Jack Devlin has always leaned into a kind of wide-eyed sincerity that can border on too much if you’re not in the right headspace. But every now and then, that earnestness hits a perfect frequency. ‘Radio’ is one of those times.
It’s a song born from a strange encounter on the streets of Belfast — a mysterious old man, a lost guitar, a busted radio, and the kind of unresolved tension that follows you around until it morphs into melody.
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Devlin channels that lingering mystery into something that sounds big, almost anthemic, without feeling bloated. There’s a clear post-breakup undertone here, but it doesn’t fall into melodrama. Sonically, this thing is comfortably parked somewhere between late 2000s Killers and a more grounded, early-U2 atmosphere. And Devlin’s voice sits dead center — never too performative, but locked in.
SCORE 7.2/10
He’s in it, and whether or not the listener fully buys the premise, the conviction in the performance is hard to ignore.
Indie Boulevard Magazine 