What we’re listening to, watching, and reading right now.

I’ll give the usual caveat: The horror novel Japanese Gothic is best experienced going in with as little information as possible. Content warnings for graphic gore, scenes of domestic violence, self-harm, and mental illness. If you’re okay with that, then consider pausing here. While I will try to keep this relatively spoiler-free, there will be some plot points I can’t avoid.

Kylie Lee Baker’s latest novel, following her acclaimed Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng, is sort of a ghost story and sort of a time travel story. It follows two protagonists.

From the opening moments of bitknot, it’s obvious that Feeble Little Horse has found an entirely new gear. Where on Girl with Fish the blown-out textures were more ’90s indie rock and shoegaze, on their latest LP, there’s a more modern edge to the distortion and the riffs cut cleaner. Similarly, where the digital glitchiness was mostly relegated to window dressing on their sophomore record, on bitknot it’s integral to the arrangements and a core part of their emerging, distinct sound.

We got a preview of this new direction on the one-off single, and one of my favorite songs of 2025, “This Is Real.” It blended blast beats, Sonic Youth-esque guitar melodies, pitch-shifted vocals, and glitchy samples. It even briefly lets the metronome click bleed into the track. It’s a three-minute chaotic tour de force that needs to be heard.

Hiking is one of life’s great joys. Turning off the screens and stepping out into nature for an extended period of time, perhaps even several days, is rejuvenating. Unfortunately, as someone with two young kids and a bad back, I’m not really able to go backpacking anymore. So I often find myself trying to live vicariously through others who write about their lengthy travails along the Appalachian or the PCT. That’s what I thought I was signing up for when I picked up On Trails: An Exploration by Robert Moor. But it turned out to be so much more.

The prologue starts with Moor talking about his decision to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. And chapter one doesn’t stray too far from the expected subject matter either. It focuses primarily on Moor’s trip to Western Brook Pond in Newfoundland and broadly discusses the concept of wilderness.

Hokum recently hit theaters, and it’s already outperforming box office expectations. If this Kubrick-referencing haunted hotel flick starring Adam Scott was your introduction to director Damian McCarthy, do yourself a favor and go watch his previous film, Oddity.

If you prefer to go in blind — the ideal way to watch any movie — Oddity is available to stream on Hoopla, Kanopy, Hulu, and Shudder.

I’ve got to thank my oldest friend and concert buddy, Tim, for turning me on to this one. Ashnymph is a London band that blends post-punk melodies with Krautrock rhythms and industrial grime. Their debut EP, Childhood, drifts between dreamy vocals buried in layers of reverb and four-on-the-floor dancefloor pounding. It’s a thrilling opening salvo from a band that feels on the cusp of a major breakthrough.

Childhood opens with an ambient recording of someone walking down a hall (I think), and some swirling synth noise before the first song, “Island in the Sky” kicks off properly with a motorik beat and bass throb. The thin, digitally manipulated vocals and robotic groove are punctuated with bursts of noise. But the big chords of the chorus bring a dash of pop, reminding me a bit of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s “Whatever Happened to My Rock and Roll.”

Kate O’Flynn views comedy and horror as “kind of the same thing.” Both are at their best when they surprise — a laugh or a scare that comes out of nowhere hits the hardest. That’s why, for the star of the new horror-comedy hybrid Widow’s Bay, mixing up the genres makes perfect sense — they heighten each other. “You’re never on steady ground,” she says. “Your guard is down, and you’re vulnerable to a laugh or a cry or a scream. It’s all up for grabs.”

Widow’s Bay, which starts streaming on Apple TV on April 29th, tells the story of the titular island, which sits off the coast of New England. It has a rustic small-town charm and also happens to very definitely be haunted. There have been countless myths and ghost stories since the town’s founding, along with a possible curse in which anyone born on the island can’t leave without dying. The town’s mayor, Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys), is intent on revitalizing the island and turning it into a tourist destination to rival Martha’s Vineyard. But in doing so he ignores the very clear signs that something is wrong. In the first episode, for instance, a sinister fog rolls into town, but all Tom can think about is a visiting New York Times travel writer.

Before Coachella, Tomora wasn’t on my radar at all. It’s actually only by chance that I stumbled upon them — I opened the wrong stream because my TV was lagging like a MFer. I paused for a few moments, entranced by the two ethereal Nordic women banging on giant drums to a techno beat. I made a mental note to check them out the following weekend, because Drain was the priority (especially since the Sonora stage wasn’t streaming on weekend two). It was only later that I would find out that Tomora is a collaboration between Norwegian singer-songwriter Aurora and Tom Rowlands, one-half of The Chemical Brothers.

