October is an odd, transitional month. Cold mornings give way to scalding afternoons, an endless loop of taking off your jacket just to put it back on.
On July 1st, 2026, New Orleans based artist Adam Richard released “Animal Fear,” his first project since 2020. The album’s production is sparse: a lo-fi hiss is present within each track that serves as an instrument in its own right, setting the scene for Adam’s wistful lyrics and gentle acoustic guitar.
Animal Fear is an album of remembrances and departures, of leaving an old life behind, unsure of what’s next to come. This theme is felt most strongly on the track “Halfway,” where Adam muses “Halfway a feeling/Halfway a pain//I am a formless heat.”
Adam’s lyrics are frequently abstract, which gives these songs a timeless universality, the sense that they have existed for decades, waiting for us to discover them. Musings about lovers, mothers, and brothers, refracted through unfiltered recollections.
Standouts on the album for me include the third track “Big Safe River,” a look back on a relationship with someone as memorable as they are absent (Three years ago, I fell in love/With a lover above, but somehow below), and ninth track “Steppin,” which ends with the sucker-punch of a line “You are what I wanted/But, I do not want what I needed/When I was caged.”
Animal Fear is the perfect album for this coming fall, just right for a meditative walk around the neighborhood, or a stint in the rocking chair on the porch. As the seasons change right in front of our eyes, Adam Richard invites us to think about our own bygones, with no rush to determine where we’re meant to go from here. For now, the existence of the memory itself is enough.
Chicago is heating up, and so is Jack Brereton, as he releases Jenny + Ash with Earth Libraries Subsidiary. You may have seen Jack play before, as this wickedly talented musician has been known to hit the drums for artists like Elizabeth Moen and fill in for a number of other Chicago legends. So, it should come as no surprise that Brereton is putting out another indie rock album under his own name, and it’s nothing short of fantastic.
“G+T” kicks off the album as a sure-to-be fan-favorite. It’s fun and upbeat, but it’s also a precautionary tale that sets the tone for the album. Without context, the iconic line “slamming gin and tonics like a superstar” may sound like the start to a summer anthem, but in reality, Brereton wrote the song about a father who is unhappy with his place in life, hoping his daughter doesn’t follow in his footsteps. It’s the perfect introduction to this story-of-an-album, and it’s certainly one you’ll come back to. With a seamless transition from “G+T,” comes “L.A.,” where synth and a steady drum beat fill the background of this tale about moving. Here, the lyrics touch on the discomfort of change, missing old habits, and with the help of others, finding solace in the new. For me, the most shocking part about these first two songs is that neither one of them was released as a single. While both of these tunes could easily stand alone, they are stronger as pieces of a story, and this fact alone quickly establishes Jenny + Ash as a no-skip album.
The first single released from Jenny + Ash was “Firestart.” Brereton mentions that where “L.A.” was developed for character introductions, “Firestart” dives into the motive and backstory behind said characters. With verse one of “Firestart” coming from Jenny’s point of view, the second coming from Ash’s, and the chorus interchanging between the two, this song perfectly encapsulates the conversational feel that makes the album so unique. It also ends with a loud drum crash that seems to mimic the end of something: a fizzling out, or a crash and a burn. And with that, “Firestart” does everything Brereton intended for it to do, and more.
A highlight of the album comes shortly after in “Clean Again,” with a quick shoutout to Chicago and the Empty Bottle, the location of the Jenny + Ash album release show. OG Jack Brereton fans will be quick to recognize the song that follows as a remake (so-to-speak) of the standout track from Songs For My Steamroller, “Driftsnow.” This new version of the song, “Driftsnow 2,” is a little more melancholic, and it’s always fun to compare and contrast an artist’s old and new work to see the evolution of their music. My favorite song off of the record, “Roof Rack,” is clear and to the point with lyrics “I don’t want your pity applause as I sit on the roof rack of this car, luggage you chose to drag along.” The use of the word luggage instead of baggage creates more physical imagery to match the title of the song, while keeping the lyrics an allusion to the popular metaphor “emotional baggage.” The whole song is just a punch to the gut in the best way possible, and it’s fair to say that most people have lived this narrative at some point in time, whether it be in a romantic relationship or otherwise. “I can jump at any time, but I’m still holding on/holding on to something that I hold on.” The song “Father” rounds out this, as I will coin it, “sad middle chunk” of the record, by calling back to lyrics from “G+T.” The song starts with “If you want me I’ll be drinking at the bar, but I don’t want to see your face when I’m there.” It completes the storyline in a cyclical manner, unveiling all of the messiness that the upbeat nature of “G+T” couldn’t. Where you can listen to “G+T” without really realizing what it’s about, there’s no getting around the meaning of “Father.” In my opinion, this song is the keystone of the album.
