Janet Devlin’s new single, “Houston,” arrives as a gleeful contradiction, a two-stepping Americana anthem for the sovereign state of one. It has all the upbeat, country-rock fixings for a roadside sing-along, yet its heart is miles away, floating in a self-imposed, wonderfully stubborn vacuum. The track opens, and you’re ready for a communal good time; instead, you find yourself at a party where the host is having the time of their life, blissfully, terrifyingly alone.
The whole thing puts me in mind of those old mission control rooms, all serious faces and beige consoles. The song’s cheerful Nashville twang is the steady telemetry beep, signaling all systems are normal. But the lyrics—they’re the quiet admission from the astronaut that they’ve deliberately cut the comms link because the silence is just too beautiful. This isn’t a cry for help; it’s a postcard from the void, scrawled with the defiant message: “Don’t bother.” It makes the listener feel like the helpless technician on the ground, staring at a screen that says one thing while your gut tells you another.
There’s a strange bravado here, a celebration of solving your own problems by simply deciding they don’t need an outside solution. Devlin’s delivery is a masterclass in this complicated joy. It’s the sound of someone broadcasting distress signals only to themselves, creating a perfect, hermetically sealed echo chamber where freedom and alienation are indistinguishable. The bravado is intoxicating; the isolation is absolute.
It brilliantly captures the peace some people find in their own company, a concept often misunderstood. But the song leaves a peculiar hum in the air long after it’s over. When does fortress-like self-reliance, this glorious island of the self, become so comfortable that we forget how to build a bridge?
