Flyte

To make their fourth album, Between You and Me, Flyte — Will Taylor and Nick Hill — set out to return to something raw and instinctual. Just weeks before joining legendary producer Ethan Johns (Paul McCartney, Laura Marling, Ray LaMontagne) in his rural studio, the duo began writing at a small window table in Taylor’s North East London flat. They wanted to see what would happen if they didn’t overthink their songs, if they simply sang about their lives in the moment—candid reflections on love, fallibility, and staying vulnerable. They didn’t fuss over demos or arrangements; they just wanted to capture the feelings, and they let Johns' intuition guide them from the beginning.

The result, Between You And Me, is described here as the most affecting and singular album in Flyte’s discography: a stirring and recognizable map of what it means to come of age as musicians, friends, and people. It suggests how much one can grow, sprouting even from the darker corners of our existence.

Taylor and Hill have long aimed to make Flyte records feel emotionally complete, and Between You and Me is portrayed as feeling lived in—like a series of diary entries set to harmony. These songs don’t just reflect who Flyte are now; they capture how they got here, moment by moment, with every chord and lyric a testament to trust, growth, and real-time reckoning.

After the success of their 2023 self-titled album, Flyte, the band has become known for their "vocal chemistry" (The Needle Drop) and musical "harmony" (Rolling Stone), and for developing a tight-knit circle of creatives.

• Past collaborations include Laura Marling, Billie Marten, Madison Cunningham, Bombay Bicycle Club, The Staves, and Florence Pugh.
• They have made fans of artists like Sigrid and Holly Humberstone.

Ken Pomeroy will break your heart. She’ll do it with a single line—sometimes, just one word. The pain begins as an empathetic ache, and as Pomeroy sings her stories, you begin to see yourself in her hurt and hope. "We’re in this together," the writing suggests.

Pomeroy’s outstretched hand to the wounded manifests as startlingly good songs. Her soprano is comforting—almost sweet—but can be most powerful when delivering a devastating line. A deft guitarist, she opts for beds of rootsy strings that can soothe or haunt. But it’s her writing that really shines and stings. "Writing was and is the only way I can fully express an emotion and feel like I got it out," she says. "I feel like once I get it out into a song, I don’t have to worry about it anymore. If it’s a traumatic thing that happened, I kind of act as if it’s gone." Pomeroy creates a wild but safe space of her own—a space that, like 22-year-old Pomeroy herself, is brutally honest, proudly Native American, and undeniably brilliant.

People have noticed. Pomeroy’s "Wall of Death" made its way onto the Twisters soundtrack, while Hulu’s Reservation Dogs featured her song "Cicadas." She has toured with Lukas Nelson, Iron & Wine, American Aquarium, John Moreland, and Kaitlin Butts. "A lot of really cool things are happening, but it hasn’t set in. I haven’t had time to bask in it," Pomeroy says. "Even when I started playing music, I never thought, ‘I’m a musician. I chose this life.’ I feel like something way above me pointed at me and said, ‘Okay, here’s your path.’ And I’ve just been following it kind of blindly ever since."

Raised in Moore, Oklahoma, Pomeroy is Cherokee. Her mamaw gave her the name ᎤᏍᏗ ᏀᏯ ᏓᎶᏂᎨ ᎤᏍᏗᎦ, which means "Little Wolf with Yellow Hair." Pomeroy started writing songs at 11 years old. She remembers why: "I think I wanted to be a songwriter because of John Denver. I heard ‘Jet Plane" when I was like 6, and I became infatuated with it. My stepmom burned a CD of just that song playing 18 times in a row, and I listened to that for years. That type of music was new to me. I didn’t know you could feel a certain way listening to music. And ever since then, I’ve wanted to do that for other people."

Pomeroy weaves patterns of self-reflection and self-realization into her writing. "Coyote," featuring fellow Oklahoma songwriting stalwart John Moreland, is a vulnerable admission that sometimes she has herself to blame. In Native stories, a coyote can be a troubling omen—and one with which Pomeroy often identifies. "Growing up Native, there are a lot of signs and works that include animals. Most every tale includes an animal somehow," she says. "I think that was just subconsciously ingrained in me."

That’s the point for Pomeroy—she’ll keep writing to chase the sublime satisfaction of capturing a moment or feeling that would otherwise be gone. "I want people to hear my songs and think, ‘Wow, I went through something similar, or this line reminds me of something that happened in my life. Someone else feels it, and I’m not alone,’" she says, sighing. "That’s what I want: People not feeling alone."