Review

There’s a peculiar thrill when a band, twenty-odd years deep into their career, decides to defy the quiet expectations of age and deliver something that sounds like it came beaming in from the stratosphere. Turin Brakes’ *Spacehopper* does just that—a glistening, panoramic leap into a sonic cosmos that is both startlingly new and unmistakably theirs. Turin Brakes have always been the quieter cousins in the early-2000s guitar revival family—a bit less brash than The Libertines, a touch more introspective than Coldplay, and certainly less affected than Keane. But with *Spacehopper*, they’ve taken that introspection and shot it through with streaks of synth, psych-folk, and a spacey optimism that suggests they’ve been rummaging through Eno’s wardrobe as much as Buckley’s. The opener, “Starstuff,” is a glittery launchpad—Olly Knights’ warm falsetto skimming across synth arpeggios and looping guitars that sound like they’ve been dipped in stardust. There’s an immediacy here that recalls the duo’s debut *The Optimist LP*, but where that album was earthy, *Spacehopper* is galactic. “Rocket & River” feels like the album’s emotional centre—melancholic yet buoyant, it navigates love and distance with an aching clarity. Gale Paridjanian’s guitar work, always quietly brilliant, now swoops and soars like never before, nudged along by spacey effects that never feel gratuitous. This is not Turin Brakes ‘going synthy’ for the sake of it; it’s an evolution that feels earned and entirely in step with their gentle gravitas. Lyrically, they remain poetic yet unpretentious. “We are dreamers in a bottle / Shaken by the hands of time,” Knights sings on “Lunar Tides”—a line that would collapse under its own weight in lesser hands, but here, it simply glides. There are some delicious curveballs too. “Satellite Heart” flirts with disco-inflected beats—imagine if Air and José González got stranded on the same asteroid—and “Driftloop” is the closest they’ve come to krautrock, all motorik pulse and layered textures, without ever losing that essential Turin Brakes warmth. But *Spacehopper* isn’t an abandonment of their roots—it’s a celebration of their past wrapped in the glimmering packaging of a future-forward sound. It’s still rich in melody, still powered by Knights’ earnest vocals and Paridjanian’s exquisite fretwork. Only now, the backdrop is less coffee shop, more cosmic cruise. In a musical landscape littered with nostalgic retreads and algorithm-baiting singles, *Spacehopper* feels refreshingly human—curious, flawed, and utterly transportive. It’s Turin Brakes reminding us that even after two decades, they’ve still got fuel in the tank—and they’re not just driving, they’re flying.

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