myth gave the music a home — a vast cosmos for the album to exist and be created within. The first track, “The Dream,” is such an evocative opener. What was it like turning that surreal, emotional dream into sound? That would be a great question for Brian Trahan, who produced the track and is largely responsible for its manifestation. The foundation came from an improvisation by Fabiana Striffler (violin) and Paul Santner (piano), based on a motif from “Gold Flowers.” They were improvising around the concept of a soul leaving the body — something free from space and time. Later, when I listened back, one excerpt struck me as having the same essence as a dream I’d had the night before my father’s passing. In that dream, I was in a room with my brother, with huge windows. The room came loose from the ground, and as we braced ourselves, it began flying through the sky. We knew something significant was coming. Brian added a layer of tape manipulation that perfectly captures that surreal feeling. My favourite part of the track is a reversed tape loop of me reciting “Metamorphosising,” which appears later on the record. There’s a sense of flying, falling, and transformation throughout the album. Was that intentional? That’s such a beautiful reflection. I definitely contemplated all of those themes, but I didn’t build the album structurally around them — so it’s special to hear they come through. There’s an interdimensional relationship running through the whole record — between dreams, the waking world, the underworld, the afterlife. And of course, one of the core themes is metamorphosis. So it makes sense that those feelings would show up in the music. “I Was An Eagle” was inspired by a dream about swimming with orcas. Do you often write from dreams? I love writing from dream images. I’m drawn to symbols and ideas that offer many refractions. If something comes from a dream, an old poem, or a myth, chances are it’s alive — or dormant — in the collective subconscious. It resonates in obscure ways and touches deeper parts of ourselves. Take the image of being an orca, or being the sea. It’s non-rational, but everyone will have their own unique experience of it. That gives the song a kind of vastness. “I Agree” is a real shift — playful, groovy, even a cheeky Irish whistle solo! Was that one fun to record? It was so much fun. And we needed it! So much of the album is heavy and vulnerable, which is powerful — but “I Agree” was a reprieve. It gave us joy during rehearsals and it’s that kind of moment at gigs too. A chance to connect with the playfulness of music, and the cosmic giggle of it all.
The “Gold Flowers” video is visually stunning. What was it like seeing that vision come to life? That shoot was one of those rare, magical creative processes. I honestly can’t tell you how it happened — just the right people, with the right talents and enthusiasm, coming together effortlessly. I love that it’s grounded in the land, like the myth it’s based on, but also dreamlike and abstract. You used actual voice notes from your dad in “Metamorphosing/Bardo Thodol I.” How did that feel? It was deeply emotional. As soon as those voice notes went in, it became viscerally moving. For a while, I couldn’t listen to it without crying. I spent months on the fence about whether it was the right way to honour him. I couldn’t speak at his funeral — it was too much, too soon. But I wanted to create a shrine of sorts, something to honour his life and death. These Bardo Thodol tracks are the sonic equivalent of placing his photo on an altar. The album gets wild and experimental in parts — tape manipulation, reversed vocals, rich textures. Did that sonic world evolve in the studio, or did you always have that vision? I did go in with that vision. The emotional and spiritual content demanded it. I’d been listening to albums like False Lankum and Spirit of Eden, and getting into Butoh movement and magical realism in art and literature. The myth itself is obscure, bizarre — mythical. So we had to go there sonically. That said, many ideas evolved in the studio too. The tape manipulation in “Metamorphosising,” for instance, was a piece of Brian Trahan’s genius that emerged organically. 
You worked with some fantastic musicians on this project. What was the best part of collaborating with them?
