This time last year, I could not find enough positive words in any language to describe Slowly Slowly's third full-length record, Race Car Blues. It was this magical collision between a recommendation from a friend and something that took a space in my life that was a lot larger than I could have expected. Almost two years down the line, listening to these songs I know like the back of my hand still sparks vivid memories and retains the same hope and comfort I initially found in it.

At the end of 2020, just like an early Christmas present of sorts, the Australians gave us the gutwrenching Comets & Zombies as well as the promise of the second chapter of Race Car Blues. I don't know if I should, technically, count it as "an album that came out this year" in the technical sense of the term, seeing as it is the extended edition of something that already existed, but in this house, I make the rules, so I decide it is, and I think it was in the run for the album of the year title as soon as I first heard it, one Friday afternoon that I remember being somewhat sunny, for the month of February.

Comets & Zombies opens this side of the story, this second chapter, and it is a strange metaphor, but please, follow me on this one. Trust me. Everyone has a book they read, a film or an episode of a TV show they watch, and they know it will end terribly, but even though they have visited it hundreds of times, they still hold on to the silly little hope that it might not end so awfully this time around. It's like wishing no one dies at the end of Romeo & Juliet, just this once. This is what Comets & Zombies always feels like when I listen to it. Knowing this ends in death but always hoping it won't, because the love woven in its tapestry is so wonderful, it deserves not to end in tragedy. Comets & Zombies is inspired by the story of two people frontman Ben Stewart knew, who passed away from drug addiction issues, but it focuses on the way they loved each other, their "unbreakable adoration for each other." It's heartbreaking, of course, it is, but there is still something so poetic about it all. Not about the circumstances. About the way this love is described.
Favourite line: "You kinda look like a comet / Burning up to impress all the stars you hate."

Urgency. It is the word that immediately springs to mind whenever I listen to The Best Bits. It stems from the composition of the track, a music element I find utterly fascinating in Slowly Slowly's artistry. I could spread praise all over it like butter on toast, but let me just try to explain the feeling first. The Best Bits, lyrically, is a reflection on how exposing ourselves on social media, always stating facts and sharing opinions, and generally spending time on our phones stops us from experiencing the essential parts of life, the things that truly complete us as human beings. As we are all aware, social media has become a largely overwhelming element of our lives. I'm a firm believer human brains were never designed to handle such a large amount of information at such an alarming speed, and I easily become overwhelmed by things I read on social media or things I hear on twenty-four-hour news channels. This onslaught of information is drowning us and clouding everything else around us. The modern world somehow made us believe that it was our duty as good people to know everything in the universe, every problem, issue, battle and struggle, and since we all want to be on the good side of history, we comply and educate ourselves. And never process any sort of information. This goes way beyond the age-old "get off your phone and live in the moment" debate. This ties back to The Best Bits because the verses truly feel overwhelming in their vocal delivery. They have that streaming of consciousness quality Slowly Slowly have showcased in their songs before (Creature Of Habit springs to mind) and, if you don't pay close attention, they are hard to follow. The chorus is the breaking point, the moment when you admit that this is all too much, and you want to get out. The first chorus is quiet and almost shocking in its contrast with the verses. The second chorus and onwards become louder, the soft voice starts shouting, and I believe it is when the urgency truly kicks in. If I had to put this song in an image, as if it was a scene from a film, I would describe it as being held underwater and fighting as hard as you physically can to get out.
These are all compliments, by the way. I believe The Best Bits is a masterclass in song composition, and I wish more artists would utilise their instruments in similar ways to highlight their lyrics and messages, especially in the heavier parts of the scene.
Favourite line: "Then hang me from the brightest star, I wanna see the best part."

