This week I found myself deep in the pages of an old Australian Rolling Stone issue featuring the 200 best Australian albums. Unsurprisingly, it included many of my longtime favorites—Cold Chisel and Jimmy Barnes, Paul Kelly, You Am I, Crowded House, The Go-Betweens, Australian Crawl, and Hoodoo Gurus. But I also discovered something I’d somehow missed: Icehouse by a band then still called Flowers. The album’s title eventually became the band’s name, and frontman Iva Davies would later find international success with sleek, shimmering hits like “Crazy” and “Hey, Little Girl.” While I’ve always enjoyed those songs, they felt a bit too polished for my taste, which is probably why I never dug deeper.

But that glossy finish is absent on Icehouse, the debut. What you hear instead is a band in the midst of a raw, inspired search for its own voice—lifting ideas from all corners of the early ’80s soundscape. There’s Ultravox in “Walls,” The Knack in “Sisters,” Styx in “Boulevarde,” The Cars in “Nothing to Do,” INXS in “Can’t Help Myself.” And yet, these aren’t just imitations—they feel like touchpoints in a larger collage. The album stands as a kind of beautiful watermark for the New Wave sound of 1982: a swirling, energetic hodgepodge of everything that was vibrant and in motion at the time. What a great surprise.

This Top 200 list is incredibly rich, and if you ever come across it, I hope it takes you on as rewarding a journey of discovery as it did for me. I’m not done yet—next up: the Sunnyboys. Of course they’re on there too, and the editors of Rolling Stone place them on the same pedestal as The Modern Lovers. I think I see that differently, but there’s no denying that this collection is special—challenging and full of gems, even by today’s standards.

Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t know Dean Wareham. But a friend invited me along because one of his favorite Dutch alt.country bands was opening for Wareham at dB’s, right here in Utrecht.

In preparation, I took a deep dive into Wareham’s catalog, but I didn’t immediately connect with the key moments. It turned out I had heard his music before — and even reviewed it. In the early 2000s, I listened to a couple of albums he made with his wife under the name Dean & Britta, for hanx.net, a website I ran with two friends.

But that night, from the very first notes, I was shown a beauty I hadn’t picked up on during my prep. Wareham’s storytelling is lovely, but above all, it’s his guitar — that “why my guitar gently weeps” kind of sound — that truly stands out. He played a few songs from his new solo album, but he, Britta, and the drummer clearly knew what the crowd came for: the Galaxie 500 and Luna classics.

Highlights included Don’t Let Our Youth Go to Waste, 23 Minutes in Brussels, and a truly stunning Listen, the Snow is Falling, sung beautifully by Britta. But naming just three songs doesn’t do justice to the rest of the set.

The show felt like an invitation to dive deeper — I want to understand this alt.pop better. But it also confirmed something I’ve long suspected: when a band is playing just around the corner, you really should go.

Nada Surf is one of my favorite bands. They love playing in the Netherlands — and have done so regularly in recent years — which means I’ve seen them five times since the pandemic, usually in Amsterdam, where they have a soft spot for venues like De Melkweg and Paradiso. But the most special show for me was right here in my hometown of Utrecht. Seeing my kids and the son of my best friend — by far the youngest in the crowd — throw their arms around each other and sing along at the top of their lungs to the band’s most well-known songs… that’s a kind of joy you never forget.

A few weeks ago, Nada Surf played at Paard in The Hague — another legendary Dutch venue, though one I don’t often visit. After a long day at work, I wasn’t really feeling up for it. It’s a bit farther than Amsterdam, and there were plenty of reasons to skip this one. But I’m so glad I didn’t. It felt like the band had something to prove, playing outside their usual Amsterdam stronghold, and the audience didn’t entirely know what to expect — I got the sense many were there just to hear Popular. They got that, sure, but the heart of the set was built around songs from their fantastic new album, Moon Mirror.

Matthew Caws is a great singer, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sing with such range and clarity as he did that night. When everything falls into place like that — and it really did — you realize just how powerful a deeply personal song like Mathilda can be. How behind their controlled, thoughtful sound lie beautiful stories and gorgeous guitar work. Nada Surf doesn’t go for big emotional gestures — they’re not flashy or showy — but on nights like this, you listen more closely and discover an intimate beauty you rarely find elsewhere.

And then, as if that weren’t enough, they played Cold to See Clear — a hidden gem in their overwhelmingly rich catalog.