The last three songs of the record seem to fly by. “Holly” is sweet, with beautiful phrasing. It’s one of those “sunshine and rainbows” type of songs where it almost sounds like you can hear the artist smiling as they are singing. The subsequent song, “Long While” really threw me for a loop with the creepy, dying, animatronic chatter overtop. It sounded like it came straight out of a horror movie and it definitely brings you back to the reality of the storyline, where after cheery “Holly,” you realize that not everything can be “sunshine and rainbows,” at least not all the time. “Iron Key,” the last song on the record, is where you hear a shift from the mention of the character Ash, to Ashley. Surrounding the narrator and Ashley’s discussion about their relationship is a faint chatter that simulates sitting in a coffee shop. There’s a feeling of defeat and acceptance in this song, as the combination of the song’s lyrics and the voices layered on top seem to exhibit the realness of having problems that seem very life-stopping, while the rest of the world goes on. It’s the perfect outro to this album and this story.
With this record, Brereton gives fans about a hundred puzzle pieces, and it’s up to the listener to put them together. And, while I’m sure there is a “right” way to do so, the album is enjoyable even if the listener never connects any dots. Jenny + Ash is an album you can listen to over and over, and discover something new each time…making it high on the list of albums you definitely need to listen to.
Jenny + Ash is out now on all streaming platforms and you can find the most updated information about Brereton’s live performances on his Instagram @unclemirin.
My initial introduction to MESH was on the first night of Providence Popfest. I think I remember being positive about their set; alas, they had the misfortune of being directly followed by three of the best bands of the weekend in Touch Girl Apple Blossom, Good Flying Birds, and Pylon Reenactment Society, so I didn’t really have any time to sit with my thoughts. With the release of No Fun at All, I finally have the time to give MESH proper consideration, and I truly like what I hear.
From first impressions, MESH doesn’t exactly sound like someone you’d expect to play at the same festival as the Softies, Dear Nora, or Mirah, but we all know appearances can be deceiving. Maybe it’s just Allison Irwin’s 12-string guitar talking, but the more I listen to No Fun At All, the more I feel like it sounds like the Byrds’ Fifth Dimension. Not in the sense of resembling one of those jangle pop revival bands who are “stuck holding on to the past,” as Sims Hardin admonishes in the opening lines of the album, but instead dismantling the Byrds and reconstructing them into a post-punk context.
Unlike Roger McGuinn, Irwin doesn’t attempt to channel Coltrane, but she keeps the darker tone and extra bite of Fifth Dimension. Similarly, Tom Riese’s bass has a similar heat to that of Chris Hillman’s. The result isn’t psychedelic, but it maintains the pervasive sense of paranoia, which is perhaps even more fitting for this album than it was for the Byrds in 1966. While the Byrds were mostly nonspecific in that regard, sticking to generalities like “I don’t know what’s going on here”, MESH get specific on songs like “Violent Peasant” and “5G”, putting themselves into the mindsets of, respectively, a medieval nobleman and a right-wing conspiracy theorist.
No Fun At All, despite its name, manages to be an album that appeals to the part of me that likes fun indie pop just as much, if not more, than the part of me that wants serious post-punk. Beyond that, they’ve rocketed up to be one of the live shows I’d most like to see in the near future. After all, sometimes the most fun you can have is having No Fun at All.
In the broadest sense, A Doll for Abigail’s Self-titled debut is beautifully tragic loud music. It crosses the jagged, yet blurry line between the worlds of Screamo and Post-hardcore. Chicago continues to be a city filled with creatives seeing what musical boundaries they can push next. A Doll for Abigail is a prime example of this.
“A Day from Today” gives an introduction into what this band is capable of. The violin work played by StefanÍa Quiñones is weaved throughout this first track seamlessly, right up against a pummeling rhythm section. The violin serves as this melodic bookend throughout the album. Track two, “Gray Sky”, is your classic screamo number with the chaotic, back and forth screams of main vocalist/bassist Cole Rickert, as well as from drummer J Caboose and guitarist Sean Paul Matt Jr. The bridge of this song was very reminiscent of Bullets-Era My Chemical Romance (which I’m sure there’s more callbacks to this era of Emo/Screamo I haven’t caught yet).