It is the least cool thing to say in the scene, or about music, as a general rule of thumb, but I am a big fan of consistency. I am a firm believer in "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." I think that you do not have to change who you are and what you sound like with every release to remain interesting. I hate the concept of "being relevant." That being said, I love it when artists explore new sounds and keep you on your toes too, as long as it feels organic and not like chasing the ever so elusive relevance.
Learning Curve, the third track of this chapter, fits into the first category, and quite beautifully, at that. Sound-wise, with its chunky, almost post-hardcore sounding guitars and harsher vocals in the choruses, it steers towards heaviness. However, the melody of the intro reminds me a lot of Dinosaurs, the opening track of the band's second album, St. Leonards. It even retains its twinkly quality, its almost light guitar, a delicate sound one would not necessarily expect in a heavier sound.
When I talk about change that feels organic, this is what I mean. Learning Curve is one of Slowly Slowly's heaviest tracks, but it still feels anchored in the band's roots.
And it teaches me that listening to a tale about regret and death, a "steep rise to regret" assorted with a crescendo in the melody is, for lack of a prettier phrase, fucking awesome.
Favourite line: "I've got my sights set on on the walls / And I forget why I'm climbing / And all I want to do is fall."

Low, the fourth track, was used in the short video teasing the release of this second chapter and, as a long-time lover of the song, I was excited to discover what its home would be and sound like. It was already out into the world before the original version of Race Car Blues, a bridge of sorts after St. Leonards, and it has been one of my favourites since.
I like hearing about a band's influences. I don't mean guessing them by myself, and I don't tend to scream bloody murder about plagiarism either. I just like artists talking about who they listen to and what sounds make them tick. I love the pages in music magazines in which artists talk about their beloved albums. After that, it all becomes a game of putting the pieces of the puzzle in the right place, trying to hear what part of someone's artistry has been used as an influence. Was it the songwriting or the way they conduct themselves? The guitar work or the live performances? The possibilities are almost endless. Sometime between my first time listening to Slowly Slowly and now, I stumbled upon their old triple J Unearthed page, and the "influences" section listed Jimmy Eat World.
Anyone who knows me, even just a little, will get it. For those who have just hopped on board: welcome to the party, Jimmy Eat World is my all-time favourite band. After that, I kept trying to hear it. Saying you've been inspired by a band like Jimmy Eat World is wide. They have an extensive back catalogue and, musically, through their three decades long career, they have gone from exciting garage rock to emo classics to pop-punk to beautiful alt-rock sounds, with a sax solo thrown in the mix. They have done it all.
One day, it clicked. Low sounds like something that's straight out of Futures. Again, if you know me, you know it is the highest form of praise I could give to any music, ever, as Futures is my absolute favourite record. I mostly hear it in the layered vocals, towards the end of the song. Not a lot (enough?) people still do that. I feel it somewhere in that unbelievably satisfying guitar solo, but I don't know enough technical terms to explain it prettily.
The lyrics seem to touch upon mental health, but it's the third verse that attacks my heart the hardest. The ideas of loneliness and finding one's place in the world are recurring in Race Car Blues (Chapter 2), but not in the sense of "I'm going to carve my place under the sun" with an inspiring undertone. It questions where one fits in this mosaic of people, and the association with the astronomy, celestial references, also recurring in this album, is beautifully worded.
Favourite line: "Do the stars look down upon the earth / Make constellations as people merge / Connect the lines that they find / While I look at them in vain."

"Being in someone's house after they passed away" is what the band said track five, House On Fire, was about when asked on an Instagram Q&A session. Almost a year down the line, I still cannot believe how I did not hear it straight away- but that's the magic of music, isn't it? Figuring it out as you go. If I'm being honest, I find House On Fire horribly heartbreaking and comforting all at once, even though I cannot picture a worse feeling than having nothing more than empty places and vivid memories, after someone you love passes away. House On Fire is a beautiful reflection on everything that could possibly come to your mind after you lose someone, from old memories to the meaning of life, in all their messy chaotic jumble of an existence. It seems to be briefly touching on religion in the chorus ("I hope there's a place like all the books say"), but I think it's hard for me to gush about this song appropriately because it really does break my heart. But don't all the best songs?
Favourite line: "A transient night, nothing here to report / Except all of life's meaning, just echoed down the hall."

