There is a specific kind of electricity that runs through Dying Habit and their latest album “There Is No Sky”, a static charge that feels less like a new discovery and more like a memory you didn’t know you had. Hailing from Anglesey, the quartet Nathan Jones, Alan Hart, Daniel Garner, and Mark Jones has managed to bottle that peculiar, restless friction of being alive right now, shaking it up until the pressure is critical.

This record doesn’t politely ask for your attention; it shoulders its way into the room.

Take “Everything in Reverse,” for example. It hits with the adrenaline of a late-night drive where the highway lights blur into streaks. It deals with aging and the haunting nature of the past, but the propulsive rhythm refuses to let you dwell on it. It’s looking in the rear-view mirror while flooring the gas. That tension between forward motion and backward glancing is the album’s heartbeat.

There’s a beautiful grit to the production here. Tracks like “Bow” and “Pity Magnet” feel sweaty physically sweaty. They evoke the claustrophobia of a small club, capturing the frantic energy of communication breakdowns and relationships that have turned into cycles of excuses. “Bow,” in particular, is the sonic equivalent of finally admitting you’re done trying to please someone who drains you. It’s confrontational and wonderfully unpolished.

But Dying Habit isn’t just throwing noise at the wall. There is a texture to “Divulsion” that feels like a heavy wool blanket on a rainy Tuesday. It dips into shoegaze territory, exploring that gray, monochromatic feeling where the world loses its saturation. It’s hypnotic, acting as a necessary counterweight to the frantic pacing of “Whatever It Takes,” which serves as a lesson in stoic chaos a reminder to stop micro-managing the universe and just let the momentum carry you.

The title track, “There Is No Sky”, anchors the experience in a desolate, dreamlike space. It starts with disorientation and ends with clarity, much like waking up from a fever dream.

This album explores darkness, sure, but it doesn’t wallow. It fights. It’s the sound of angst maturing into resilience.

Is it polished to perfection? Thankfully, no. It’s raw, it’s loud, and it asks: when everything around you is disintegrating, are you going to crumble, or are you going to play through it?

Facebook, Twitter(X), YouTube, Bandcamp, Instagram