Track six, “Love”, is the album’s longest song, just under three minutes and thirty seconds. It’s a song laced with so much tension and release, where the guitar riffs build and then ring out over Rickert’s outpour of emotion in lyrical form. Hearing the lines “It doesn’t take much to soften up your heart” and then into “And Love” screamed over beautiful, searing riffs is sure to make you want to put your head in your hands and take it all in. “Step Up to the Plate” was another hard hitter. A fun, bouncy track, filled with dueling riffs, and loud/soft parts down in classic screamo fashion. “Lieutenant Dan” is also another track I could definitely see myself screaming the words back, when I get a chance to see these guys live.
“Hope Against Hope” serves as the perfect closer to this album. A perfectly haunting track once again laced with beautiful Violin double stops atop a finger-plucked acoustic guitar. The album is a cathartic listen- even at its softest moments. A fiery debut for A Doll for Abigail.
You can listen to A Doll for Abigail wherever you find your music.
The times they are a’changin, and if The Byrds were the soundtrack to the ‘60s, then the soundtrack to The Year 2026 is screaming. Just a lot of screaming. Sonically, this is harder to do in a compelling way than the modern listener may suspect. In order for a musician to scream in a way that is compelling and not contrived, it must be sincere, cannot be stylized, and absolutely has to come from a voice that sounds like it’s been alive for a hundred years. Even the untrained/cirrhosed ear has an “insincerity-radar” that could cut a diamond. Indeed, Jake King’s 7 minute 45 second tape “Rock & Roll” does not sound stylized, or self-conscious, or (to those who seek pleasure rather than catharsis from their albums) even all that attractive. This is the point. Like so many others in 2026, Your Reporter has eagerly been awaiting the Second Coming, and King’s “Rock & Roll” is it. Not since Sonic Youth’s “Confusion Is Sex / Kill Yr Idols” or Captain Beefheart’s “Trout Mask Replica” has a capsule been released that is so tough to listen to yet so damn good. In fact, it’s the best thing that’s come across Your Reporter’s desk all year.
Seasoned heads may recognize Jake King from the Buffalo, N.Y.-based TTTT or from his eponymous solo project – which (surprise) has historically leant more toward what King calls “quiet/freak-folk” in the past. Whether those days are over remains to be seen. But, it is the repugnant opinion of your reporter that the modern music scene is – has been – suffering from a waterboard-level surplus of “quiet folk” singers, and our water-wings popped around 2023. Something about the hyper-contemplative, tender, impotent Neil Young worship trend is (forgive us) getting old – and, worse, it’s metastasized to the point of tone-deafness against the backdrop of the world in which those vibrations are being played. The modern listener (if he has a pulse) also has rage, and lots of it. Not every songwriter has the ability to transcend these realms; King jumps the chasm with power to spare. And he left us the antidote in his instep.
If all the time you can spare for some open-wound catharsis is eight minutes on a 9-to-5 lunch break, you’re far from alone. Chances are you’ll feel less alone after hearing this fucken thing (“Are they inside the house?? Marty, I’m scared”). Nay, this is the release we’ve been waiting for. King’s label The New Disposable has, fittingly, just dropped the soundtrack to The New Youth. There’s even a killer track all about Paranoia on the record, too.
At first glance, the tape’s hand-drawn cover makes Raymond Pettibon do 80 RPM in his grave. Then, play the tape for five seconds and the “Rock & Roll” title becomes a hilariously smart, forked-tongue-in-cheek dig at the genre/pastiche. Throughout the entire tape, lofi vocals crackle over driving drum beats. There are seldom more than three chords per song. The guitar licks are full of feeling and plunge a hand into your guts. The tape’s penultimate track “Little Did I Know” is almost surf rock, but surf rock if 13th Floor Elevators had met Spacemen 3 and kicked the snot out of each other. It’s perfect. If it wasn’t made abundantly clear, your reporter is an instant and card-carrying fan.
Ears up: The “Rock & Roll” tape is out on King’s label The New Disposable on April 30th with a run of 150 copies. “This new tape is 5 fast + loud garage punk songs, released in anticipation of the new live Jake King Band,” King tells Ugly Hug. Underline “anticipation” of whatever’s on the horizon from the promised new project. Until then, we’ll be bumping this pint-sized tape, and drunkenly playing “Last Call” at fellow bar patrons foolish enough to grant us polite attention. It’s a soberingly good closer to a soberingly good (and masterfully-timed) tape.
Listen to Rock And Roll out now, as well as snag it on cassette via Jake King’s own label, The New Disposable.
