There’s a very specific kind of catharsis that only noisy, emotionally reckless post-hardcore can give you. It’s not pretty, and it’s not designed to be. It’s the kind of music that feels like someone finally snapping halfway through a breakup text and deciding to scream the rest of it into a microphone. Manhattan’s egret understand this perfectly. Their debut EP, More Than It Leaves You With, doesn’t just capture that feeling; it marinates in it. It’s the sound of three people taking grief, anxiety, and memory, and throwing it all into a blender set to “existential crisis.”
The band formed in early 2023 and sound like they’ve already lived through the entire lifespan of three separate bands. They’ve pulled from decades of underground screamo and post-hardcore, smashed that together with the melodic sensibilities of pop-punk, and come out the other side with something jagged but weirdly beautiful. Think of it like a car crash choreographed by someone who’s very particular about timing.
The opener, Sunshowers, pretends it’s going to be gentle for all of ten seconds before it detonates. It’s the kind of intro that gives you whiplash in the best way. The vocals claw their way through a wall of distortion, equal parts pleading and furious. It’s a declaration of intent: this isn’t going to be a comfortable listen, but it’s going to be a truthful one.
Aperture might be the EP’s best moment. There’s a riff here that could’ve wandered straight out of Bowie’s “Heroes” if Bowie had spent more time in a basement venue with a busted PA system. It’s an anthem disguised as a breakdown; hopeful, desperate, and loud enough to rattle your ribcage. You can feel the band trying to drag something transcendent out of the noise, like they’re clawing at the walls of their own sound all throughout its six-minute runtime
Then comes First slowly, then all at once, which is basically a thesis statement for the entire record. It starts tender, almost shy, then abruptly tears itself apart. The transition from melody to mayhem is so abrupt it feels deliberate; a sonic metaphor for how grief never politely announces itself. You’re fine one minute, and the next, everything’s broken glass and feedback.
By Hold your breath until, things start to feel almost unbearably intimate. The song plays like a panic attack that someone’s tried to mix at a reasonable volume. The rhythm section locks into a heartbeat that’s just slightly too fast, the guitars shimmer and stutter, and the vocals feel like they’re being whispered from inside a collapsing house.
And then there’s Anechoic. God, what a closer. The title drops right before the entire song caves in on itself. What starts as a haunted murmur spirals into moshpit-ready sludge, like the band are collapsing under the weight of their own catharsis. The vocals sit just out of reach in the mix, which somehow makes the whole thing hit harder. You can hear the emotion, but you can’t quite grab it. It’s grief turned into sound; a presence that refuses to fully manifest.
For all its screaming, distortion, and collected chaos, More Than It Leaves You With is not an EP about despair; it’s about what’s left after it. Each track wrestles with loss; of people, of self, of time, but it never gives up the fight. There’s something deeply human about the way egret handle their noise. It’s imperfect, impulsive, and occasionally overwhelming, but it’s alive.
If there’s one thing this EP proves, it’s that sincerity still has teeth. In an age where emotional distance is treated like cool detachment, egret have gone in the opposite direction. They’ve made something messy, raw, and undeniably earnest. More Than It Leaves You With doesn’t want to impress you; it wants to remind you what it feels like to care about something so much it hurts.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for various publications around the world, the former lead writer of review blogspace Atop The Treehouse and content creator for Manila Bulletin.
