Debut albums tend to fall into one of two camps: the carefully curated calling card or the unfiltered “here’s everything we’ve ever wanted to shout into the void.” Forever Got A Lot Shorter, the debut LP from south-coast UK outfit Endless Talking, somehow manages to be both and not in the diplomatic, “oh, they’re balancing influences” way critics like to pretend is rare. It’s genuinely both. It’s the sound of a band that clearly spent years refining their craft and simultaneously said, “Alright, shove everything in. All the feelings. All the riffs. All the mess. Let’s go.” The result is polished without being sterilised, emotionally raw without collapsing into melodrama, and full of so many hooks I’m convinced the studio carpet is just a pile of discarded barbs at this point. Across its eleven tracks, the band pulls from Weezer’s crunchy sincerity, Counting Crows’ emotional gravel, and the clever melodic knife-work of bands like The Beths and Ratboys.
The core of Forever Got A Lot Shorter is emotional elasticity; the kind of album where anxiety, humour, self-doubt, and unfiltered affection are all invited to the same house party, and somehow no one throws a punch. Opener “Death and Taxes” establishes the thematic thesis immediately: grief, uncertainty, and the stubborn, petty refusal to give up even when life is handing you emotional parking fines. The lyric “I know it’s tough, we’ve all lost someone” sounds like it should be a quiet, trembling admission, but Endless Talking immediately strap it to a set of guitars that sprint out of the gate like they’re trying to outrun the metaphysical concept of sadness. It’s practically the album’s manifesto: yes, everything hurts, but absolutely no one has the time to sit still long enough to process it. Keep moving. Keep shouting. Emotion is cardio now.
Instrumentally, Endless Talking thrive on the interplay between punchy guitars, melodic basslines, and percussion that knows exactly when to sit back and when to absolutely go feral. The sound is firmly in the power-pop/alt-rock pocket, but the distinctly British humour and specificity keep it recognisable as their own. The riffs sparkle, crash, and do the occasional emotional stage-dive, always in service to the songwriting.
Lead single “Get Down” is where the album grins, winks, and tries to pick a fight with you in the smoking area. It’s loud, flirty, bratty, and just antagonistic enough to feel like the good kind of bad decision. The line “She says I hate you, well I hate you too… that’s bullshit, I know” is the most accurate distillation of early-20s romance I’ve ever heard; two people pretending to be enemies while their heart rates skyrocket like Pavlov’s dogs responding to toxic affection. Sonically, it’s a beer-sticky dance floor anthem, engineered for both festivals and the kind of pub where someone has definitely done a backflip off a bench while this song played.
From there, “You Won’t See Me Around” shifts inward, trading bravado for the kind of self-deprecating honesty usually reserved for group chats at 1:43 a.m. Its narrator is “a cynic with a clumsy heart,” which is honestly one of the most accurate personality bios I’ve ever encountered. The jangling guitars keep it bright, preventing the song from falling into the pit of “sad boy with a diary and a capo.” Then “Carry On Abroad” enters like the soundtrack to a sitcom holiday episode; sunny, escapist, and full of jokes that feel like someone has actually been to Benidorm and taken notes. It’s an emotional getaway car, except the engine sputters and there’s a raincloud following you out of the airport car park.
The album’s midpoint, “Middle Age Angst,” is one of its best achievements. It’s funny, existential, and painfully relatable for anyone who has ever found themselves inexplicably furious about council tax. It sounds like a Ratboys track filtered through the crushing reality of UK adulthood, where life comes at you fast and then continues coming, politely but firmly, with paperwork. The spoken-word bridge, a rambling monologue about waiting for something exciting to happen, is one of the album’s emotional zeniths; so raw and unguarded it feels like you’re eavesdropping.
“Life in the Bus Lane” deepens the emotional fatigue, capturing the claustrophobia of a relationship stuck in endless loops. “Let me out to talk about the weather” is the most British cry for help imaginable and should be preserved in a museum. Musically, it’s expansive, with a rising tension in the drums and guitars that mirrors the feeling of being stuck on the top deck of a bus you can’t escape.
The final run of tracks broadens the palette yet again. “Gets Me Out of the House” turns self-isolation into an upbeat burst of communal catharsis; one of those songs that feels like it was written specifically for shouting live while sweaty strangers bump into you. “Waste My Time” is a frantic, self-aware confessional about romantic obsession, delivered with enough humour to keep it charming instead of alarming. The line “I’m just a dickhead obsessed with you” is simultaneously pathetic, hilarious, and brutally honest. Basically, it’s peak Endless Talking.
For my final highlight, closing track “Hole in My Head” is a six-minute mini-epic that distills everything the album has been wrestling with; love, jealousy, insecurity, and the desperate hope of becoming someone better despite being a mess. Part breakdown, part breakthrough, it’s the album’s most cathartic punch.
As a debut, Forever Got A Lot Shorter works precisely because it isn’t trying to reinvent anything. It’s trying to be true, which is far harder. It’s hooky, candid, messy in the right ways, polished in the right ways, and full of personality; like a coming-of-age story told by people who know adulthood isn’t a finish line, just another level with worse lighting. It’s a debut worth playing loud, singing poorly, and returning to whenever life feels a little too much so, basically, always.
Follow Endless Talking
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.
