Green Banana

  You’ve Got Male!  finds riot-grrrl mischief-makers WENCH ! joining forces with our favourite electro party-punk dynamo Jodie Langford to create a track that feels like a feminist prank call set to a dance-floor-ready riot. It’s fast, loud, and delightfully fed up—like someone finally pressed the “mute” button on bad takes from mediocre men, then wrote a chorus about it. Recorded at The Warren’s in-house studio and sprinkled with Adam Pattrick’s indie-alchemist production, the song is the first cheeky wink from their upcoming Warren Records collaboration. The concept is simple: dunking on the ridiculous things men say about women. And not subtly. We’re talking a full Olympic-level dive. WENCH! and Langford take aim at those “misogynistic mole-rats” who believe women are flawless holograms created by Photoshop and expensive moisturiser. These are the guys who think “femininity” is a personality trait available only in limited-edition Instagram filters. The track skewers them ...

Bad Peach ’s new single “ My MetroCard ” is the punky, spunky, attitude-drenched farewell anthem you never knew you needed for a small piece of plastic that ruled New York City for three decades. From the first jagged guitar jab, the band makes it clear: this isn’t just a song about public transport. It’s a love letter, a roast, and a nostalgic group hug for anyone who ever swiped, sighed, swore, or celebrated their way through the city’s turnstiles since 1994. Written when NPR first announced that OMNY would replace the iconic MetroCard, the track feels like a time capsule bursting open. Bad Peach shout-sing the joys and miseries of the old yellow-and-blue rectangle—those glorious “insufficient fare” surprises, the frantic upside-down swipes, the heroic sprint as the train doors beep. And yes, the band also slyly salutes the global tribe of commuters; Oyster users in London, Suica holders in Tokyo, T-Money carriers in Seoul—anyone who has ever trusted their journey to a piece of plast...

  Patrick Wilde comes out swinging — and possibly tripping over a loose amp cable — with “ Will You Be There ,” a punk rock fireball that takes a blowtorch to performative allyship. From the opening blast of distortion, the track sprints forward like it’s late for Pride and forgot its glitter. Wilde’s voice snarls with the glorious energy of someone who’s officially run out of patience for rainbow capitalism and has decided to express this through maximum volume. The heart of the single is its perfectly delivered call-out: “It’s easy to wave a rainbow flag during Pride. But will you still be there when we’re under fire?” In other words: thank you for your seasonal rainbow latte, but where exactly are you on the other 364 days? Wilde skewers the sort of “allies” who proudly post a flag emoji but vanish faster than limited-edition Pride merchandise. Musically, the track throws elbows with the punchy chaos of IDLES, the swaggering riffs of Queens of the Stone Age, and the political g...

  Ursanta is back—and he’s brought receipts.  “ I Spend All My Money on Black Friday ”  is his festive confession disguised as a song, a jolly plea for help wrapped in retro swing, rock ’n’ roll sparkle, and the kind of cheer you only get after buying twelve things you absolutely didn’t need but they were 40% off, so actually you saved money. Sort of. From the first beat, the track swirls with vintage bounce, the kind that makes you imagine Santa in a zoot suit doing finger guns at passing elves. Ursanta’s full DIY magic is here again: he writes, produces, mixes, and probably personally polishes every sleigh bell. The vocals—shared with his ever-radiant wife, Mrs. Ursanta—feel like a festive comedy double act debating whether buying a third air fryer is “an investment.” Lyrically, the song nails the universal Black Friday experience: promising yourself you’ll behave, then emerging from the weekend surrounded by packages you don’t even remember ordering. The discounts wer...

  Kasador ’s “ Big Man Keane ” doesn’t politely introduce itself—it kicks the door off its hinges, swigs a beer, and screams about the apocalypse. It’s a gloriously unhinged cocktail of Tom Morello’s guitar pyrotechnics and the spit-flecked punk mania of Amyl & The Sniffers and Idles, served shaken, not stirred, and definitely not safe for the neighbours. The riffs rip like a power tool on caffeine, and the drums sound like they’re trying to overthrow the government. Frontman Cam Wyatt is in full prophet-of-doom mode, hollering about America’s love affair with sensationalist news—the kind where whoever yells the loudest wins, and everyone else loses their soul. He skewers the media circus that rewards big lies, bad takes, and moral rot like it’s prime-time entertainment. Somewhere between the lines, you can hear him asking: “How did we get from empathy to endorsing bombing children?” (Spoiler: it’s the ratings.) But this isn’t just finger-wagging—Wyatt’s having too much fun set...

  Alternative artist  Sarah Durbin  has taken Catholic guilt, plugged it into an amp, and cranked it to eleven with her gloriously unholy new single, “ Sister Mary Catherine .” It’s less a song and more a punk-rock exorcism—complete with eye rolls, power chords, and the faint scent of burning incense. In Durbin’s deliciously twisted universe, Sister Mary Catherine was such a dreadful nun that even Hell couldn’t ignore her résumé. Now she’s running the place—and Satan’s out of a job. “I hope her ghost hears it and hates it,” Durbin declares, which might just be the most punk-rock prayer ever uttered. The track itself is a riotous cocktail of snarling guitars, pounding drums, and choir-like harmonies that sound like a Sunday service gone off the rails. It’s a middle finger to shame, dogma, and every nun who ever confiscated a mixtape. The music video is equally divine and deranged, channeling The Nun for the spook factor, Scream for the camp, and The Craft for that moody, e...

