The new album ‘What It Is and What It’s Not’ by Dan Smyth is a rather unusual cocktail — the kind you pick up and sip because curiosity is a weird thing. It’s a nine-track record, and each one is its own experiment.

Dan roams freely through music, unbothered and unfiltered: one moment there’s a touch of alt-rock, the next you’re dropped into something vaguely video game-y and electronic, and then out of nowhere, you’re inside an ambient instrumental canvas that hums with an alien whisper. At first, it all seems oddly patched together, like the artist’s flicking through radio channels. But if you stick with it, something clicks. This genre mosaic reveals a larger picture: a tangle of emotions, moods, and lived-through moments Dan clearly isn’t trying to confine to any particular style.

Lyrically, the album leans into the surreal — you get casual chats about daily routines mixed with reflections on life that sound a little unhinged. There’s a sense that Dan has let go of all preconceptions and just allowed the music to move however it wants. ‘What It Is and What It’s Not’ is a window into shifting states of mind, where the mood swings from quiet melancholy to a kind of jarring euphoria. I hit play on the first track. I don’t understand a damn thing.

And I understand everything. It sounds like Smyth took a turn between emotional lanes and the brakes gave out. One day you’re alt-rock, the next — an electronic monk with a synthesizer. And then you’re on the floor under a blanket of ambient, face buried in a pillow, because the only things that exist are breath and a flickering lamp in the corner. And by the end of all nine tracks, you’re not even sure who lulled who — you the music or the music you.

There’s no “main theme” or “unifying concept” here — and surrealism was never about that anyway. This is a person with too many sounds in their head, spilling them out. So forget everything you think you know about how an album is “supposed” to be structured. Dan Smyth crashes into your headphones unannounced and doesn’t ask if you’re ready for the scenery to change. He just starts.

Flute-Fueled Trance

First out the gate is ‘Everybody’s Got Tears’. Indie, alt-rock, a tender folk-ish voice. The guitars shimmer with neon light, but you can tell this is just the opening move. Then comes ‘Swimming’. Electronic music walks into the room in a leather jacket and sunglasses — even if it’s midnight outside. The synths rewind you to the ’80s, to streets full of shoulder pads and people talking about eternity through dance. Everything glows, everything glides — it’s a track so cool you want to breathe it in like mint air after a cigarette. There’s neon, electro-disco, a whole synthwave hitting you in the face.

‘Bricks’ tells a different story. The keys are soft, the guitars purr in late-grunge tones, and all of it builds into something strange and specific, like Dan stitched together pieces of genres and made something entirely his own. You don’t know what to call it — but it works.

‘The News’ brings in this sunny pop sound, arriving just to shake off the last bits of evening melancholy. Everything’s bright, simple, pleasing. Then ‘Head Make Blues’ rolls in — now you’re in the backyard, drinking beer from a can, strumming an out-of-tune guitar while the porch creaks nearby. A country-blues drive with great drums and a warmth that makes you want to hug the speaker.

And then ‘Walk’ happens. City. Darkness. Empty streets. Long shadows. No more fun — this is noir. Everything in this track crunches underfoot, wet asphalt and boots. A soundtrack to a movie that doesn’t exist, but you already feel the frame. After that comes ‘Before You Waste It’. Rock again. Blurred sound. A radio playing through a wall. The vocals are processed, ghostly. Very ’90s, very raw. The track itself sounds unsure if anyone’s listening, but it keeps playing anyway.

‘You Choose’ is where everything begins to quiet down. Guitars dissolve into the air, Dan’s voice floats upward. Almost hallucinatory. The harmonies are weird but full of life. And then — ‘Khrikaet’. Seven and a half minutes of pure disconnection. Eastern flutes, ambient haze, drums that echo like a heartbeat. Ritualistic and distant. You don’t just listen — you move through it, a dream that makes perfect sense even in total blur.

What Even Is This Album?

No clue. But it might be the most honest thing I’ve heard all year. What makes this release unusual is that it doesn’t unfold as a story — more a train with no schedule. You sit in one car, jump to another, then end up standing between cabins, listening to the world creak. It slows down without warning. Speeds up for no reason. Somewhere along the way, you laugh. Somewhere else, you just sit and hold your breath. This isn’t a journey in the traditional sense. It’s a state. One you enter, and then can’t find the way out of. And maybe that’s the point.

‘What It Is and What It’s Not’ by Dan Smyth is a damn great album, and honestly, I’m just glad people like Dan exist and make music. I’ve been following him for a while now, and every time he drops something, it’s like someone slipped you a strange unsigned letter. And that’s the beauty of it. Because, truthfully, I have no idea what he’ll come up with next. Also, I don’t think any of the tracks from this album will end up in some ‘Indie Spring 2025’ playlist — and honestly, it doesn’t need to. This is the kind of thing you listen to alone, with no real purpose, just to catch that moment when the sound lines up with your mood and merges into something whole. Or maybe you’re just into digging Bandcamp for weird stuff — then this one’s a bullseye. It’s not for everyone. And that might be its most honest quality.

*This review was made possible by SubmitHub