Deaf Havana - We're Never Getting Out

There’s personal, and then there’s this. Deaf Havana’s seventh album, 'We’re Never Getting Out', is a heavy, often overwhelming listen. Born from frontman James Veck-Gilodi’s post-breakup introspection and a self-described “daydream of six months”, it’s packed with sadness; every lyric feels torn from a note left unsent.

Opener 'Life In Forward Motion' sets the tone: bleak, insular and clouded by self-doubt. 'Carousel' and 'Break' wallow in lines like “I’m a mess and you’re doing well” and “You keep me hanging on til I break / Turning into something I hate.” There’s very little light, and by the time 'Frida 1939' rolls around with “I think I’m getting sick again”, the sadness starts to congeal.

But there are moments where the clouds part. 'Hurts To Be Lonely' leans towards The 1975’s polished melancholy, all clean grooves and a chorus-ready hook. 'Cigarettes & Hotel Beds' and 'Tracing Lines' carry echoes of Sam Fender’s brooding indie-rock – emotionally charged, with a strong sense of place.

Still, for all the vulnerability, there’s a strange lack of perspective. 'Lawn Tennis' questions why friends are growing up, while the rest of the album mourns the consequences of not doing exactly that. But even in its contradictions, 'We’re Never Getting Out' finds something real, capturing the feeling of being stuck between the person you were and the one you’re trying to become.

It’s not an easy listen, but it feels honest. And if this is the sound of starting again, there’s something promising in where they’re heading next.