The Bullpen 013

Love all across the transcendent universe, except the Ivy League

Asian Kung-Fu Generation: Fujieda EP

Longrunning Yokohama indie-punks best known in my household for doing the “Rewrite” theme for the OG Fullmetal Alchemist anime in 2004. Their hook-and-guitar driven songcraft hasn’t drifted too far since they were Weezer superfans back then, and they haven’t developed any special musicianship to make them essential if you don’t speak Japanese. Still, Masafumi Gotoh is willing to stretch his voice in ways that present day Western hook-and-guitar rockers with more shame sense than R. Cuomo (i.e. all of them) are too genteel to risk, and the band grinds proficiently through four grooves in four songs. Not the most obvious place to start with them, but a worthwhile thing for them to be doing. (“Okaeri Jonny”, “Nam Pla Biyori”)

Bruno Mars: The Romantic

Don’t call his first solo album in a decade a comeback; his sound’s been here for years, with only the expensive engineering and mixing proving these recordings haven’t been moldering in the vault. While the reviews have been even worse than for his last one (which won the Album of the Year Grammy, remember?), this is easy listening at its most literal. He’s still a better singer than just about any man bothering Billboard’s top end, and he and D’Mile ensure the all-round musicianship adheres to similar standards across nine songs. Given this, one might ignore that saying he’ll “sacrifice my life just to hold you” doesn’t make sense even by American popular music standards. The slow-dance song at the end may be no more sincere, but should he choose it as a single you’re gonna hear at every normie wedding until eternity, with reason. (“Dance With Me”, “God Was Showing Off”, “Risk It All”)

Feeble Little Horse: Bitknot

They’re actually not bad at genial little songs, yet they show so little interest in foregrounding them that they let their press kit use the word “Anthropocene”. Groove is out of the question, so it’s up to the sonics, and they certainly have enough of them to fill 25 minutes. I like the bells and whooshes on “Paris” and the faux Soundcloud “Upside Down”. Their best sound is Lydia Slocum’s voice, which when she’s spouting indie koans is as charming as that other Lydia from Oh-OK. When she drops something revealing—say, “Now we’re taking big steps in opposite directions”—she makes it clear without being emphatic. Diverting, and I think they have a minute as good as “Lilting” in them. (“Rewind”, “Upside Down”, “Shopping”)

JayJayy: Detour

20-year-old JayJayy had a South African hit last year with “Phesheya”, a love song whose unusual beat by producer Mordecai has handdrum-like percussion. Mordecai makes other contributions to this full-length debut, notably on the more minor hit in the same vein “Mngani Wami”, but GalloMoth gets a star-studded array of beatmakers to pitch in. The album thus serves as a State of Amapiano sampler. What are 031 Choppa and Shakes & Les up to in ’26, you (okay, I) ask? Oh, the same thing as usual except they’re ripping off “Fast Car”. JayJayy has an agreeable tone without being imposing; it’s nice to have someone who just sings the songs even if the songs could be tighter. She’s best when she has percussion she can play off, meaning that in addition to Mordecai, she pairs well with Sandy6eats, who gives a 3-step adjacent feel without being too pedantic about the structure. You may not be surprised to hear my career advice is for Gallo to give Thuzkin a call. (“Phesheya”, “Emelika”, “Love Letter”)

Joel Futterman & William Parker: Transcendent Universe

Piano and bass, three tracks, one hour of improv, no edits. Regular readers will know Parker is all-century; Futterman, now in his 80s, has had long associations with Jimmy Lyons and Kidd Jordan as well as Parker. “Comparisons to the work of Cecil Taylor, Marilyn Crispell, Dave Burrell, or Don Pullen are understandable”, says Burning Ambulance, so let’s do Cecil. Like him, whether banging block chords or playing broken-up melodic fragments, Futterman keeps you aware the piano’s a percussion instrument. During the first half-hour, Parker switches between bowing and plucking frequently, and the mood keeps shifting. The remaining two tracks are more conventional free jazz and no less skillful. To me the two combine best when Parker’s arco buzzes and Futterman zig-zags around him like a lightning in heaven or maybe a bat out of hell. There ain’t no way I’m going to play this a lot, but from time to time, I want it, I need it. (“Transcendent Universe Part 1”)

