Wherever you are in the world: good morning, good afternoon, good evening, good night. It is time for your 5 a day.

One day, the UK government said, "You should eat 5 portions of fruit or veg[etables] per day." Turns out you should probably eat more than that. But we think it's pretty catchy, so we've hijacked it. Here we'll list FIVE pieces of music per DAY that we think you should check out. As the Italians say, we'll be catching two pigeons with one bean (prendere due piccioni con una fava): we help spread the word about MORE artists, plus we're giving YOU more music to listen to. It's all a joy for us, really!

We enter today's selection via synth-tastic sun-warped portal, devonwho's creation, and pass by the pizzicato strings, drumrolls and general triumph of 'On My Mind' by Dallas Cotton, the rumbling nocturnality and Adele-sampling 'Sunless' by Plaster Cast (fka Malta) from an upcoming EP on Zoom Lens, then smooth vocals of Gallant appear in the darkly energetic 'Talking In Your Sleep' before we arrive at our journey's end: the alternative melancholy piano ballad that is 'Elevator' by Eddi Front.

Entering a dreamworld: What are you looking for? What do you seek? Blank, no answer. Explore it, experience it. There are no goals.

In this dreamworld you emerge from a lightly wooded area onto vast plains that suddenly fall away into a leviathan of a canyon network; as soon as you set eyes on it you find yourself carried away by a breeze, suspended like a bird of prey hovering above the ancient gouges through the ground.

A sudden dusk falls – but it's not dusk. You are in fact lost in an intestinal labyrinth of subterranean tunnels; the air is warm and suffocating; the walls glow bruised indigo, orange, teal; you stumble across a room, a cathedralic cavern, whereupon crossing its threshold causes your thoughts to slow, your heart to beat sluggishly, your legs moving against some invisible and terrible viscosity. At its centre the room houses a single speck of bright light suspended at eye level; as you get closer time seems to move ever slower.

Without thinking – there are no thoughts when time is at a virtual standstill – your hand gradually reaches up to touch the blinding speck of light. All at once your senses are dulled and heightened at the same time; the sensation of falling is intense, yet your mind remains blank, if not blanker than before.

"Emergency awakening initiated." The computer speaks. You sit up on the futonesque bed. Your brain aches. All in front, through a thin window, blackness and a scatterment of stars. What happened, you think. The computer replies, "Dream sequence aborted due to increased risk of severe existential trauma." You're in a pod with barely enough room to stand. You look through the circular side window; you can make out a few other pods, the number increasing with each second you stare out. An exodus. "What happened?" you say aloud. The computer does not respond.