I saw a pigeon wearing a tiny top hat yesterday. It has absolutely nothing to do with Rich Allen's new single, "No Pinks", but, honestly, what does? The song unravels like a worn photograph, the edges blurry with regret, a silent conversation shouted in the spaces between plucked guitar strings. Allen, known around Tampa for his poignant songwriting, digs deep, like a fossil hunter...

Seishin Takeno's "Echoes," a sonic postcard from Kanagawa. Nine instrumental pieces, I've been told. Not nine songs, mind you – more like nine shaded windows into a particular kind of quiet. This isn't music that yells; it leans in, like a friend confiding a secret you half-hear on a summer porch. Immediately, you're not so much listening as remembering. Or maybe anticipating. It feels...