"I wouldn't choose the Internet with you over a noose."
I love a song that exposes its subject matter in such an eloquent yet straight to the point manner, and I love a song you can sum up in one of its lines. I tend to link this song to The Best Bits, which deals with a similar topic, all tracing back to the Internet, which is, all at once, a great evil and one of the most incredible things humanity has created. What I get from this song is the conclusion that the Internet can be an utterly lonely place. "They're not your friends, they just like to pretend that everything is the new problem." One of the hardest lessons I had to learn, maybe especially as a socially awkward person who struggles to relate to others, was that complaining together did not equate to friendship. It equates to mutual loathing for something, anything, and that is no basis for a genuine connection with anyone. I love how this song addresses the subject of how lonely the Internet can be, paints a picture of technology that is far from being rosy but, just like The Best Bits, it manages to do it in a way that feels removed from the "get off your phone and live in the moment discourse." To me, the message behind The Internet is that it tricks you into thinking you build real friendships, relationships, connections, but a lot of the time, you simply don't, and you end up missing out on experiencing moments with people who matter in a tangible way. Last thought for the road- is "making a friend in a fire escape" the smoker's equivalent to making friends in club bathrooms when you're drunk?
Favourite line: "We'll take the long way home / And sing every song we know." 

Restless Legs had been released on the band's Patreon, sometime in the spring of 2020, during various lockdowns, and, after the website closed, I started mourning this little, short song I loved, a piece of the puzzle I didn't know what to do with, but I liked very much. When the full teaser came out, I almost did not register it on the tracklist, for reasons that shall be explained later on, but when it finally clicked, I became ecstatic to see how it fit into the narrative and to be able to listen to it again after almost a year
The first thing I remember reading about Restless Legs was on an album review, and the writer said: "I don't know who broke up with who." After many a listen, I don't know either. I want to believe that, when songs are out into the world, even though they have their own meaning and stories behind them, they become open to interpretation, just like paintings and the ending of Citizen Kane, and this is just my two cents on Restless Legs. I think not knowing who breaks up with who, who leaves, who stays behind is the whole point of the song. I believe it's split into two parts, and they're each from the perspective of one of the parties, first the person who leaves, then the person who stays behind. I also believe it's part of a story within a story, but we'll get to that when we reach the other chapters.
And the truth is, I don't want to know if I'm wrong or not.
I also remember someone praising how Slowly Slowly could write huge choruses when they used not to, and I like that Restless Legs doesn't seem to have a traditional song structure. It's just a story, and stories don't always come in predefined packages, they tumble out from behind your teeth and get the hell out into the world, sometimes. "But God it caught me like a cold" is one of the most fantastically mundane comparisons I have ever heard, and I love the idea of "restless legs" meaning the almost-primal urge one has to run away from their stable situation. (Here, a family.)
Favourite line: "And I'm thinking about love / How when it won't wake up / It just ups and leaves."

The reason why I did not register Restless Legs on the tracklist, at first glance, is our next track, First Love. It features Yours Truly's Mikaila Delgado, and the words "feat. Yours Truly" were more than enough for me to grow impatient and excited. I have talked a few times about my love for Yours Truly and Mikaila's fantastic vocals, and the collaboration with Slowly Slowly turned out magical, no less. First Love was my most played song in 2021, and it is largely to do with the voices merging together, the power ballad vibe, and the incredibly poetic lyrics. First loves are a common subject in music and in fiction, something romanticized, for the most part, something holding a mystique and a power over us all, and Slowly Slowly painted a perfect picture of them, half something you desperately need to forget, half something you know will live inside of you forever. Whatever happens, a part of your heart and your brain will always be drawn to your first love, whether you like it or not, whether the feelings are positive or not, and the song beautifully captures the idea, the contradiction at their core, something "lethal, dilute all your like," and "something pretty and impermanent that I could admire" all at once. I believe we all have our people we "turn to when you're drunk and you're empty" - first loves,  by essence, have to leave a different mark on our lives because they are the blueprint, they are our first experience of the wide and complicated spectrum of love and all that it entails. And we need it to be romanticized, dissected, and turned into pure poetry.
(The first time I listened to it, my brain felt drawn to the title track from the Phantom Of The Opera soundtrack, and I long wondered if it was not because I had just watched the Phantom episode of The Goldbergs. I couldn't help but hold on to the thought and, I can still hear it, somewhere. My tiny knowledge of the musical and I can tell the subject matters are wildly different, but everything that reminds me of a musical in some way is as good as gold.)
Favourite line: "Was I just your mistake / Cinnamon to the taste / Bitter but graceful" (the whole song)

