Atwood Magazine's Weekly Summary: January 9, 2026

      Every Friday, the team at Atwood Magazine shares their current musical discoveries—whether it's a song, album, or artist that has resonated with them recently. This week's selections highlight music from Mon Rovîa, Zach Bryan, ROSALÍA, Oneohtrix Point Never, McKenna Esteb, Connie Constance, Kings of Leon, Blue Capricorn, Black Taffy, Work Wife, Where's West?, Nia Perez, Peter DiMaggio, The Barons, Natalie Del Carmen, Rina Rain, Konrad Kinard, Lavaud, Pardison Fontaine, Perspective., Zuko Sian, and DLG.

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      :: Bloodline – Mon Rovîa ::

      Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York

      When a Mon Rovîa song begins, a unique kind of stillness descends—not complete silence, but a space that allows for reflection. From the opening notes of "Bloodline," released today (January 9) via Nettwerk, a comforting warmth envelops you: enchanting folk handcrafted with tender harmonies, gentle melodies, and a genuine ache that feels authentic. The music invites you in without haste, opening its arms for you to embrace.

      In his long-anticipated debut album, Mon Rovîa amplifies the emotional depth he's cultivated over the years. His strength lies in balance—juxtaposing expansive thoughts about our contemporary world with intimate explorations of identity, legacy, and hope. In the titular song, he reflects, “Ten thousand roads I’ve walked on my own / Further I go, I’m closer to my ghost,” viewing lineage as a journey to be carried, questioned, and ultimately claimed. "Bloodline" flows consistently—reflective, yet inclusive, personal without closing in. The songs resonate deeply, belonging to anyone who chooses to listen.

      The universality of Mon Rovîa's writing has always held quiet strength. When he queries “Whose face am I?” against the backdrop of searching guitars, the inquiry extends beyond personal history to a collective search for identity intertwined with memory and inheritance. In "Heavy Foot," compassion transforms into clarity, addressing themes of power and survival with humanity: “Love me now / Hold me down / And the government’s staying on heavy foot.” Even at its most explicit, the album remains open-hearted, driven by empathy rather than resentment.

      In the end, "Bloodline" captivates not only with its ethereal arrangements or emotionally rich performances but with what it offers the listener: validation. Mon Rovîa explores movement, migration, sorrow, and fortitude, but what resonates most is the sense of being acknowledged. His folk artistry enchants, embodies persistent ache, and reaches out consistently. By detailing his personal narrative, he highlights a shared truth—that we are all influenced by our past and learn to carry it forward graciously.

      :: With Heaven on Top – Zach Bryan ::

      Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York

      There's no gradual entrance with "With Heaven On Top." It bursts forth like a swinging door, ushering in a torrent of memory, yearning, and discomfort that you can't ignore. Zach Bryan expresses a desire to convey the unvarnished reality of our times—messy and complex. This record serves as a sobering glimpse into American life as it transitions from 2025 into 2026.

      Spanning 25 tracks, "With Heaven On Top" is an extensive project that shuns easy listening; it demands time, replay, and a willingness to engage with its contradictions. Bryan's reputation as a storyteller shines through—his music demonstrates a disregard for expectations, focusing instead on a raw expression of his artistic compulsion. The highs and lows of the album are equally intense, oscillating between vibrant energy and contemplative stillness.

      One of the most notable aspects of "With Heaven On Top" is its fearless embrace of sprawl. Bryan doesn’t trim or simplify for convenience; he allows the album to unfold like an unwinding road trip without a clear destination. Thematically, songs intertwine, exploring memory, masculinity, obligation, regret, and heritage. The arrangement mirrors life’s moments, where mundane experiences hold as much significance as the grand gestures, capturing the essence of a life in transit.

      The spoken-word opening "Down, Down, Stream" sets the emotional tone for what’s to follow, steeped in nostalgia and yearning, reflecting on existence and the continuous search for meaning—an insight into life's momentum that keeps going, regardless of readiness. This sense of yearning is strikingly clear in "Bad News," often referred to online as the “ICE song,” serving as a haunting commentary on American life in 2026. When Bryan sings, “I got some bad news, the fading of the red, white, and blue,” it resonates with profound melancholy, lamenting the decline of the American dream and the relentless