This week, they announced two more Dutch shows, in Breda and Deventer, moving further away from the capital. Late in their career, Nada Surf is still winning over new hearts — and plenty more are sure to follow.

Achilles Past is one of those songs where you instantly know it’s a cut above the rest. The atmosphere clicks right away, and the first notes hit home. The new single by The Black Watch pulls me straight back to the early ’80s, to the time when music started to take over my life, when bands like The Stranglers, Talk Talk, Echo & the Bunnymen, and The Smiths explained the world to me. If a song can, within seconds, transport me back to that feeling—and let me, now 55 years old, be completely carefree for three minutes, wanting nothing more than to just lose myself in the music, with not a trace of nostalgia—then I know for sure: this song is better than the rest.

Maybe it’s always been there — probably so — but I hadn’t noticed it before. On Obsolete Path, Chris Church makes a subtle shift in style. The songs feel more spacious, and hints of country, rock, and West Coast influences seep into the pop sound. The raw thematic undercurrent — a signature element — is still very much present on this again excellent album, with its consistently high quality. On early listens, it reminds me more of Chuck Prophet than, say, The Raspberries — just to give some sense of the magnificence on display here.

On Sunday, April 6, Paul Collins played at the new dBs here in Utrecht. He had promised “60 minutes of Power Pop” beforehand, and that’s exactly what we got: in a blistering 1-2-3-go rhythm, he blasted through nearly all the classics from the first two The Beat albums, along with a handful of gems from The Nerves. Collins was the undisputed King of Power Pop, pushing his much younger backing band to great heights with the flair of a true James Brown. Next to me, I saw my two sons, 21 and almost 23, watching it all with big smiles. During Hanging on the Telephone, a spontaneous family dance broke out, and for a moment, we found ourselves in Power Pop heaven. What an amazing night!

Mark Oliver Everett created two stunning Smart Pop albums before founding Eels, working alongside Parthenon Huxley. I was reminded of it when I discovered Corkscrew Soul by Sparky Bosque this weekend, and it became my Sunday soundtrack. If you admire the quality of Everett and Huxley’s work, this album is highly recommended.

Sparky Bosque is the alter ego of UK-based singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Mark Peter Woods.

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You can find ‘Good Together’ showcased on the Best Power Pop of 2024 Spotify Playlist.

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Could you share the journey of bringing this record to life? How did all the pieces come together to create the final product?

This record was pretty straightforward really. I did everything myself. Maybe there’s a correlation there! Not having to involve anyone else meant that I didn’t have to fit into anyone else’s schedule. I didn’t have to wait for someone else to do something. I didn’t have a record label or A&R person turning their nose up at something I’d written. Money didn’t have to change hands. I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted to do. I like having full control of the… errrr… controls.

There are downsides to being a one-man band. Sometimes it would be nice to have someone else make me a cup of tea, or scratch my back and laugh at my jokes, but overall I was pretty content creating Corkscrew Soul by myself.

I didn’t set out to create a particular type of album, or a specific sound really, and I wasn’t trying anything different to what I’d released previously. My official line is that this album is the third part of my amaretto trilogy. But that is really just a bit of a private joke with myself (you see, this is where having someone else to laugh at my jokes would help) because ‘amaretto’ basically means ‘a little bitter’, but it also tastes a bit sweet. Those two things may or may not come across in my lyrics and music. Oh, and it’s also a reference to Simon Pegg’s Cornetto trilogy. So there you go.

I’m not sure how many people have played the whole album from start to finish in one sitting, but I salute you if you have – rest assured I spent a long time (quite possibly too much time) deciding on the running order to help the album flow. But how people ‘consume’ music has changed a lot, so I’m not precious about it. You can listen to it backwards if you like.

I think there are four songs on the album that I’d written several years ago. They’d been sitting around without a home for a while and every now and then I’d feel them nudging me in the ribs and giving me a wink, as if to say ‘Hey, is it my turn yet, eh?’.

One of those songs is Good Together which probably fits quite nicely into the power pop mould. But then another is I Won’t Be Found which would likely be categorised as something else and hopefully shows another side to my songwriting.

Likewise, Gone Before is about Nick Drake and feels quite a long way from the album opener As Much as This which is probably my best impression of Wilko Johnson and Dr. Feelgood so far.

The rest of the album was written and recorded as I went. I thought I had 12 tracks for it. But when it came to mastering the album, I realised I had 13, so I just went with that. Maybe I should’ve called it ‘A Baker’s Dozen’ instead.

