With a voice like worn denim and a songwriter’s compass pointed squarely at the truth, Emmett Jerome returns with “It Ain’t Me,” a dark, tape-warmed Americana track that exorcises heartbreak and hard truths in one raw, live-off-the-floor performance. It’s the sound of dust on boots, a heart in hand, and a young artist wise beyond his years.
Written in a quick flash on acoustic guitar, “It Ain’t Me” captures the emotional aftermath of love gone cold delivered from the voice of a character haunted by what once was. “I related the idea of an emotionally unavailable or heartbroken individual to that of a spooked horse,” says Jerome. “That tension, that jumpiness, is something I’ve known.”
From Springsteen-tinged lyrics to the swirling blend of vintage amps, banjo grit, and studio tape hiss, “It Ain’t Me” straddles the line between classic and contemporary. “It sounds to me like it could be some obscure 70s banjo-rock B-side or a Neil Young/Crazy Horse jam,” Jerome says. “We brought in great players rooted in blues, country, and rock. You can hear it.”
Tracked live off the floor at Vancouver’s Afterlife Studios – a storied space packed with analog gear and old ghosts – the song barely touches a computer. “Aside from a few vocal overdubs and extra banjo, what you’re hearing is a band playing together in a room. That energy is everything.”
Edmonton punk rockers Forester channel late-night longing and the raw edge of memory in their latest single, “Daredevil Youth.” Fueled by adrenaline, angst, and aching nostalgia, the track is a shout-along anthem to the reckless abandon of being young, alive, and utterly unbreakable.
Honest and unpolished, “Daredevil Youth” doesn’t try to dress youth up in sentimentality – it drags it through the mud, slaps on a crooked grin, and raises a glass to everything that shaped us, scarred us, and made it all worth it.
“This one is quite literal,” says pianist Keenan Gregory. “It’s an anthem to our younger years, and being wild and free. The time we’ve spent playing music together has left its mark on each of us – it’s been formative.”
With a storyteller’s instinct and a singer’s sensitivity, Victoria Staff returns with “I Still Think You Might,” a coy and frustrated indie-pop single about a love that refuses to cleanly let go. At once wistful and wounded, the track captures what it’s like to live in the shadow of something unresolved.
“Isn’t it always men?” Staff jokes. “I learned in university that since 1960, two-thirds of popular songs are about romantic love, and 75% of those are sad. This is the only time I’ve ever used my neuroscience degree since I got it.”
But the track dives deeper than textbook heartbreak. “I Still Think You Might” explores the emotional mess that lingers when two people move on but still can’t quite forget each other. It’s about the tension of not knowing whether someone will stay gone or show up again, unannounced. “It’s about how sticky relationships are,” says Staff. “The frustration, the silence, and the nerve-wracking idea that someone could choose to break it.”
The recording process brought its own emotional arc. “We knew from the beginning that the bridge had to build,” Staff says of working with producer Will Crann and her sister. “But the melody I wrote was really low. We re-recorded it so many times – it became this labor of love. I’m a sucker for a good bridge. Call me Taylor Swift.”
Nova Scotia’s Cut Cult share their newest single, “Dinosaur” – a grimy, groove-laden alt track driven by a monstrous baritone guitar hook and an experimental spirit that’s equal parts N.E.R.D. and noise-punk. Anchored in raw live energy and a loose, unconventional vocal take, “Dinosaur” distills the chaotic charm of a rehearsal tape into something big, heavy, and undeniably fun.
Cut Cult is the latest boundary-pushing project from Brian Borcherdt – founder of Holy Fuck, known also for his solo work as Dusted and the viral chipmunks on 16 speed. Reuniting with original Holy Fuck drummer Loel Campbell (Wintersleep, Broken Social Scene, Billy Talent) and longtime collaborator Matt McQuaid (Holy Fuck), the trio formed a new band to explore sonic ideas unbound by the limits of past projects. Rounding out the group is Mairi Chaimbeul, contributing psychedelic harp and synth textures.
Written and recorded in a rural cottage in Black Point, NS, “Dinosaur” emerged during late-night jam sessions, home-cooked meals, and full-band hangs. With its head-nodding 808 pulse and bassy swagger, the song quickly became a band favourite though it lacked a final vocal take. That changed when frontman Borcherdt unearthed a scrappy rehearsal recording and laid it over the session. The timing worked thanks to the shared BPM and the spirit was just right.
