Honeyglaze - Honeyglaze (LP)

Honeyglaze’s self-titled debut arrived on April 29, 2022, via Speedy Wunderground, and it lands with the kind of unshowy confidence that makes you lean in. South London trio Anouska Sokolow, Tim Curtis, and Yuri Shibuichi cut these songs with Dan Carey at his Streatham setup, and you can feel the room around them. The record is intimate but not small, tidy but never stiff. It sits in that modern guitar-band pocket where talk-sung confession rubs against knotty riffs and sudden hushes, the sort of thing born out of nights at The Windmill in Brixton and shaped by a producer who knows when to step out of the way.

“Burglar” is the calling card. Sokolow sings with a gentle, conspiratorial lilt while the rhythm section tightens and relaxes like a held breath. It is a classic Speedy Wunderground moment, direct to tape in spirit, the band trusting the take rather than filling the gaps with gloss. The tension sneaks up on you, so the final release feels earned. “Creative Jealousy” shifts the mood, prickly and playful at the same time, a look at the strange little rivalries that happen inside your own head when you love art and fear you are not making enough of it. Curtis’s bass tone is chewy and melodic, and Shibuichi keeps the drums clean and dry, the cymbals tucked back so the words stay front and center.

What gives the album its staying power is the writing. Sokolow has a knack for plainspoken lines that feel like overheard diary entries, the sort of phrasing that makes time and place suddenly very specific. She is not trying to outsing anyone, she is aiming for contact, and the band understands the assignment. Guitars come in short gestures, sometimes jangly, sometimes a quick scratch, and they pull away before the moment gets obvious. Carey's production leans into that restraint. You hear fingers slide on strings, you hear the count-ins fade, you hear the space between notes. It recalls the early days of Speedy Wunderground 7-inches but with the patience of a full-length.

The full record moves like a set rather than a playlist. Songs talk to each other. Tempos nudge up, then the trio lets a quiet track reset the frame. There is no need for big studio tricks because the hooks are in the writing. A line catches, a guitar figure returns twenty minutes later in a new light, and you realize you have been pulled through a story about friendship, anxiety, and the tiny rituals that make London life bearable. It is easy to imagine these songs in small rooms, with the crowd moving closer after each chorus, the way it happens on those good nights at The Windmill when a band clicks and the bar suddenly goes quiet.

The reception reflected that. British press jumped on it early. The Guardian and NME both singled out the band’s poise and clarity, and The Line of Best Fit praised the way the trio finds character in understatement. That sense of scale, never too much, is part of why the record invites repeat plays. You do not get pummeled. You get perspective, and then another angle, and then an aside that sticks in your head for days.

For those chasing Honeyglaze vinyl, the album suits the format. The dynamics breathe, the bass feels warm and present, and the stereo field keeps vocals just a half-step above the band, which makes flipping the record feel like turning the page on a short story collection. If you see Honeyglaze albums on vinyl at your local shop, grab it, and if you need to buy Honeyglaze records online, it is an easy recommendation for anyone who files Speedy Wunderground releases next to Dry Cleaning and Black Country, New Road. I have spotted copies in a Melbourne record store or two, and it would sit nicely alongside the usual run of indie rock imports that keep vinyl records Australia buyers happy.

It is a small triumph that also hints at bigger things. You hear a trio that trusts silence, that believes in the natural arc of a room, and that leans on songs over spectacle. In a season packed with albums chasing the algorithm, Honeyglaze feels human scaled, like a note passed across a table. Put it on late, let the needle ride all the way through, and you will likely find yourself reaching for the sleeve again the next morning.