Listening to Rewind The Mind’s new single, “Come On With Me,” is like being pulled into a room where the air itself is the color of marmalade. This Brighton outfit builds a foundation that’s both impossibly tight and wonderfully languid; the bassline functions less as an instrument and more as the steady, reliable metronome of your hips, while clean horns slice through the haze. The entire production feels humid, sticky with a carefree summer sweat.
At its core, this is a track built on a magnificent obsession. The female vocal isn’t merely telling a story; it’s a direct, breathless plea. It captures that very specific delirium of an infatuation that rewires your brain until a single person becomes both the sickness and the cure. The song’s command to dance feels less like a party invitation and more like an urgent, almost territorial summons to abandon reality for a private world built for two. It’s a compelling, dizzying form of escapism.
For a moment, the undulating groove reminded me of staring into a cheap lava lamp as a child—that slow, mesmerizing, and ultimately pointless blob-ballet. There’s a similar logic here: an undeniable physics to the funk, yet its ultimate purpose is pure, unadulterated sensory pleasure. It doesn’t need to go anywhere profound, because its whole reason for being is to feel fantastic right now.
It’s a three-minute holiday from consequence. The song ends, the orange glow fades, but the feeling clings to your clothes for a little while after. And you’re left wondering: is that kind of dazzling, all-consuming escape a liberation, or just a beautiful, funky trap?
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