  Detroit’s underground  resident trickster  Alex Wilcox  is here, and he’s not pulling any punches. His new single, cheekily titled “ FUCK THAT ,” is less a polite invitation to dance and more a demand to surrender your frontal lobe to the beat. Consider this a warning: if you’re the type to clutch pearls at expletives, this one isn’t for you. But if you relish abrasive vocal samples and the kind of rhythms that rattle drywall and test your neighbor’s patience, you’re in for a treat. Wilcox thrives on controlled chaos, and “FUCK THAT” is no exception. The track loops profanity like a weapon, weaving it into a web of twitchy techno beats that crawl under your skin and make your body twitch whether you like it or not. There’s a playful absurdity to the repetition—it doesn’t just shock, it teases, becoming both mantra and menace. What makes it shine is the tension between precision and mischief. This isn’t sloppy noise—it’s South...

  “ GDD, ” the latest single from Leeds’ unruly collective Sleuth Gang , is a three-headed beast of a track — loud, sharp, and impossible to pin down. With three vocalists trading verses like blows in a back-alley brawl, the song feels like a manifesto delivered through clenched teeth and grinning defiance. Sleuth Gang’s signature fusion of punk, rap, and hardcore bleeds through every second, a sonic whirlwind powered by twin guitars, a thunderous rhythm section, and sheer adrenaline. Lyrically, “GDD” tackles the seductive danger of false idols — those who twist belief into obedience and profit from devotion. Each verse brings a different lived perspective, creating a dialogue rather than a sermon. One snarls with frustration, another spits with satire, and a third steps back to question the cycle of blind worship. It’s rebellion wrapped in razor wire, but also deeply self-aware — Sleuth Gang know they’re not just pointing fingers; they’re asking listeners to question who they foll...

  Filthy Filthy ’s “ Bad Apple ” isn’t here to sit quietly in the fruit bowl—it’s the song that rolls off the counter, bruises itself on the tile, and still insists on starting a mosh pit in your kitchen. With raunchy, racy guitar riffs and a bassline meatier than a late-night drive-thru burger, this track is built to be loud, sweaty, and joyfully obnoxious. From the first chord, “Bad Apple” screams for chaos. The pop-punk sensibility is undeniable, but instead of whining about suburbia, Filthy Filthy crank out an infectious chorus that practically begs you to lose your voice shouting along. It’s the kind of hook that sneaks into your head uninvited, then refuses to leave—like that one party guest who won’t stop air-drumming on your furniture. This song isn’t about sophistication. It’s about punching the air like you’re suddenly in a stadium, even if you’re just in your bedroom wearing pajamas. It’s about turning up the volume high enough that your neighbors reconsider their life c...

  If Halloween had a doorbell, it would sound exactly like massie99 ’s new single, “ Ding Ding Bitch .” Produced by Taylor Dubray, this track is the musical equivalent of a jump scare followed by a belly laugh. It’s short, sharp, and punky enough to knock your candy corn straight onto the carpet—but charming enough that you’ll shrug and grab another handful. From the first riff, it’s clear this isn’t your average spooky-season playlist filler. Think Drew Barrymore in  Scream  if she’d dropped the phone and picked up a mic, or  The Purge  reimagined with glitter, eyeliner, and Franzia boxed wine. It’s bratty girl punk with a crooked grin, delivering both menace and mischief in under three minutes. And the references? Chef’s kiss. One moment you’re sipping cheap wine, the next you’re stuck listening to your boyfriend butcher Sublime’s “Santeria” at the afterparty—except this time, it’s fun. That messy, chaotic energy is exactly what makes “Ding Ding Bitch” stick. ...

  Strange Pink ’s new single, “ My Friend and You ”, doesn’t so much walk into the room as kick the door off its hinges and demand you buy it a pint.  From the first filthy throb of Eddie Alan Logie’s bass, you know you’re in for something gloriously scruffy. Sam Forrest’s guitar rasps and scratches like it’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, while Dom Smith’s drums push everything forward with the confidence of someone who knows chaos can, in fact, be highly organised. It’s punk at heart, but there’s a woozy, psychedelic shimmer lurking beneath the grit—as if Sonic Youth decided to try meditation, but then got bored and started a bar fight instead. The band’s pedigree is nothing to sniff at: Forrest has already proven his knack for noise with Nine Black Alps and Sewage Farm, while Logie and Smith have sharpened their claws across Yorkshire’s underground. Together, they sound like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment to let loose. And then there’s Smith himself—a d...

  Bureau De Change ’s new single   Office Chair   (out August 8th) is the anthem nobody asked for but every weary office worker desperately needs. If you’ve returned from your summer holidays with a tan, a bad attitude, and a deep hatred of the phrase “touch base,” this one’s for you. The track opens with guitars that sound like a printer jam set to a beat, while the bassline trudges forward like a worker on their fifth coffee of the morning, still somehow half-asleep. Vocals arrive with the same energy you’d muster at a “mandatory fun” Friday, dripping with sarcasm as they call out the absurd rituals of office life: buzzword bingo, passive-aggressive Post-it notes, and the unholy horror of a “cake for Karen’s birthday” email thread. Lyrically, it’s less a protest song and more a group chat message set to music—the kind you’d whisper to your desk neighbour while pretending to look at spreadsheets. It’s a ballad for the ones silently counting down to 5:30, eyeing the clock...