Success can take on different meanings as time goes on. When envisioning success for this new record, what does that picture look like now?

I didn’t really have any expectations for the album. I really enjoy creating an LP, EP, single or whatever it might be. But I’m not so keen on the bit that comes after releasing it. I find self-promotion somewhat tortuous and I’m not someone who spends much time on social media.

But for this album, I’ve had the help of 122 Music Management to get more people listening to it. It’s been a good learning curve on how to cast the net a bit wider for the next release. So in that sense, I would already call it a success.

A highlight has been having radio stations in far flung places like Germany and France playing my songs. The kind words and encouragement from the DJs have been really appreciated. And there’s something quite exotic about hearing one’s name in another language. Sehr schön.

Within this collection, do you feel that the best song you’ve ever written finds its home? If not, what distinguishes this record’s essence from your prior work?

This is tricky. It’s a bit like asking a parent to choose their favourite child. But I’d probably say the best song I’ve written is Magic Fur which ends the first LP, A New Low. But as a whole album, Corkscrew Soul might be my best work. Maybe.

Imagine you could collaborate with three co-writers of your choice for new songs. Who would you select, and what qualities or dynamics draw you to them?

I’ve never written a song with someone else. I’m not sure if it would be great or awful. But my default position is to assume the latter. Plus I think most of the songwriters I’d most like to work with are dead which might put a dampener on things.

Striking a balance between experimental artistry and commercial appeal is a challenge. How do you navigate this dynamic within your music?

Thankfully I don’t feel pressure to have commercial appeal, whatever that might mean exactly. I just write songs that I like, and then hope other people will like them too. If I release an album that only 3 people will listen to, that won’t affect my income, nor what I eat nor where I live. And other people don’t depend on my ability to appeal to as many people as possible either. There aren’t really any consequences to it either way. If there were, I’d probably quickly fall out of love with it and shift my focus to becoming the UK bog snorkelling champion.

Before I’ve released a song, and before I’ve recorded it, and before it’s fully formed, and way before it’s even a spark in my imagination, I have to accept that the majority of people on this planet or in this country won’t like it, or at most will be completely indifferent towards it. And I’m okay with that.

Lyrics often carry profound meaning. Are there particular lines you hope listeners will always remember from your songs? If so, what’s the significance?

I’ve never had anyone ask me about any of my lyrics, and I think I prefer it that way. Some lines are throwaway and complete nonsense – but you might attach some significance or meaning to them and I don’t want to spoil that for you.

There are some lyrics that are very personal and will always remain private.

I once had someone tell me that they like a track called Right Direction off my second album, Lying Flat, because of the uptempo energy and vibrance of the track. And musically, I suppose you could describe it as that. But I didn’t have the heart to tell them that the lyrics tell a story of domestic abuse and coercive control.

With the resurgence of cassettes, imagine curating your inaugural mixtape. Which five songs would be must-adds and why?

Right now I’d probably go with this somewhat homogeneous five. But ask me again tomorrow and it would probably be different.

Emitt Rhodes – Somebody Made For Me
Harry Nilsson – Gotta Get Up
Nick Drake – Poor Boy
Elliott Smith – A Passing Feeling
Grandpaboy (Paul Westerberg) – Eyes Like Sparks

And then I’d shimmy up into the loft to find my cassette player and a C90.

If tasked with introducing your music through three songs, which ones would you choose and what story do they collectively convey to new listeners?

Let’s have one from each LP. I’m not sure what story they convey. Maybe that all three albums sound quite similar.

Magic Fur
Eat the Sun (Decked Out in Blue)
Poor Annie

Looking ahead to the next couple of months, what exciting plans or projects are on the horizon for you?

I’m always tinkering. I have a home studio so I can dip in and out when the mood takes me. I’ve got another track and video ready to go actually, so that will probably be released in the next couple of months. That track has a different sound and vibe to what’s on Corkscrew Soul.

I’m also working on a cover version which will likely be stripped back to just vocal and piano. It’s not a particularly well known song, it’s just a track I really like. Piano isn’t my main instrument though, so by the time I manage to record a decent take with no bum notes, we might well be into 2025.

I’ve previously released covers of Ballad of Big Nothing by Elliott Smith and The Busy Girl Buys Beauty by Billy Bragg. I like to try and add my own stamp to them though – I don’t try and mimic the original.