It’s pure magic. These musicians are the album. I’m a very collaborative artist — partly out of necessity, but also because I’m so faithful to the idea of creating something with as many refractions as possible. By handing over arrangement to folks like Paul, Fabi, Conor, Max, and Brian, I’m inviting their entire creative cosmos into the story. What makes this ensemble work is that we all share a love for both beauty and dissonance. If we linger too long in the beautiful, someone will bring in something strange. And if we go too deep into the experimental, someone will return with something heartbreakingly lovely. That balance is what makes it magical. Now that Mis O’ The Mountains is out in the world, what do you hope listeners take away from it? It feels like hubris to assume anyone will feel anything at all. But my hope is that this album can be a place where all facets of grief are reflected — a space for people moving through grief to feel seen. And maybe, through the character of Mis, to feel like someone is walking with them, holding up their feet and guiding them, no matter how strange or dark the road may seem. Mis O’ The Mountains is out now on all streaming platforms. Dive in, and let yourself be carried — by dreams, myth, and the soaring voice of Jessie Monk.  Sunflower Bean's Mortal Primetime isn’t just another chapter in the band's story—it's a reclamation. After a three-year hiatus punctuated by personal upheaval, side projects, and the threat of dissolution, the trio has returned with a record that pulses with urgency, vulnerability, and the unmistakable feeling of a band fighting for its future. This is the sound of survival. Self-produced for the first time, the album has a tactile, almost handmade quality that lends depth and authenticity to its sonic ambition. Working with mixer Caesar Edmunds (The Killers, Wet Leg) and engineer Sarah Tudzin (Illuminati Hotties, Boygenius), Sunflower Bean create a lush, expansive soundscape that blends dreamy psychedelia, muscular alternative rock, and the shimmering melancholy of 70s AOR. It’s as much Rumours as it is The Bends. Opener "Champagne Taste" is a sly, satirical send-up of material desire with glam-rock strut and a crispness that sets the tone: nothing here is half-hearted. Julia Cumming’s vocal work is sharp and expressive, particularly on "Nothing Romantic", where she turns the sting of emotional disillusionment into a rallying cry, carried by a surging bassline and searing guitars. Mid-album standout "Look What You’ve Done To Me" feels almost Springsteen-esque in its storytelling: a heartland rock track dipped in dream-pop glitter. But it's "There’s A Part I Can’t Get Back" that truly devastates—a stripped-back ballad that captures the ache of personal loss, of time slipped through fingers. It’s one of the most tender and raw moments in the band’s discography.
The record closes with "Sunshine", a track that somehow encapsulates the full arc of the album—bittersweet, hopeful, and defiantly radiant. It’s not a naïve optimism, but the kind that comes only after reckoning with chaos and clawing one’s way through. Mortal Primetime is the sound of a band not just surviving but thriving. It’s emotionally intelligent, sonically rich, and deeply human. Sunflower Bean have fought for this moment—and they’ve won. 
Jessie Monk’s latest single, “I Agree,” is a delightfully layered offering—equal parts philosophical musing, musical theatre, and jazz-folk jam session. It’s the newest taste of her upcoming album Mis O’ The Mountains, and it continues to prove that Monk is one of the rare songwriters who can approach depth with levity, and seriousness with a sense of play.
The song opens with a lyrical nod to Rainer Maria Rilke’s The Book of Hours—"Am I a falcon? A storm or a great song?"—an existential question wrapped in melody. But rather than dwell in existential gloom, Monk spins the inquiry into something light and expansive. Her delivery is cheeky and breezy, carried by a Bossa Nova groove that dances just enough to keep listeners on their toes. It’s a testament to Monk’s gift: to write about transformation, loss, and surrender without becoming heavy-handed or indulgent. Musically, “I Agree” is a textural playground. The instrumentation is tight but full of surprises—violin lines from Fabiana Striffler that weave in and out with expressive flair; warm, grounded bass from Paul Santner; and the playful pulse of Max Andrzejewski’s drums. The harmonic shifts and rhythmic left-turns (particularly the off-kilter, train-like feel in the second verse) echo the song’s central theme: life’s rhythms are never quite predictable, but they are always purposeful. A standout moment—and one that truly captures the whimsical spirit of the track—is the Irish whistle solo performed by Conor Conningham. Played on an unusually large whistle in B-flat (a jazz-friendly key), the solo adds both charm and weight to the bridge, like a moment of breath in an already soaring track. Backing vocals from Striffler, Santner, and Conningham give the song a communal, almost celebratory feel, rounded out by the audible joy of giggles and handclaps from the studio. Recorded live at Butterama Studio, “I Agree” captures the synergy of a band genuinely enjoying each other’s presence—and that energy radiates through the speakers. It’s a celebration of surrender, of saying yes to the chaos, of embracing the cycle of death and rebirth with both reverence and a wink. As a prelude to Mis O’ The Mountains—an album inspired by the Celtic myth of Mis, and its themes of grief, transformation, and healing—this single is the perfect overture. It reminds us that there is beauty in not knowing, joy in letting go, and power in simply agreeing. |
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