Somewhere between psychedelic daydream and Sunday morning reality lives  — a band as tender and unpredictable as their name suggests. Formed on a whim in Zürich in late 2021, the trio of ,  and  (ex-) never meant to start a band. But when three musicians who’ve played hundreds of shows and made many albums come together, songs happen. Fast.

Their second album Kirschblütenboogie (2025) follows their acclaimed debut — a lovingly loose, subtly crafted collection of instrumental tunes that feel like a warm breeze through strange weather. The music drifts between Khruangbin’s mellow psych-funk, Hermanos Gutiérrez’ desert blues, and the cinematic elegance of Connan Mockasin or Mac Demarco.

Unhurried and emotionally tuned, Löwenzahnhonig’s music seems to do nothing — until you notice everything has changed. With no lyrics, the songs speak in texture, tone, and tiny shifts: spare, slow-burning, deeply human.

Call it instrumental folk, psychedelic minimalism, or slowcore for soft hearts. It pairs well with early train rides, late-night pasta, slow dancing in the kitchen, existential dread — and is also known to calm kids, dogs, and distracted minds.