Suffice it to say, they were incredible, and I immediately checked out the record, Come Closer, after watching their week two set. Admittedly, the studio album can’t quite capture the ecstatic catharsis of the Coachella set (seriously, I need to see them live), but it’s still an incredible work. It’s a love letter to ’90s European dance music, dabbling in big beat, trip-hop, and techno.

This might feel like a somewhat obvious recommendation to some, but it flew under my radar until now. Alfred Bester’s The Stars My Destination (originally published as Tiger! Tiger! in the UK) is a 1956 sci-fi novel that some have cited as a precursor to cyberpunk. It’s a work I admit I have some conflicted feelings about, but one I think is well worth reading if you consider yourself a fan of sci-fi. It’s also well worth seeking out a physical copy, something I wish I had known before I started reading it in the objectively inferior ebook form that can’t capture the ergodic elements of the climax.

It’s hard to explain the plot of The Stars My Destination. At its core, it’s the story of a man who vows revenge on a spaceship — an inanimate object — after he is left for dead in the wreckage of another ship. But that doesn’t capture any of what the book is actually about. The plot moves so quickly, so much happens in this relatively short 250-page novel, that it’s difficult to keep up. It’s either a riveting breakneck thrill ride or a chaotic jumble of barely coherent events, and I’m still not sure which.

For obvious reasons, I’ve had Moon on the mind all week. So I was trying to figure out what I should recommend this week that would thematically fit. Brian Eno’s Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks is incredible, and if you haven’t listened to it, go do that now. But it also seemed a bit on the nose. Radiohead’s A Moon Shaped Pool also came to mind. But it also felt a bit obvious. Then I remembered Kate NV’s Room for the Moon, a record I had on repeat in 2020.

Russian artist Kate Shilonosova chases ideas across 11 tracks inspired by Russian and Japanese pop from the ’70s and ’80s, as well as children’s movies. This obviously leads Room for the Moon to indulge its most whimsical impulses. It’s a fairy tale rendered in snappy Talking Heads-esque bass, proggy synths, and reverbed drum machines.

Los Thuthanaka basically came out of nowhere last year to capture Pitchfork’s album of the year with their self-titled debut. Because it wasn’t available on streaming, it largely flew under the radar. I honestly kind of forgot about it until Pitchfork gave it the number one spot in its year-end list. In retrospect, I’m not entirely sure how, though. Los Thuthanaka sounds like nothing else. It’s joyous, jagged, and sounds like it’s being blasted out of a broken Bluetooth speaker in your neighbor’s backyard — it’s glorious.

The follow-up EP Wak’a turns down the tempo and smooths some of the sharper edges. It uses the same sound palette of blown-out speakers and sampled traditional Bolivian instruments that’s equal parts pluderphonics and psychedelic rock. But Wak’a is just as indebted to shoegaze. Its chord progressions and melodies are more wistful, the guitars drenched in fuzz and reverb. There are horns and keys that peek through the mix like half-forgotten memories of other songs.

It’s rare for a movie to get technology right. And it’s even rarer for that movie to be a thriller or horror, where realism takes a backseat to scares and tension. But Red Rooms mostly gets it. Nothing takes me out of a film quicker than a tech MacGuffin that might as well be literal magic. Yes, the phrase “dark web” will always sound a bit silly, but at no point during its 118 minutes does the tech become a distraction.

It’s not the tech that makes Red Rooms great, though. It’s just something that could have easily tanked an otherwise excellent movie. What carries the film is the expert tension building by director Pascal Plante. The perfect slow-burn pacing. And the incredible performances by Juliette Gariépy as Kelly-Anne and Laurie Babin as Clémentine.

Last week’s recommendation, Sotomayor’s Wabi Sabi, has a very particular vibe that you don’t find in a lot of records. One of the few things it called to mind was 2022’s Topical Dancer from Charlotte Adigery and Bolis Pupul, which I ended up revisiting this week a lot.

The two records don’t seem particularly alike on the surface. But they’re both rough around the edges smash-ups of electronic and organic elements packaged for dance-floor abandon. The way the sounds and rhythms click together feels very much of the same ilk.

