if it be your will
Feb 10, 2026
Feb 9, 2026
Westside Cowboy • So Much Country 'Till We Get There • 2026
Feb 4, 2026
ifitbeyourwill S06E28 • link3
Quiet can hit harder than loud when the songs leave space to breathe. For link3—the duo of James and sunniva—that principle wasn't an aesthetic choice so much as a necessity. Their debut, On The Outline, emerged from bedroom studios, repurposed equipment, and a shared conviction that releasing imperfect work beats hoarding it indefinitely. The result is a slowcore record that trades polish for proximity, and listeners are responding in kind: instrumentals scored to wedding aisles, fan-made recreations, unsolicited messages about memory and tenderness.
James writes guitar-first, melodies arriving before lyrics, arrangements built on restraint rather than density. Sunniva's vocals—shaped by years of imitating favorite artists until her own tone surfaced—lock into his with an ease that belies the duo's origins as an online connection. They met through happenstance, bonded over a late-blooming obsession with albums as cohesive objects, and committed to a DIY ethos that prioritized momentum over perfectionism. The bathroom fan hum on early demos? Part of the texture now.
The pair attributes much of their sound to taste as a curatorial tool—knowing what to leave out, when to stop tweaking, how restraint can magnify emotion. Acoustic hush meets gently produced textures; male-female harmonies circle each other without crowding. It's the kind of record that rewards patient listening, and its intimacy has found an audience hungry for exactly that.
Now they're eyeing Montreal studios and string players, hoping to carry their quiet core into higher fidelity without sacrificing the living-room warmth that made On The Outline work. Violin lines floating over guitar, a producer who respects silence, slowcore sensibilities with broader reach. The blueprint is there. Whether they can scale up without smoothing over the rough edges that made them compelling in the first place—that's the open question. For now, the bedroom recordings are doing the work.
Feb 1, 2026
Ritt Momney • GUNNA (Live 2026)
Jan 31, 2026
Lande Hekt • Lucky Now • 2026
Prism Shores • Softest Attack • 2026
Jan 29, 2026
ifitbeyourwill S06E27 • Hand Gestures
Jan 27, 2026
Dutch Interior • Ground Scores • 2026

— Rolling Stone, “Artist You Need to Know”
“There’s something about [Dutch Interior’s] music that can’t be copied – a sense of character, an evocative-ness of atmosphere.” — Clash
“It’s easy to get caught up in the fun [Dutch Interior] whips up.” — Pitchfork
“Rustic music that is romantic but not sickly, earnest without becoming cringe, and completely free of ego.” — The FADER
Susan O'Neill & Valerie June • 'For What It's Worth’ • 2026
Jan 26, 2026
Marta Del Grandi • Alpha Centauri feat. Guinevere & Gaia Morelli • 2026
Jan 24, 2026
Jan 23, 2026
ifitbeyourwill S06E26 • 54-40
There’s a moment when a band stops trying to prove anything and starts trying to feel again. Porto is that moment for 54-40—a record less interested in declaring relevance than in reclaiming risk. Tracked live in Portugal, cut lean and close to the bone, it sounds like four musicians standing in a circle and daring the songs to blink first.
The story that trails Porto—tiny vintage amps, minimal overdubs, the hum of a Supro against a Gretsch—matters only insofar as it explains the album’s gravity. These songs don’t rush toward resolution. They settle. They hover. They let space do the heavy lifting. That patience feels deliberate, a quiet rebuke to an era that rewards immediacy over resonance.
At the center is Neil Osborne, whose voice has shifted from declaration to observation. The lyrics on Porto often arrive as fragments—sung before they’re written—leaving meaning porous by design. The Jungian framework Osborne has cited (shadow work, descent and return, Dante’s Virgil hovering at the edges) isn’t academic garnish; it’s structural. These songs hold contradiction without ranking it, beauty and ache sharing the same room.
Tracks like “Wail” and “Beautiful All of It” refuse the tidy release of a chorus that explains itself. They work by accumulation—repetition, restraint, the slow confidence of a band that trusts tension more than payoff. It’s the same instinct that once let “I Go Blind” slip sideways into anthem status: an openness that invites listeners to bring their own weather.
What Porto ultimately captures is a band choosing imperfection as method. The songs were road-tested, learned in rooms, sharpened by the kind of danger one gig can teach better than twenty rehearsals. Producer Warren Livesey keeps the frame tight, bottling the immediacy of four players committed to the take you can’t overthink.
Porto doesn’t sound like a comeback. It sounds like continuity rediscovered—longevity understood not as survival, but as tone control. In leaving space, 54-40 make room for us to step in, and the songs linger long after the last chord precisely because they refuse to tell us what to feel.