Hit play on Robber Robber’s sophomore album, and you’re instantly confronted with a gritty guitar that sounds like a fucked-up foghorn, acting like a warning of what’s to come. Two Wheels Move the Soul, the latest project from the Burlington, VT quartet, is constantly in motion, oscillating between moments of calmness and chaos over the course of its 30-minute run time.
Two Wheels Move the Soul was written in the wake of Robber Robber co-founders Nina Cates and Zack James’s unexpected displacement from their home. The anxiety and loss of control is palpable across the record, which is populated with vague, slightly menacing vignettes. In opener “The Sound It Made,” Cates cooly delivers lines like “I don’t wanna get stuck like this/Climb in if you want, climb fast cause it won’t stop” over quick moving drums, boosted bass and what sounds like a revving chainsaw. It’s the first song of many to allude to unnamed, shadowy figures, in this case a “vicious man…/Says a lot that we’re with him.” Perhaps they’re referencing the landlord who decided to demolish Cates and James’s home? The unsettling feeling is accompanied well by a music video filmed in a dilapidated office space that could be part of the trailer to the new A24 Backrooms movie.
Feelings of discontent about work, property, and capitalism permeate the album. In “New Year’s Eve,” Cates acknowledges feeling ground down but needing to make money, singing “There’s human feats of genius/Then there’s what I did today.” Later on, she again addresses a seemingly hungry, mysterious figure in “It’s Perfect Out Here in The Sun,” saying “Lining up my favorite stuff/Looks perfect but it’s not to touch/And I can see you, I can see you, I can see you wanting more.”
Throughout the record, Cates plays with her voice, sliding effortlessly between quick spoken bars (inspired by Gucci Mane and Lou Reed) and sweeter, breathy singing. She settles into that softer side on second track “Avalanche Sound Effect.” Over dissonant guitars and a blown-out drum machine, her airy vocals layer over themselves, creating a dynamic ending that sounds like a roughed up Cortex song.
It’s not just the vocals on the album that move between genres—the instrumental arrangements do too. The slow, militaristic drums on lo-fi interlude “Imprint” contrast with the fast moving pace of “Talkback,” an indie-rock banger that features bright guitars and staccato bass.
The album never loses its slightly frenetic energy but seems to grow lighter as it progresses. Over harmonizing guitar lines on “Again,” Cates sings “Can on a string hangs right above my bed/I told it everything/Hope you’re on the other end.” It’s a charming picture amidst lines about sickness, bleeding and corrosion.
While Two Wheels Move the Soul was created during a time of upheaval for the band, Robber Robber found support within their Burlington community, with Cates and James staying on the couches of scene leaders like Lily Seabird. The closest place to a home emerged at Little Jamaica Studios, where they could find solace in the music with their engineer Benny Yurco. Recording the record became a respite from the uncertainty of their day to day lives, but inevitably the album is steeped in movement. Two Wheels Move the Soul makes you sit with the idea of being constantly in motion: hiding, running, slipping, speeding, dancing, punching, falling. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s rooted in truth. Life barrels on like a car with the brakes cut, and all we can do is try to keep up.
Two Wheels Move the Soul is out now on Fire Talk records. You can also purchase it on CD and vinyl.
Like rifling through an old shoebox full of photos, Sluice’s third album, Companion, listens like a stroll through dusted-off stories from the past. Capturing everything – from the most mundane moments of life to its peak insanity, Justin Morris packs the good, the bad, and the ugly into one pretty, 45-minute-long package.
Kicking off the record with single “Beadie,” Morris takes characters McNulty and Beadie of The Wire, and Sarah and Joe Pera of Joe Pera Talks With You, and turns them into characters in his own life. To those not chronically online, these references may go unnoticed; nevertheless, introducing these companions, admittedly fictional, brings Sluice’s album title to life in a matter of minutes. Mixing the on-screen dynamic duos with references to (presumably) real childhood memories, “Beadie” is an anthem for healthy parasocial relationships and the art of growing up.
One thing Companion does best is use the hell out of figurative language: from personifications to metaphors and analogies to allegories, you just can’t overlook Justin Morris’ genius way with words. In songs like “Ratchet Strap” it seems fairly obvious; the song isn’t really about a car, right? And then there are songs like “Overhead,” where, sandwiched in an ode to man’s best friend, lies a somewhat graphic depiction of human culture and its animalistic tendencies. “Like the dog sprinting after a deer/Ripping his old legs out his hips/That’d be the way I’d wanna go I say/Dad nods, he says him too.” With the glorification of this feeling, of always wanting or needing to be one step ahead, comes the abrupt realization that this modern standard isn’t necessarily “right.” “And I think about being very wrong/About needing to be the animal chasing/When you can be the sleeping dog.”
