Well, this is a bouncy little slice of existential dread, isn’t it? Arn-Identified Flying Objects and Alien Friends, stepping out from his REDMOON duties, wraps up a deep discomfort in the shiniest power-pop paper, adding a jagged punk ribbon and just a dusting of folk’s earnestness. “Sing-Along Songs” struts in with a deceptive grin, all upbeat guitars and a melody that genuinely wants you to join in.

And yet.

The heart of the thing is this grinding friction: the narrator desperate to talk about love, fear, the knotty, messy guts of being human, while everyone else – neighbours, bandmates, the whole blasted world, apparently – just wants the chorus repeated. Louder, please. Simpler. Less… thinking. It’s the sound of someone trying to have a profound conversation at a aggressively cheerful children’s party, balloon animals squeaking ominously in the background.

There’s a strange texture here, like trying to grasp smoke, or perhaps like those unsettlingly realistic cakes that look like shoes. You bite into the sugary energy, the undeniable catchiness, but the flavour underneath is disillusionment, a sharp tang of irony aimed squarely at our cultural demand for easily digestible emotions. It acknowledges that sometimes the friendliest smile is just well-practiced apathy.

This blend of punk urgency and almost poppy hooks creates a compelling dissonance. The music practically begs for clapping hands while the lyrics hint darkly at the hollowness behind the applause. It’s a Trojan horse tune, smuggling genuine ache inside a bright, chipper container.

So, you can sing along, absolutely. But what exactly are we humming about when the tune fades?

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