On New Year’s Day, it hit me. I’m going to be 50 this year.
The problem is I still feel about 23. And in 1998, I was bored of rock. Nu metal didn’t do it for me, and I got into folk music. That and pop punk. And I don’t give a monkey’s what I’m supposed to listen to at 50. I’ll listen to Dear Seattle, thanks.
This means I was sitting in traffic in my sensible car on Monday morning on the way to my sensible marketing job, singing “It’s fuckee up that I still miss you,” and I knew who I meant. Spoiler alert: the same girl it would have been in ’98. That’s the effect of “Nothing’s Stopping Me Now,” the opening song on “Toy”. Part Stereophonics, part Johnny Panic. Wholly superb. Away we go.
As evident, the Sydney mob enjoys a swear.
“”Promise” belongs in the same field as DMAS, but for the potty-mouthed.
Then there’s “Courtney Love,” but my god! I don’t know if indie clubs still exist, but if they do, this is a floor filler.
These are first and foremost ferociously ambitious, huge-sounding slabs of soaring arena rock, but they come from deep within. Emo bands from 30 years ago would kill for “Evergreen.” “Is it worth it, to be perfect?” goes the hook, and a slogan is born.
To be fair, they could all be slogans. “Say What You Want” is a kind of ballad, but it sounds enormous, and although “Counting Hours” starts in a fragile way, by the time the chorus hits, it’s essentially solid gold.
And speaking of choruses, Dear Seattle are brilliant at them. Two goes around and you’re singing them. That’s a skill, one they demonstrate again and again. “We Were So Close” is the type of thing you’d imagine Deaf Havana would do, as it looks back emotionally on a lost friendship.
More than anything—even more than the nostalgia I’ve wallowed in since hearing this—Dear Seattle are just really, really good at this. “Sungazer” is a tremendous slice of emotion, and “Cut My Hair” is what Sick Joy would sound like if they were from Australia instead of North East England. The energy is always impressive.
Because these songs are all around the three-minute mark, there’s no excess fat to be seen, so it all seems to matter, like on “Elastic” or the superb “Idc”. Moving into Dinosaur Pile-up territory, and probably the only track in the history of music to contain the words “steal a jet ski, blame it on your brother.”
And the last one, “Relentless Pessimistic,” is full of the same regrets they all have been, but the bouncy music suggests hope. Or a desire to sound like Nirvana. Your choice.
I didn’t have “listening to 90s-sounding alt-rock” on my to-do list for mid-January, but we are where we are, and “Toy,” whether you feel nostalgic for girls you haven’t seen in 25 years or weren’t born then, is as good as this music gets—in any era.
Rating: 8.5/10
REVIEW: DEAR SEATTLE – TOY (2025)
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