In the digital age, visual elements are intertwined with music. How did you approach the album’s visual aesthetics, such as album art and accompanying visuals? How do they complement the sonic experience you’ve crafted?

I create all the visuals myself, although more recently I’ve been exploring using AI. The artwork for the first two LPs had my face on them, but I thought people might be getting sick of the sight of it, so I tried something a bit different for Corkscrew Soul. I’ve always liked pop art, so that was the vibe I was going for – and I think pop art and power pop blend together quite nicely.

Paul Kelly, the creative force behind The Martial Arts, has been crafting pop music under this moniker since 2003. A former member of BMX Bandits, Kelly recently released the album In There Like Swimwear. This record bridges the adjacent realms of power pop, indie pop, and classic pop, making it a perfect addition to the collections of fans who appreciate the sounds of Daniel Johnston, XTC, Eno, Of Montreal, The Lemon Twigs, or The Apples In Stereo.

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You can find ‘Empty Out Here’ showcased on the Best Power Pop of 2024 Spotify Playlist.

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Could you share the journey of bringing this record to life? How did all the pieces come together to create the final product?

In 2006 the Swedish label Groover Recordings released The Martial Arts’ debut album ‘Your Sinclair, which was recorded in Stockholm by Shout Out Louds producer Ronald Bood.  It was a fantastic opportunity and I even got to record the drums in a gigantic studio, previously owned by Abba’s Benny & Bjorn. Europe even recorded the drums for ‘The Final Countdown’ in the exact same space.  I then had the luxury of finishing it in Ronald’s studio with fantastic gear, his production and engineering expertise to hand.  I loved the results, but some misfortune saw me lose a bit of confidence in moving forward with The Martial Arts in the years following its release.

I badly wanted to record a second album – I had the songs – circa 2010, but I didn’t have the same facilities to hand by then. The label had also folded.  I really didn’t believe I had the recording skills to make it happen alone –  I didn’t want it to sound like a collection of demos.  I drifted towards being a musician in others’ projects – How To Swim, Carla J Easton, BMX Bandits, The Primary 5, Raveloe – in the years that followed, but it ate away at me that I’d never made that second album.  Many years had passed before I finally began trying to learn how to make ‘proper’ studio recordings above demo level of the songs I had stockpiled since.  Many of these ended up on the EPs ‘I Used To Be The Martial Arts’ (2019) and ‘Getting Stranger By The Month’ (2021), while I worked on the actual intended second album, by then containing much newer material, in the background.

I recruited various friends to lend their musical skills, mainly drums and backing vocals, to cover what I couldn’t pull off alone.  I deliberately took my time, as I didn’t want to release it until I felt I had recorded something that could easily sit next to the debut in terms of production quality.  Also, there was no deadline, plus there were interruptions like returning to college, pandemics and a few other tricky life events.  I initially wasted a bit of time hiring others to record my vocals for me, as I felt I needed guided through the process of recording them, until I worked out that I was perfectly capable of doing them at home.  It’s important to point out I did not spend 18 years making the second album!  But I did spent a lot of that time working out what the heck I needed to do.  I’m still learning now, but it’s been very satisfying to finally complete and have released by a label worth being on (Wiaiwya).

Success can take on different meanings as time goes on. When envisioning success for this new record, what does that picture look like now?

I have no idea really, I’m just glad there appears to be some people listening to it.  I appeared to pick up a number of new listeners in the years following the debut, as I capitalised in the ‘give your album away free’ craze of that era, which looking back is obviously is a bit of a questionable activity in hindsight, but I do admit it worked and quite a number of blogs helped spread the word.  My more recent EPs have done a little groundwork for me and some others have stuck around since the days of the first album.  Really I would just like to build on the number of people who like and play my stuff, however many that could be.  Beyond that I genuinely don’t know.

It might be beyond my wildest dreams, but stadium-like success to me would be being interviewed by Nardwuar The Human Serviette.  That would be the Queen at Live Aid moment for someone at my level, I imagine.

In a hypothetical scenario where you could tour with two other bands, who would be your ideal companions and what synergies do you envision?

Redd Kross I have believed to be geniuses since I discovered them in 1998.  Tragically, that was the year when they essentially downed tools and went on a hiatus for many years afterwards, and so far I’ve only had the chance to see them for an agonisingly brief 45-minute set, when they came to Glasgow in 2017 as openers for The Melvins.

