LoneLady - Former Things (LP) - Red Gold Vinyl

LoneLady’s third LP, Former Things, arrived on 25 June 2021 via Warp Records, and it feels like a bright shard of synth light refracted through Manchester grit. Julie Campbell has always kept a foot in the factory, with that clipped guitar and drum machine pulse that defined Nerve Up and Hinterland. Here she leans harder into sequencers and synths, a tilt she earned during her residency at Somerset House Studios in London. You can hear the space in it. The songs feel built for corridors, stairwells, open rooms with concrete walls where reverb hangs just long enough to make the next idea shimmer.

If earlier LoneLady records chased the ghost of post‑punk, Former Things pushes into a lean, electro‑funk zone. The hooks snap, the basslines strut, and Campbell’s vocals slice clean through the mix. “There Is No Logic” sets the tone. It’s all wiry rhythm and precise synth stabs, the kind of track that makes you straighten up at the bar because your shoulders already know the next four minutes are spoken for. “Fear Colours” keeps the pace, draping a taut beat with spiraling keys that feel both playful and a touch sinister, like an arcade cabinet humming in a dark room after closing time. The title track rides a slippery groove while Campbell turns nostalgia over in her hand, not as wistful longing but as material to shape into something useful and new.

What hasn’t changed is the discipline. Campbell writes, performs, and produces with a dancer’s awareness of the body. Every part serves the rhythm. Guitars still prickle at the edges, but the synths take the lead, and they’re voiced with care. Nothing is ornamental. A single keyboard line will carry the melody, then duck out so a percussion pattern can have the floor. It’s a strategy that nods to ESG and A Certain Ratio, but the results land in a space that’s very much her own. The funk is mechanical yet human, the kind of groove that feels engineered for the night bus as much as the club system.

Part of the record’s charm is how it reframes memory. The title signals it, and the sound seals it. You get flashes of school gym lights, red LED digits, a plastic joystick, cheap PA hiss. But it’s not retro cosplay. Campbell uses those textures to chase propulsion, not pastiche. On “Time Time Time,” she turns repetition into momentum, making the hook feel like a mantra for staying present while the past keeps tapping your shoulder. Listening straight through, you notice how she avoids bloat. Ten tracks, no ballad detours, no soft focus interludes. She trusts the groove, and it pays off.

When you put Former Things on your turntable, the intent clicks even harder. The low end sits tight, kicks land with dry authority, and those synth arpeggios have just enough air to glow. It’s a record that rewards volume. If you’re digging for LoneLady vinyl, this is the one that jumps first from the crate, a fresh chapter that still ties back to her earlier language. And if you collect LoneLady albums on vinyl, it slots neatly with Nerve Up and Hinterland as a kind of trilogy, each one sharpening a different edge of her sound.

I keep thinking about how well this would sit in a staff-picks bin at a Melbourne record store, slotted next to Factory 12-inches and a stray Liquid Liquid reissue. It has that cover-to-cover consistency you want when you buy LoneLady records online, the kind where Side B doesn’t sag and the run-out groove sneaks up on you. Even for folks browsing for vinyl records Australia wide, this is an easy recommendation. You don’t need to be deep into post‑punk esoterica to find a way in. The immediacy is right there, feet first.

Former Things didn’t arrive with the noise of a blockbuster, and that suits it. It feels built to be found in the wild, played loud at home, then carried into your day with a crisp backbeat tapping at your ribs. If you’ve been circling modern post‑punk but craving more snap and swing, start here. And if you spot the Former Things vinyl pressing in the racks, don’t overthink it. This is a confident, highly replayable step forward from a singular Manchester voice who knows exactly how to make machines move.