There are some things you can blame The Hold Steady for.
I went to see them back in 2019, and Pkew Pkew Pkew were supporting. I loved them so much that when they were playing down the road from where I live, I went along. That put me in front of Spanish Love Songs, a band I hadn’t previously been aware of. They were tremendous.
Now, five full-length albums into their career, “Future Nausea” might be the most complete thing Spanish Love Songs have ever done. We’ll say that before we even start.
The title track has an expansive sound and the sort of clever words that Dylan Slocum seems able to find for thoughts most of us would struggle to articulate. “Why did I let myself get this old?” he wonders, which is a question I can certainly get on board with. It builds excitingly, while the idea of trying to “outsource my memory” suggests that getting older hasn’t made any of this easier to process.
“Good American”, though, is the best song here. The chorus, the heartland rock, the sheer scale of the thing: this is their “Born In The U.S.A.” moment. That comparison extends to the anger in the words, too. The treatment of trans soldiers feeds into something that sounds enormous while leaving you in absolutely no doubt about the hurt underneath. You can sing along with it, certainly. The words give you plenty to think about afterwards.
This is a very American record. “Welcome To Hell” underlines that, yet there’s something universal in the feelings it explores. There’s a sense of a political point being made, even if they aren’t taking stands and spelling everything out. They’re looking at the people living through all this, and you don’t need to live on the other side of the Atlantic to recognise the unease.
“New Fears”? Well, we all have them, I guess. Maybe we’re all bound by them, too, and perhaps that’s what drives Slocum to make music like this. There’s something powerful about hearing somebody find the words for the things that keep rattling around your own head.
“Living Blues” might be the human condition in 2026, boiled down to one particularly vicious observation: “They’ll find a way to work until the day you die then fuck your family over.” There’s your reward for a lifetime of doing what you’re supposed to. The lot of the working man, set to music. It’s difficult to hear it and simply shrug.
In the middle of all this, “Jan666” offers a sea change in little more than a couple of minutes. “You promised yourself the promised land” is another line that lands, and its gentler feel recalls their 2025 EP, “A Brief Intermission In The Flattening Of Time”. It feels like a bridge between that release and this one, a pause that still has plenty to say.
“My boss don’t even cover dental,” comes the observation on “Doom Tripping”, and once again the everyday detail does the damage. The synth is particularly interesting here, adding another dimension to a record that keeps finding room to expand.
By “Shadowland”, the departure in their sound is especially clear. This feels more blue collar, more rooted in that heartland rock approach. Producers Chris Walla, formerly of Death Cab For Cutie, and Illuminati Hotties’ Sarah Tudzin have helped bring a different side of the band out. There’s room for these songs to breathe, and the bigger sound suits the weight of the words.
“No Dreams” seems to ask whether we can even afford to dream any more. Whatever the answer, it sounds incredibly expansive, the saxophone underlining just how far this band can reach. There’s a wonderful tension between the possibilities in the music and the limitations being discussed in the lyrics.
“Future Nausea Pt. 2” has more of a pop edge, and when they sing that “the future is lovely”, you’re left wondering whether there might be a little light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps it’s ironic. Given everything that’s gone before, you could be forgiven for wanting to check.
There’s so much going on in “See You On The Way Out”, with echoes of “Johnny 99” in the lyrics that feel entirely deliberate. Springsteen’s world of working people and desperate circumstances is a useful reference point throughout, but Spanish Love Songs make these concerns feel very much of the present.
Then there’s the acoustic stoicism of “Until The Sun Explodes”. It feels like a determination to remain, to keep going until the end, whatever form that takes. Perhaps making music like this is part of how you prepare for the future, however uncertain it looks.
“Future Nausea” is a departure for Spanish Love Songs, and arguably the best thing they’ve ever done. The sound has grown, the words still cut, and the whole thing hangs together superbly.
Get down with the sickness, as that dreadful band might have put it.
Rating: 8.5/10
