A Fresh New-Wave Spark

The Mustard breathe fresh energy into “Someone,” turning the beloved Simple Minds classic into a vibrant, dance-ready slice of indie new wave. Rather than simply recreating the atmosphere of the 1982 original, the Bracknell five-piece gives it a livelier pulse while preserving the expansive character that clearly fuels their own musical identity.

Recorded live at Thamesside Brewery, the track carries an appealing sense of immediacy. You can almost picture the band feeding off the room as Charles Allen’s vocals sit confidently above Ollie Foord’s floating guitar work, Lukas Kelly’s shimmering synths, Mike Jackson’s bass and Carl Sampson’s driving drums. That combination creates a wonderfully full sound, balancing nostalgic synth textures with the raw excitement of a live performance.

The faster tempo is one of the recording’s biggest strengths. “Someone” feels lighter on its feet and more playful, with a bouncy groove that naturally invites movement. Yet beneath that upbeat surface, there is still plenty of atmosphere, giving the track enough depth to work beyond the dance floor.

What makes the release especially enjoyable is how organically it came together. A live recording originally intended for social media was recognized for its potential and transformed into a polished studio-quality release without losing its performance character. The result feels energetic rather than overly processed.

“Someone” is a spirited reinterpretation that celebrates its roots while giving The Mustard plenty of room to make the song their own. It is nostalgic, lively and unmistakably built for a crowd.

A Gritty Rock Knockout

Brok comes charging in with “Liar,” a hard-hitting rock track that wastes no time making its presence felt. Built around weighty guitars, muscular drums, and a groove that refuses to sit still, the song has the kind of raw physical energy that feels made for a loud room and a restless crowd. It is heavy without losing its sense of movement, allowing the blues influence to seep through the rougher edges and give the track plenty of character.

Nick Brokenshire’s vocals carry a rugged, lived-in quality that suits the music beautifully. Rather than sounding overly polished, his delivery adds personality and attitude, making the performance feel immediate and believable. The guitar work brings plenty of bite, while Jessal Chudasama’s bass gives the track a deep, rolling pulse. Rick Gallagher’s drumming completes the combination with impressive force, pushing the song forward with a relentless sense of momentum.

What makes “Liar” especially enjoyable is the balance between heaviness and groove. BROK understands that powerful rock does not have to sacrifice rhythm, and the track repeatedly finds that sweet spot where the instinct is to move along with the music. The arrangements also keep things interesting, giving the song a slightly unpredictable edge instead of allowing it to settle into a predictable pattern.

“Liar” is loud, gritty, and unapologetically energetic. BROK delivers a convincing reminder that rock can still feel visceral, physical, and genuinely alive.

A Psychedelic Feast of Rhythm

Dan Webb’s “Thai Basil” feels like a musical burst of sunshine, trading heavy introspection for an irresistible celebration of movement, rhythm and the sheer pleasure of being alive. From its opening moments, the track settles into a vibrant groove that blends electronic textures, jazz sophistication and rock energy without ever sounding confined to one genre.

The synth bass provides a wonderfully infectious foundation, while the electronic drums and layered percussion keep the track constantly in motion. Micah Hummel’s drumming and Nate Werth’s percussion create a richly textured rhythmic pulse, giving the arrangement an almost physical energy. It is the kind of groove that quietly takes control of your body before you even realise you are moving.

The horns are where Webb’s adventurous musical personality really shines. Ron Blake and James King deliver an astonishingly dense unison passage, and the repeated layering transforms it into something wonderfully intricate and psychedelic. Rather than making the track feel overloaded, the complexity adds excitement, revealing new details with every listen.

What makes “Thai Basil” especially enjoyable is how effortlessly Webb brings together his musical influences. Classical counterpoint, jazz improvisation, rock attitude, and electronic production all collide here, yet the result remains remarkably accessible and fun. There is serious musicianship beneath the party atmosphere, but Webb never lets that craftsmanship get in the way of enjoyment.

“Thai Basil” is exuberant, inventive, and gloriously unpredictable—a track that celebrates the present moment by making it impossible to sit still.

When Silence Speaks

Mister Chorister’s “You’re Not Listening” is the kind of alternative rock track that gets under your skin rather than simply passing through your ears. Dark, tense, and emotionally restless, it captures the frustration of feeling unheard while gradually revealing something much more personal beneath that feeling.

The song has a compelling sense of psychological pressure. Its atmospheric opening creates a restrained unease, while the guitars bring a grunge-tinged edge that gives the track plenty of weight. As the arrangement develops, melodic pop-rock elements make the song accessible without taking away from its darker character. The contrast between restraint and release is particularly effective, making the emotional build feel earned rather than predictable.

What makes “You’re Not Listening” especially interesting is the way its central idea can be viewed from different angles. It begins with the familiar frustration of trying to communicate with someone who seems unwilling to hear, but gradually turns that frustration inward. The possibility that we might also be ignoring our own fears, grief, instincts, or emotional needs gives the song a deeper resonance.

Mister Chorister handles that inner conflict with impressive sensitivity. The production feels spacious enough for the emotions to breathe, yet the instrumentation carries a constant underlying tension. When the track finally reaches its cathartic peak before retreating into silence, the effect is striking.

“You’re Not Listening” is thoughtful, moody, and genuinely affecting—a song that encourages listeners to pause and consider what, or who, they may have stopped hearing.