They were such a huge inspiration to me, they also struck me as the most fun people to walk the Earth, and as the internet was new to me then, I read every single interview I could find by them, which very much pushed me in the direction of learning a lot of useful life skills, like listening more to the early album tracks of The Beatles, knowing who The Flaming Groovies even are, and the knowledge of the existence of The Brady Bunch’s cover of ‘American Pie’, which chooses to begin with the “Helter Skelter in a summer swelter” verse.  They’ve definitely changed my consciousness for the better.  I thinking touring together could only be a positive thing.

Right now, the other band I have to choose are The Chills.  Especially it would mean Martin Phillipps would be back with us.  I only began listening to them casually last year, and my excuse is that I always had them conflated with The Clean (also from New Zealand) and The Church (Australian), which in hindsight doesn’t seem that confusing, but there you go.  Since he passed a few weeks ago I’ve listened to hardly any other music.  The documentary ‘The Triumph And Tragedy Of Martin Phillipps’ is heartbreaking to watch, especially in the light of recent events.  He seemed like someone I think I would have liked to be around and of course would have loved to watch each night, something I realise I can never do now.

As an artist, the act of baring your emotions to the world is profound. Does this vulnerability come naturally to you, or is it a constant journey of finding comfort?

When I recorded my first album, I was a bit self-conscious that I had overshared a bit and had given away too much, so was nervous about reviews.  Of course, in the end, the gist of all those reviews was just “hey, it’s Power Pop time!” so I guess I’d had greatly overestimated how it would be read.  Writing a song is a great way to therapeutically deal with an unfortunate life event like a breakup, or a friend turning nasty – if you set it to a nice enough tune, it’s an acceptable and hopefully entertaining way of expressing your feelings without having to bore anyone with your problems when you are in the pub together.

With the resurgence of cassettes, imagine curating your inaugural mixtape. Which five songs would be must-adds and why?

Redd Kross – Mess Around

To me, this is more or less the perfect song.  Released in 1997, it captured the sprit of The Beatles far more succinctly than any of the major bands who were being compared to them at the time.  It only has about 4 lines in the entire song – no more were ever necessary.  Both verses are just “I don’t want to mess around with anybody else.”  I hope someone at their label was given a stern talking to when it didn’t break the top 40.

Kleenex Girl Wonder – Tendency Right Foot Forward

When it comes to writing a book on the criminally overlooked, then Graham Smith deserves at least a few pages.  Since he was very young, he’s been prolifically pumping out an impressive number of genius pop albums, and ‘Ponyoak’ was the time he really began to outgrew all those Guided By Voices comparisons he used to get.  That (double) album manages the rare feat of containing as many as 25 songs, with all of them being great.  Choosing your least favourites would be like trying to say which fingers of toes you’d wave goodbye to.  In the years since he’s released a plethora of amazing work – he even tried his hand at rapping for a while.  ‘Tendency Right Foot Forward’ is a diamond-hard pop song and should be heard by anyone with an interest in home-recorded pop masterpieces.

Molly Nilsson – Blinded By The Night

I covered this on my ‘Christmas With The Martial Arts’ EP.  It otherwise has nothing to do with Christmas.  Although released in 2018, it originally appeared on her album ‘2020’, and I recorded my version in that terrible year, having spent most of the year completely alone.  It just seemed right for that moment in time.  My version is very faithful to the original, which I know some consider a less than worthwhile endeavour, but what can I say… I just wanted a go at singing it myself, and I didn’t want to try and ‘fix’ anything that wasn’t broken.

The dB’s – Moving In Your Sleep

I was aware of Peter Holsapple as the organ guy from REM’s Unplugged show and I knew of The dB’s from being name-dropped in ‘Twisted’ by They Might Be Giants, but I never sought their music out until someone compare my own first album to theirs.   ‘Stands For Decibels’ is a masterclass in mixing catchy with frankly quite strange guitar pop. If you want to hear what is essentially Jangle-Prog, then check out the Chris Stamey-written numbers.  ‘Moving In Your Sleep’ is the standout for me though, it’s not hard to imagine it being the closing song on Big Star’s ‘Third/Sister Lovers’ album.  Ironically, Holsapple briefly worked with Alex Chilton shortly after that album’s recording and they didn’t get on like a house on fire.  ‘Nothing Is Wrong’ off the following album is another Big Star-evoking classic.