Kehlani

Having survived cancellation by Cornell (noooo, anybody but Cornell) to achieve long-sought crossover with “Folded”, this studiously gender-neutral self-titled doesn’t risk their hard-won gains. Instead they throw back to the Black radio music of their childhood and adolescence, exhuming everyone from Lil Wayne to Lil Jon for cameos. If there are some reminders that Things Used to Be Better (the Brandy duet shows a melodic sophistication no R&Ber outside East Asia aspires to these days), things are often pinned back to mere nostalgia by the inclusion of off-the-boil rappers like uh Cardi. And yet these are the most fitting settings they’ve found for her voice, making this probably their most usable proper album. (“Out the Window’, “I Need You”, “Folded”)

Tierra Whack: Whack’s Museum

“They said I should rap more”, she begins, and for the duration of this mixtape she does, and of course she’s deft and clever. Individual two-and-a-bit minute songs don’t amount to much, which is mainly a beat issue: there are lots of short loops I hope she paid for by the bar, though Conductor Williams’s wow-and-flutter trick holds up across several repetitions. So you have to appreciate it line by line (“These internet n—s just type in Helvetica”) and rhyme by rhyme (“Replicas”/“less of ya”/“Jessica”). If it’s a touch repetitive—probably didn’t need that felony/misdemeanor bit in two consecutive tracks—it doesn’t overstay its welcome over 27 minutes. At the end she demands flowers, and if she means acclaim, she’s getting that. If she means Doechii money, that’s another story. (“Earwax”, “Brazilian Wax”, “Siren”)

Six Sex: Ultra

Young Argentinean, likes autonomy, disdains outerwear. If you’re looking for a woman prepared to deny disappointing men, for inspirational rather than fetishistic reasons I’m sure, she fits the bill, with titles like “Not Ur Mom” (“aunque me chupaste las tetas”; in general wait until after work to Google Translate) and “Boyfree”, in which she’s in Miami with her muñecas smoking Virginia Slims. The music, which leans more towards ancient electroclash than modern urbano, sometimes feels as forced into an outdated ideal of (too) cool as her smoking habits. Still, pretty funny, especially if you can infer Spanish body parts well enough to know which one of his she’s claiming is “tan muerta que juego a la ouija.” And when she does come, she makes sure to tell you it’s all about her. (“Tu Amigo”, “Not Ur Mom”, “Love Me Hate Me”)

Tanya Tagaq: Saputjiji

It’s disorienting that someone as habitually figurative as Tagaq opens with a statement as direct as “Fuck War”, but you know, fuck war. Two tracks later she recites “Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo Yankee Oscar Uniform”; from that, I think you can work out the mood she’s in. I can’t fault anybody alive in 2026 for prioritizing guttural anger over pretty music or hollow optimism. Me, though, I have greater need for a way to survive, or, failing that, something to do. Eating lies counts, as does holding our fists up to the night. I’m not yet warming a bullet in my mouth, however, if only because it’s a choking hazard. (“Black Boot”, “When They Call”, “Fuck War”)

The Tomeka Reid Quartet: Dance! Skip! Hop!

The fourth album from a group that’s been excellent since their second does what the title says, albeit with fewer exclamation points. The Roebke-Fujiwara rhythm section is more than capable of bopping along to grooves from jazz-funkrock to jazz-rockfunk, and have no problem upping the density when ceded the stage. Halvorson does Halvorson, and Reid effortlessly flits between lead and support. As previously, the most fascinating aspect is the relationship between those two. On “Under the Aurora Sky”, Reid plays under Halvorson for the first half, then turns on the vibrato while the latter goes into special effects mode; by the end, things have been flipped so that you don’t know if you’re looking at a Borealis or an Australis. Apart from a flamenco sketch that makes Rosalía sound Andalusian, a well-judged album. (“Under the Aurora Sky”, “Silver Spring Fig Tree”, “Dance! Skip! Hop!”)

Wendy Eisenberg

Hotshot multi-instrumental improviser plays it pretty straight on their singer-songwriter self-titled. The material rides right on the edge between haiku-like thought crystallization and hippie shit; more often than not, the exploratory feel to the music drags the songs to the right side of the line. Eisenberg and their partner Mari Rubio play lots of things well within well-plotted arrangements that a strong supporting cast including Trevor Dunn on bass rarely let get too Americanan. And Eisenberg sings less like a naif than someone constantly trying to clear away the extraneous to get to the truth of things. Inspirational verse: “Cosmic similarities are real but not the point.” (“Another Lifetime Floats Away”, “Curious Bird”, “It’s Here”)