Matt Maltese is essentially nihilism’s best friend at this point and, on his third release, he’s officially re-established himself as a cultural moment. Giving off 24-year-old Father John Misty vibes (with better skin and a more relatable sense of dread), Matt has returned to deliver a masterclass in “seductively numbing glory” in ‘Good Morning, It’s Now Tomorrow’. The sound is vintage, its lyrics are cynical, and the tonality is unapologetically British. He’s known for delivering soul-crushing motifs as nonchalantly as a weather report, and this album is no different. Maltese is “it is what it is” energy. Morbid. He doesn’t need to mention specific world events… we know exactly what he’s talking about. This is a comfort record for people who find beauty in the whirlwind of a collapsing world, so let’s dive into this grounded realism masterpiece.
We open with a playful organ and a shaker that mimics a morning alarm in Good Morning. He opens with “armageddon is nothing”, a line perfectly suited for a Channel 4 documentary about the slow-motion collapse of society and he delivers lines like “a sunny day full of sorrow” with a falsetto so gorgeous you almost forget it’s actually depressing af. This track is dappled with a raw humanity, blurring the lines between surviving and actually living. It’s a singer-songwriter vibe that feels like a freestyle session with a live band, capturing a moment of pure, unadulterated ‘pushing through the feelings’ vibe. The piano is heavy and grounding as Maltese obsesses: “your hair looks nice”. It’s the ultimate anthem for addressing your demons while the sun hits the floorboards and really does well at blurring the colours of life. It’s an upbeat tempo for a new release, but the lyrics are whispering that the clock is ticking…
Never thought I’d be sat here crying over footwear, but Matt really said I’m all ears shoes for this one. Shoes is almost like a parody song that’s kinda creepy? He’s singing about wanting to walk around his lover like a “child in a museum” over a wonky but heartfelt acoustic number, layered with shakers that give off a deceptive summer vibe. The chorus has him singing, goofily “you’re my right shoe, I’m your left shoe, we stand together”, and the simplicity of it all makes it sound like a B-side record from The Beatles. The closeness to the mic on this one feel like he’s whispering secret fashion tips our ears, emphasizing the notion of saying so much by saying so little: “I could melt, it’s a tragic life without you” . It’s a song about finding that perfect, essential pairing of love, just as fundamental as the shoes on your feet. It’s weird, it’s direct, and it’s pure Maltese magic.
Back with that signature muted piano that sounds like it was recorded in a room full of velvet and cigarette smoke, Everyone Adores You (At Least I Do) features a prying, investigative driving bassline that makes it feel like a dark lullaby. Matt is spiraling into a quiet devotion, “terrified” of the “road that takes” his lover away or down an old path. He’s telling his partner not to change, to stay in their purest self, even though they’ve been hurt before. It’s a song about being completely consumed by a person to the point of exhaustion and fantasy. He asserts his personal love against the mass adoration “everybody has you up on their wall,” but Matt’s love is more real and more desperate in all ways. The gorgeous piano riff repeats like a recursive thought, mirroring the way Maltese circles this person’s orbit. His vocals really shine here, floating above the production, and when the line “at least I do” is delivered over a whimsical spiraling piano line, it captures that specific brand of romantic consumption where you want to be the only one who truly ‘gets’ your partner. It’s simple, it’s devoted, and it’s hauntingly beautiful.
Woodwinds and acoustic guitars enter the chat on You Deserve an Oscar, making this one like an instant classic. This one is all about the mundane routine of life for anyone pretending nothing is wrong whilst the world is shattering around them. Interesting and unpredictable chord progressions make for a new listen, and the diabolical one-liner lyrics “moisturise, your skin is dry,” and “take a supplement for sun” are call-outs for everyone acting like they’re seemingly doing well. You deserve an award for being so convincing. The beat and lyrical structure stays very tight in the verses here, but the chorus allows Matt to spiral, breaking the status quo as his register crescendos into what’s actually wrong. It’s a back-and-forth duo-tone thought process that builds into an intense orchestral moment in the final chorus, the intensity building like a standing ovation for the Oscar itself. Maltese admits “everybody’s incomplete”, acting as a mouthpiece for the silent survivors, and the whacky synthesizer plays us out in such a gorgeously crafted way. 10/10.
The immediate minor chords in Lobster create so much space. This is a real switch-up from the orchestral moments before as we now enter a raw, alienated, and space-like version of Matt Maltese. Channelining Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’ with the “commander speaking” motif (“there are no free agents left”) it’s clear that Maltese is looking for a connection in the digital void. He confesses he feels “half alone”, connected through a screen but rotting in real life, and has definitely brought new life to Phoebe’s coined ‘lobster’ phrase from friends. It’s a song about the modern digitalisation of love, Maltese feeling he’s stuck in a “lonely place” and the track delivered with such density over nothing much but a piano and some swelling strings. We’re sinking through the floor on this one.
A gorgeous, swirling electric guitar fade-in leads us into Outrun the Bear, a track about pure resistance. This cut is a whirlpool of emotion, seeing Matt comparing himself to a bear-fighter to prove his devotion to his lover. It’s his very own hard launch: “you don’t have to outrun the bear, I like you being you.” The production on this one is so simple – anchored by just 4 or 5 elements – but they are used with such profoundness that the track feels massive. Vocals oscillate, capturing that absurd level of commitment, synths are dramatic, and the lyrics are almost like a mantra in the chorus with a lot of layering to create a choral effect. He’s doing the “darkest shit” for his lover, and he doesn’t think anybody else even cares or understands. It’s sacrificial love in its most theatrical form.