Set The Table (The One That Got Away) was given to the fans on the band's Facebook group a few weeks prior to the release of the album. I think it was the catalyst to the first analysis of a description of the record: every sound we had heard from the second chapter, this far, had been wildly different, a tapestry woven with different threads. Low had Futures era Jimmy Eat World, mid-2000s emo vibes. First Love could almost be called a power ballad. Comets & Zombies was an alt-rock gem with unbelievable drums. Restless Legs didn't have a chorus to speak of. The Level was the grooviest little tune.
And Set The Table was a wildly heartbreaking acoustic track, complete with violins and trumpets towards the end.
Set The Table is a reflection on a relationship that went down the drain, went up in flames, or quietly disappeared, maybe, and had its share of traumatic experiences. It doesn't hold anger or bitterness, only sadness and regret. It is storytelling in its purest form and, in its songwriting, it takes me to my two all-time favourite lyricists, The Wonder Years' and Aaron West And The Roaring Twenties' Dan Campbell, and Taylor Swift.
The first time I listened to it, I immediately thought of the first Aaron West record, We Don't Have Each Other, especially the song Divorce And The American South. There was a similarity in the subject matter ("And hey, Dianne, I know I fucked up / It's just when we lost the baby, I kind of shut off" // "But we lost a baby, lost our love, and I just wasn't good enough") and the same simplicity that lied in describing a love that faded away without anger and along with a simple melody. The feelings and events are violent, but their delivery isn't. The mundanity of the actions described, the way you can paint a picture of who does what and where everybody is, reminded me a lot of Taylor Swift's All Too Well ("Cause there we are again, in the middle of the night / We're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light" // "In my doorway backed by light, by the kitchen sink at night"), and I don't think I could pay a higher compliment to a piece of music than by linking it to works by my two favourite songwriters.
If, musically, The Best Bits gave the feeling of being held underwater and fighting your damnedest to get out, Set The Table is best described by two lines in the song: "silent movie, black and white" and "flower blooming in reverse." Even though the title mentions someone who gets away, you don't know how the story ends when it starts, you don't know how tragic events will become. The flowers start as a beautiful bouquet in a detailed vase, set on a table, and they end up back as seeds on the ground, summer turning to winter again.
If you remember the story within a story I mentioned when I spoke about Restless Legs, I believe this is the second part. I still don't want to know if I'm wrong. I just know that, to me, they are connected, part of the same narrative, and the truth of it all does not matter.
Favourite line: "But I will not be victim to / The broken love I have for you / If I can dig a hole to die in / I'll build a life to live in too." 

As we have spoken about quite at length so far, or at least as we have deduced from the novels I have just written, Race Car Blues, Chapter 2, is nothing short of emotional and tackles some heavy subjects (death, addiction, grief, regret).
And there  comes The Level, the light-hearted break in an emotion-filled record, a story of "not wanting to be swept up in whimsical emotion, stay grounded and be pragmatic about the situation- all while butterflies swim around your stomach."  I suppose one could interpret the fact that being in love is described as "dancing with the devil" as something deep and full of meaning, but I see it as something almost tongue in cheek, the protagonist in a rom-com that claims they don't want to fall in love, kill them if they do, is being dramatic about it, but on the inside, they are in so deep about someone else? This is what this song feels like.
The light-heartedness of the track definitely lies in the music video, too. The Level starts with a running joke within the band's universe ("Softly Softly"), is set in a seventies type of background, all clunky, tentative computer work and wide-legged trousers, and ends with a fake ad for a soft drink called Slowly Soda. It's fun, brilliantly done, hilarious and light-hearted, exactly what the track needs. Try being emotional or teary-eyed while someone does a running man in an almost floor-length fur coat and turtleneck sweater. Yeah, you can't. (And believe me, I'm emotional over all sorts of things.)
According to frontman Ben Stewart, there are two Bruce Springsteen lyric references in the song, and my baby knowledge of The Boss only led me to one- "take my hungry heart" refers to the song Hungry Heart. That's literally all I've got. (Is it fate telling me I should finally sit down and listen to Bruce Springsteen?)
Favourite line: "I'm so sick of being so sentimental now." 