What better place to apply this message than to the two nine-minute-long songs on Companion? Though you can fit a story into three or four minutes, sometimes giving it a little more time to allow for slow progressions to hum melodically in your ears is even better. Companion proves this wonderfully. “Gator,” track number four, is full of harmonies floating above raw and honest vocals that feel very much like “New Leicester”-era Sluice. It’s full of nods to home and friendship and the difference between dying to live and living to die. Here, you could see the “companion” as any one of the many named or unnamed living beings that Sluice sings of. Whether a family member or an alligator, the companion is not seen as bigger or smaller, but rather another cog in the machine. In contrast, “Unknowing,” as the title suggests, is about a singular “companion” that may or may not exist. Here, the companion is bigger than any other, and the song follows a long stream of consciousness about believing in a higher power. The song is not meant to present the listener with a question or an answer, but more so to create a moment for Morris to reflect on his own beliefs and decision to put trust in a companion he can never truly know.
These days it often feels hard to categorize music into a genre, but Companion makes it easy. In this album, which seems almost like a collection of fables, Sluice has mastered the art of folk and the beauty of the lore it can create. With wildcards like “WTF” and classic jaunty tunes like “Zillow,” every indie music lover will find a song – and indeed a companion – in Companion.
Every Wednesday, the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. This week we have a collection of songs put together by Justin Morris of the North Carolina-based project Sluice.
About the playlist, Justin shared;
“Here’s a compilation of songs that feel relevant to the writing and recording of our LP ‘Companion’ – Things played in the Fust van, the massive monitors at Betty’s studio, or my little kitchen stereo.”
Highlighting the necessary need for community and advocacy in music, this is how we know music is a new, tender EP byhemlock (Carolina Chauffe) and Tenci (Jess Shoman), released October 3, 2025.
With this project, Chauffe and Shoman emphasize the message that art is not solely about the creation made but the intention and care behind it. Not only do they achieve this with their lyricism, but through creative collaboration and community care. All proceeds of the album are being donated to Palestinian mutual aid funds. In addition, the artists chose to leave Spotify due to their ICE recruitment ads and AI investments, and shared an open letter that invites other Chicago musicians to do the same. The first track about this choice, “bye bye spotify,” is co-written by hemlock and Tenci. They sing in unison all the way through, with impactful lines about community such as “we won’t forget what we’re gathering for,” and imagery of experiencing music in a healing way, through house shows and supporting local bands.
The following songs “Blue Spring” and “autumn” are a song swap between the artists. Both are reminiscent of nature and the seasons, and fade out with mantras such as “I’m good, I’m here” and “don’t let the cat slip out.” They reflect finding peaceful day to day moments in a challenging world.
this is how we know music is a reminder of the ways music is meant to create community rather than destroy it, and how small DIY projects between friends are essential in a world that prioritizes profit at the expense of people.
All songwriting and recording credits go to Shoman and Chauffe. The cover art was designed by Henry Smith, who recorded and mastered the album. this is how we know music is only available on Bandcamp.
Not Today… is over in under ten minutes, like an amusement park ride.
Saskia Lethin, Jack Abott, Opal and Adelaide Jones from Chicago-based Bungee Jumpers offer a lean, breakneck roller coaster ride of jangly, riot grrrl–y guitar pop that sounds like, in the best way, what would happen if your coffee grinder joined a band. Bungee Jumpers wouldn’t sound out of place among Bratmobile or Heavens to Betsy, blasted out of the worst speaker in a garage or found on a cassette tape on the childhood home of Gone Home.
It’s intentionally straightforward music that rarely lingers on an idea for too long. The opening track “Wall” has one of the album’s only moments where Bungee Jumpers allow themselves to risk staying at the party too long, as Saskia repeats “I couldn’t find a wall to hit my head”, the guitars drop out to leave it in the spotlight, then come back in to joyously ride out the album’s most striking lyrics.
