Somewhere between psychedelic daydream and Sunday morning reality lives Löwenzahnhonig — a band as tender and unpredictable as their name suggests. Founded on a whim during a jam session in Zürich in late 2021, the trio of Fai Baba, Long Tall Jefferson, and Paul Märki (ex-Black Sea Dahu) never meant to start a band. But when three people who’ve played hundreds of shows, written many albums, and still aren’t tired of the next chord come together, songs happen. Fast.

Their second album Kirschblütenboogie (2025) continues what began with their acclaimed self-titled debut — a lovingly loose, subtly crafted collection of instrumental tunes that feel like a warm breeze through strange weather. Music that dances somewhere between Khruangbin’s mellow psych-funk, Hermanos Gutiérrez’ desert blues, and the woozy elegance and cinematic quality of Connan Mockasin or Mac Demarco.

At once unhurried and emotionally tuned, Löwenzahnhonig’s music seems to do nothing — until you realise everything has changed around it. With no lyrics to explain themselves, their songs speak in texture, tone, and tiny shifts: spare, slow-burning, and deeply human.

Call it instrumental folk, call it psychedelic minimalism, call it slowcore for soft hearts. Whatever it is, this music pairs well with early train rides, late-night pasta, slow dancing in the kitchen, and existential dread — held gently, at low volume. Also reportedly effective for writing, studying, putting kids to sleep, and calming dogs with unexpectedly good taste.