Shout out to subscriber N_Gorski for today’s pick. They popped into the comments on last week’s recommendation to ask what I thought of the new Sotomayor record. Well, I hadn’t actually heard it yet, but now I’m obsessed.

The group consists of siblings Raul and Paulina Sotomayor from Mexico City. Wabi Sabi is their first record since 2020’s Origenes, and it is pure joy. You can look back through everything I’ve recommended over the last several months, and “fun” is not how you’d describe most of it. But that’s what Wabi Sabi is — it’s fun, chaotic, and dancey as hell.

The opening notes of “Kravitz,” which kicks off Mabe Fratti’s 2024 record Sentir Que No Sabes, are lodged in my brain permanently. It’s not a showy album, by any means. But there’s something about the buzzing of her cello, plucked as you might an upright bass. The way the notes ring out before coming to an abrupt stop, fuzz still hanging in the air, set against a simple kick and snare sat firmly in the pocket. There’s something industrial about the way it all comes together, like a jazzy “Closer.”

Then come Fratti’s paranoid lyrics in Spanish about ears in the ceiling and someone listening through the walls, and the slightly atonal horn blasts. In the back half, the arrangement blooms with big piano chords, and the drums pick up steam. It’s the perfect opening to a record that sees Fratti taking her experimental impulses and working them into something that more closely resembles pop music, straying further from her avant-garde roots.

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Laurie Spiegel for the site. As preparation for the interview, I spent a lot of time over the last couple of weeks revisiting Spiegel’s records, most notably The Expanding Universe, her 1980 masterpiece that blends synth experimentalism with early examples of what would eventually be called ambient music, and algorithmic composition techniques. It’s a marvel that sounds both nostalgic and cutting-edge at the same time.

Tracks like “Patchwork” and “A Folk Study” dabble in the sort of bouncy arpeggios that beg comparisons to The Who’s “Baba O’Riley,” while “Old Wave” and “East River Dawn” conjure early M83 or Boards of Canada. The palette she draws from is buzzing with life and timeless, rarely dating itself in the way her later (also excellent) record Unseen Worlds does, as it occasionally dabbles in FM bells.

Let me just say that I highly recommend you go into Possession blind. Don’t watch a trailer. Don’t even finish reading this. Go watch it now over on Shudder, Criterion, or Metrograph. It’s also available through Kanopy or Hoopla if your library provides access. Then come back so we can talk about it in the comments. Though this probably isn’t one for the squeamish.

Warning: Spoilers ahead.

Often, I focus on recommending older media that isn’t currently getting a ton of attention. But this week, I can’t stop listening to the new Mandy, Indiana album long enough to even think about anything else. It’s early still, obviously, but URGH is my favorite release of 2026 so far. The band that I fell in love with on I’ve Seen a Way has found an entirely new gear.

Frontwoman Valentine Caulfield is even more uncompromising. Most of the lyrics are in French, but even if you don’t know what she’s saying, you can feel the contempt. On “Magazine” she’s spitting in your face as she seethes:

New York City got hit with a hell of a snowstorm last week. And, inevitably, when I’m watching the snow fall, wandering the oddly quiet streets after dark, people hiding inside and staying warm, I put on M83’s sophomore record, Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts.

Before Nicolas Fromageau left the band and Anthony Gonzalez embraced traditional pop song structures, saxophone solos, and teen angst, M83 released two albums of mostly instrumental music. The self-titled debut album is kind of forgettable, but the second one finds the French duo taking inspiration from the repetitive bombast of Mogwai and Godspeed You! Black Emperor. Dead Cities is a decidedly French twist on post-rock grandeur, building blankets of sound from drum machines, analog synths, and heavily compressed guitar.

Billy Woods has one of the highest batting averages in the game. Between his solo records like Hiding Places and Maps, and his collaborative albums with Elucid as Armand Hammer, the man has multiple stone-cold classics under his belt. And, while no one would ever claim that Woods’ albums were light-hearted fare (these are not party records), Golliwog represents his darkest to date.

This is not your typical horrorcore record. Others, like Geto Boys, Gravediggaz, and Insane Clown Posse, reach for slasher aesthetics and shock tactics. But what Billy Woods has crafted is more A24 than Blumhouse.

Things that H.P. Lovecraft was good at: Creating a mythos. Building atmosphere.

Things that H.P. Lovecraft was bad at: Writing dialog. Creating compelling characters. Not being a racist.