The Beach Boys – This Whole World

It’s very hard to choose a favourite Beach Boys song, but ‘This Whole World’ I’d say is probably the greatest one that a casual listener has probably not heard.  It was never a single, merely a b-side and a track on their classic 1970 album ‘Sunflower’.  I think this was probably a mistake – I don’t know if it’s because it doesn’t have a traditional chorus hook, but I believe it could have worked.  It’s a rare song written entirely by Brian Wilson, who sings the introduction, before Carl takes over.  There isn’t much to say really – it’s easily one of the finest moments of the greatest band of all time.

Tamar Berk’s fourth album in just four years, Good Times for a Change, is set to be released on September 6. For those familiar with her previous work, you know that her songs are deeply personal—so much so that listening can feel like peeking into her diary. This raw intimacy is what makes Tamar’s music so special. With each new release, she consistently raises the bar for herself, and this latest album is no exception. In fact, with the bar already set so high, you can’t help but wonder where it will all lead. Tamar shares that same curiosity, and in this exclusive interview with Sweet Sweet Music blog, she explains how she channels that into her creative process.

Your new album, Good Times for a Change, is your fourth record in just four years! It seems like you’re in an incredible creative flow. Do you feel that way, or is it more about putting in the hard work?

Well, I love the hard work and enjoy being in the studio creating songs and coming up with ideas. But, more so, I tend to judge myself pretty harshly on my art. I always think the last song I wrote is the best I’ll ever be, and this mentality pushes me to prove that I can not only do it again but make it better. Also, it seems that when I sit down and write a song, as I start to examine the lyrics, I find that it feels like it’s part of an underlying theme that’s happening in my life at that time. And then this makes me want to explore this theme and go a little deeper, which eventually turns into an album! Haha.

In your bio, you mention that after releasing Tiny Injuries in 2023, you felt like you were slowly emerging from a dark place. Good Impression has such an upbeat, richly arranged vibe—do you see it as a reflection of that brighter time?

Well, the lyrics are kind of a downer, actually, until the end when I finally say, “maybe I just don’t care,” a little homage to The Who’s lyric line, “why should I care,” which in some ways reflects a less desperate time, if that makes sense. This album explores the idea of hovering somewhere between the past and present and just accepting reality and the present moment for what it is. There’s a bit of an existential quality to it, but it’s more about being present. I’ve been struggling with looking back and being anxious about the future. So, it’s not necessarily about brighter days but more about trying not to worry about things I cannot control.

The photos you’ve chosen for your album covers are so intriguing, and it feels like you prefer showing a more vulnerable side of yourself, even this time around. Is that something you’ve been intentional about?

Yes. This was not going to be the album cover, actually. I was looking for another photo of me from my past, but I was taking these self-portraits and used one as a placeholder for the title Good Times for a Change. The look on my face and the title combined had a sort of sense of irony. I thought that worked, but it was a big decision to use a photo of me that wasn’t vintage or old. However, I thought if I’m going to be true to the album theme, it has to be a photo of me today.

Which new song on this album surprised you the most, either in the way it came together or in how it evolved during the process?

I think “Millennium Park.” This is a song that I’ve been carrying around for years and always dreamed of releasing one day. Every time I listened to the raw demo, I imagined timpani, chimes, cello, and viola. I thought that would be impossible, but I swear, once I put that idea out into the world, I seemed to find just the right people to help me! Ben Moore, who is a producer here in San Diego, hooked me up with Erdis Maxhelaku and Nico Hueso, a cello and viola player, respectively. I sent the song with the string arrangement, and it just so happened that Nico was able to score what I had written just by using my stem tracks of the instruments. This was exciting in and of itself, but when the actual tracks came back, I was over the moon! Then my drummer, Matt Walker, found a school where he could record timpani and chimes, and when he sent those back, I was literally crying! After Sean O’Keefe mixed it, I was pinching myself and so thrilled that I would finally be able to release a song I’d been carrying around since 1994!

You’ve been getting so much positive feedback on your music, and it looks like Good Times for a Change is already getting a lot of praise on social media. Do you ever find yourself dreaming of playing in full stadiums?

I would love for more people to hear my music, but I feel like I would thrive in a club size of 500 or more. I like talking to the fans and getting to know them. And speaking of shows, I’m playing a big celebration on September 28th in Chicago at Lincoln Hall! I’m opening for Material Issue, and I’ll be playing a selection of songs from all four of my solo albums. That’s definitely a bucket list item!