Analogue elements are as much a part of the band as the instruments. Tracks are bookended with amp feedback and whirling noises that sound like tape caught in the spool, and in between there’s the inescapable lo-fi grit. These could be clean guitars, it’s impossible to know if the guitars are distorted because of amps or pedals or because the needle on the recording console was almost certainly living in the red. Not Today… sounds like it was recorded at the lowest acceptable quality – a quality that seems to be higher than Bungee Jumpers’ 2024 Demo. Two songs from Demo – “Bolt” and “Wrench” – reappear here. It feels silly to say they’re re-recorded, given how lo-fi the new versions are, but it does feel right to say that that’s the joke. “I know what I’m doing/You can trust me,” Saskia and Jack chant together on “Wrench,” letting you in on the bit.
The band’s tightness reveals this has all been intentional. They probably could have written longer songs and recorded them with greater clarity (cell phone–recorded videos of the band playing live uploaded to YouTube arguably sound “better”), but the songs don’t really need it. They thrive in this environment. As we go through this moment where we end our Spotify subscriptions and grapple with our ability to have everything, Not Today… offers an intentionally fleeting, blink-and-you-miss-it experience. If you caught a single song on shuffle, it would strike you as amateur, but you’d only be able to experience it like that if you went old(ish) school and bought and added the MP3s to your personal library. Not Today… isn’t on the streaming platforms, it’s only available on Bandcamp or via – appropriately – a handmade cassette tape from GIANT–BEAT in Brooklyn, NY. You’re either hearing these songs in their greater-than-the-sum-of-its-parts whole or, if they are on shuffle in a playlist in your personal collection, you’ve already engaged with them that way.
“The Beach” might be the mission statement for why this is all like this. An unassuming song that doesn’t even clock in at a full minute (like most of Bungee Jumpers’ songs), with a chorus that doesn’t get much deeper than singing “You want to go to the beach” and “I like the beach” and “We’re having fun at the beach.” The lo-fi isn’t a gimmick or nostalgia-bait. It’s an invitation to a mosh pit captured on an old consumer-grade Sony video camcorder that probably topped out at 720p. You want to go to the beach.
Not Today… is out now and is available to be purchased on cassette.
Charlie Johnston remains elusive, releasing The Firetruck Is Running Late without fanfare, and allowing listeners to take on the role of opening up and reading this diary of an album. With nostalgia in every corner and heartbreak in every line, Johnston moves through stories of life and love and loss with a gentle matter-of-factness; this record feels like a knife to the heart (if the knife were pink and sparkly). The Firetruck Is Running Late is devastatingly beautiful and feels a touch exclusive–it’s a privilege to discover Johnston’s music.
The first track, “Silo,” is a great representation of what to expect with The Firetruck Is Running Late. It demonstrates how Johnston produces vivid imagery through simple, poetic rhyme schemes and patterns: it’s satisfying to the ear without being too repetitive or cheesy. Moving through the album, you come to “Your Tree.” Here, you really get those Kimya Dawson-esque vocals and that storybook feel that the album art suggests. The nostalgia continues with “Coach’s Ballad” and the repetition, or echo, of each line of the chorus. This, combined with the clapping sounds that can be heard in the background, make the song immediately reminiscent of early childhood playground games, summer camp, and coming-of-age movies.
As Johnston’s label, Trash Tape Records, put it, this album is full of “fabled melodies…with blankets of distant, sustained piano, lagging and pushed-to-the-absolute-brink drums and sometimes a left-field appearance from heavy sub synth bass or violin.” The addition of that violin happens beautifully in “Dishes,” as Johnston finishes singing “And all the glasses drop.” The instrumentals delicately lift up the song and tide the listener over until the next line. It’s a standout song, placed perfectly at the beginning of the end of the record, where like the violin, it carries the listener into the last six minutes of the album.
As the album does come to its close, brought forward are allusions to the title, The Firetruck Is Running Late. The subtle introduction of fire comes in on “The Meow-Meow Express” as Johnston sings “One day you’ll be by a fire and I’ll be with you there / We’ll breathe and breathe and breathe until we’re too filled up with air…/ And when we are full of fire what is there to do?” While it feels like there is more to the story than meets the ear, the true meaning feels nicely buried beneath the image Johnston paints of a cat and a trainset. Then, on the final song “My Life Before Electricity,” the listener is lulled to daydreaming as Johnston repeats over and over “The firetruck is running late / The firetruck is running late.” It’s one of those songs, and even more so one of those albums, where as a listener it’s so easy to feel memories being pulled from your mind and inadvertently assigned to the lyrics of the songs. It’s an album that somehow feels like it’s written specifically about you and your life. It’s an album that you hope everybody and nobody discovers all at once, because what you want to keep a secret feels too great not to share.
The Firetruck Is Running Late is available on all streaming platforms except Spotify, and CDs are available for purchase on Bandcamp.