In probably the most modern sounding track yet, 1000 Tears Deep throws us into a deprived synth as we travel through decades of sound design. “Welcome to the fellowship of sadness,” Matt says, as he welcomes us into his dark humoured world. In this release, Maltese is emphasising that his lover is worth more than their grief: “you are more than your wet cheeks”. This one manages to build extreme vulnerability with a playful organ that echoes the album’s opening, but also has such a tenderness about it still. The track ends with a spoken word poetry moment that feels both profound and slightly tongue-in-cheek. It’s the sound of bending under the weight of life.
We Need to Talk sounds like a really old Maltese demo in the best way possible. It allows his unpolished, raw, and devastating lyrics to take centre stage… just behind a piano and that’s it. It’s purely about the ‘I’m falling out of love with this person’ conversation that no one ever wants to have. The production is minimal which allows lines like “heaven knows why it never goes how we want it to” to hit that much deeper, and the sentiment is mirrored in the cold, white keys. Matt’s tonality is the star here, conveying a breakdown in communication that feels final. His uncomfortable honesty (“I’ve got issues with everything and everyone”) is a one-sided storytelling moment, making the fading of love even more dramatic, and his gorgeous playing really emphasises the complexity of not knowing “where to start” with it all.
Back to our old friends in previous tracks, Mystery features those driving, instant classic chords as Maltese explores the strangeness of life as we know it: “the ground is full of improbable vegetations”, “mechanisms work behind my eyes”. Here, Matt is in awe of life’s mysteries, yet he still finds a concrete love for his partner in the middle of all the uncertainty. The organ has a tenseness about it as he questions “what a mystery that I could want you still” whilst the synths begin to orbit like planets. This song has a real gravity about it. It’s surreal, it’s dreamlike, it’s melancholic. The wind swoops toward the end make it feel like a song about nature, acknowledging that we are just small parts of a much larger, inexplicable machine. It’s almost like an acceptance of the unknown, set to a melody that feels like it’s always existed.
Diving deeper into this ethereal world, Oldest Trick in the Book sees Matt have a lower register above suspended synths. It’s an ode to the beginning stages of love, Maltese unsure saying love is “something I cannot do”, and his awkwardness of asking someone in for coffee and using the “oldest trick in the book” just to keep the conversation going is a charming exploration of connection versus clichés. Bedouine’s soft, bittersweet vocal presence in the feature also adds a layer of nostalgia that makes the track feel like it’s being played on a dusty record player in a 1960s apartment. Gorgeous and crackly.
Back into the trenches now, Looking sees our persona grappling with the big, existential problems: “I wanna be a person […] I wanna be a star.” Finding purpose in a world that feels increasingly hollow is always going to be hard, but set this to a mid-tempo track that feels like dredging through mud, with a mechanical chord progression that sounds tired and stretched and it makes it that much harder too. The repeated “I keep on looking for something that isn’t there” gives this track a profound sense of burnout and it’s the robotic, monotonous synth sounding like the daily grind of a fruitless world that really personifies this further too. It’s one of my favourites on the album, all with thanks to the gorgeous deconstructed bridge that builds and builds before exploding in the last chorus. It’s an all-guns-blazing moment of desperation in the last 30 seconds as Maltese’s persona makes a final attempt to find that spark before the fire goes out.
Then, a sampled motif takes us deep into the urban life of workaholics in Rat Race; a sardonic anthem for the London grind (“dark cloud in a blackout”). Matt is looking at the hive mind of commuters crossing London Bridge station in the depths of winter and finding a coping mechanism in the shared depression of the brain drain. He humorously declares “what a nice day for the rat race” and analyses the working patterns as a “pretty massacre” on the street as the hip-hop leaning beat reinforces that city living concept. The orchestral flute woodwinds offer a minor element of freedom that tries to break away from the repetitive 4-chord mix, but the song is full of other oxymorons and higher contrasts too. Matt compares “concrete” to “palm trees”, whilst having a nod to Moby’s 2000 hit ‘Porcelain’. It poses the question ‘is this all there is to life?’ and leaves us in the corporate smog to figure it out.
Whilst we’re looking for an upbeat finale, Krakow actually brings us back to the signature muted, jazz-ified, piano that’s incredibly intimate. You can literally hear the saliva strands from Maltese clicking on the mic as Maltese goes deeper into the idea of urban isolation: “I argue with my toaster.” It’s dark humor as a recipe for being alone, with Maltese mentioning the “most intimate I’ve been in days is [from] a pat down at the airport.” The track captures that feeling of emptiness whilst in a busy market square, and the combined string section and piano chords stress these themes further to create a dreamlike quality in the pre-chorus. Dropping the bleak truth, Maltese “wants what [he] can’t have” and the minor chords add to this dramatically sad finale. It’s the sound of a troubled man only connected to his own melancholy.
A super strong release. Matt Maltese is at his best when he’s playing the escapist and this album is a real rooner of a record. Whilst it avoids mentioning specific headlines on the nose, it manages to be entirely about the world we live in and the troubles we face. He has arguably evolved his lyrics and compositions into something that feels like it could be from the last century, yet it’s perfectly charged and tuned for the current moments we all share. With its quirky romance and Maltese has really asserted himself as a vital voice in the industry right now, and his breakthrough release has made that even more iconic.
Glerbie 