Let's mention the story within a story I have spoken about throughout this post: Small Talk is, to me, the last part of the trilogy, the end of it. One more time, I do not want to know whether I am right or on another galaxy of wrong- I just know my brain connects this track to Restless Legs and Set The Table, and that is all there will be to it.
Another thing I associate Small Talk with is the original album closer, the ending of the first chapter: Race Car Blues. I believe there is a similarity in song composition (starting off slow, taking you by surprise by launching into a massive chorus, lulling the listener into believing we're slowing down again, only to end heavy, whether it comes in the form of bold guitars or loud breathing), but also in the lyrics. It dawned on me when I first registered the parallel between "haven't slept in ten years but found the one" and "I wrote your name on shower screens, for ten years long, ten more it seems." Maybe, yes, ten was the figure that rolled off the tongue best, something less specific than nine and a half or twelve and a quarter, maybe it's an aesthetic decision rather than a meaning-based one, but...If you know me, you know I will always pick the meaning over the aesthetic, and it was enough to seal the deal for me.
Small Talk, in its strange little tale of a wedding party in a hospital, seems to interweave the concept of social cues to the story. ("I'm polite to all you boys and girls / But every one of you was small talk.") The idea of interaction between human beings, whether it is through social media, the Internet, or in person, whether it is the grand scheme of things or specific relationships, is all over this album, and I believe the string that ties this whole thing together, both chapters and all, is human interaction, human connection, through all its forms. And I understand it would be a tough mission to write about things that do not involve relationships between people, so this might be like saying the sky is blue, but, there it is, my two cents.
All of these songs are tied together like a family tree.
And, because I always love a fantastically mundane line, "I just came to party for the free drinks" stands out.
Favourite line: "I fell in love in an inhale / Standing at my coffin, you're the last nail."

The opening notes of the album closer Anywhere sound light and breezy, airy, as if they were floating, which strikes as a stark contrast with the vocal delivery, quick and precise. After much consideration and thinking, almost a year off of the activity, I realised that Anywhere was a song about being a musician ("If I had one breath left, I'd sing for you"- talk about something that was in my face the whole time), and about looking back on your teenage dreams. I wish fifteen-year-old me had said "If I'm not up there, I'm not gonna be anywhere" in the face of her ambitions, but after having them shut down by a questionable school counsellor and taking more wrong turns than me on my holiday in Venice, she'd be damn proud of adult me for making them come true, working at them, finally. I was always questioning whether there was hope in Anywhere, because I am a master at finding hope in unlikely places and devastating songs, but I can safely say there is, and there was just the story of it. I don't think I had realised until today how much I would relate to those lyrics, even though I am not a musician (the ten minutes during which I have known how to play Green Day's Boulevard Of Broken Dreams on the bass do not count), and maybe that's the hope I needed today. For some reason, too, Anywhere reminds me of Trophy Eyes' Lavender Bay, but I think it's just a small lyrical parallel and similar energy between "If I'm not up there, I'm not gonna be anywhere" and "I won't sleep until Sydney knows my name." And The American Dream was a record in which I found a hell of a lot of unlikely hope, so maybe that's a sign.
Favourite line: "If I'm not up there, I'm not gonna be anywhere."

This is by no means a review. This is just stories upon stories, thoughts from every road in my tiny countryside village, from the Paris train, from my brother's car, from my small space in the house, from every overthinking corner of my brain. I would rather try to understand than pass judgement on an artist's or a band's music, I'd rather interweave my stories with their words than slam them because I don't get it. Race Car Blues, Chapter 2, takes the listener on a journey, a journey through human connections and interactions, through hope and the saddest stories you could possibly think of, through heartbreak and beauty, through highs and lows, and I have learned that for an album to cover such a vast array of feelings, you need to have the music to follow, and it won't be linear, and I love that more than I could put into words. Human emotions and connections are messy, bloody, beautiful and gory, they're loud and intense, and they're quiet and subdued, sometimes. And the music that accompanies it has to be all over the place, too, in the best possible way.