Phil Selway - Strange Dance / Liminal (2LP)

Phil Selway has always been the quiet engine of Radiohead, the player who makes complexity feel effortless. On Strange Dance he lets himself slow the pulse even further, stepping away from the kit and into a richer, more painterly space. Released on Bella Union in February 2023, the album arrived as a calm counterpoint to the knotty art rock Selway helped define elsewhere. It’s full of warmth, patience and a kind of lived-in generosity. The companion EP, Liminal, extends that feeling, peeling back the songs to a softer glow and giving the whole project an after-hours halo. Taken together as Strange Dance / Liminal, it plays like an evening that drifts into the small hours without anyone noticing.

The first thing that lands is the orchestration. Selway brought in Hannah Peel for arrangements, and you can hear her touch in the way strings rise and fall like weather rather than decoration. Guitars from Adrian Utley add grain and shadow around the edges. Valentina Magaletti handles drums with a loose, conversational feel, which frees Selway to focus on voice and shape. He’s said in interviews that he wanted to treat the record like a landscape, and it shows. The songs move like scenery through a train window, never in a rush, always revealing a new detail as they pass.

Check For Signs of Life set the tone as the lead single, a gentle swell that never quite tips into spectacle. It’s a reminder that restraint can be the boldest production choice. The title track leans into that ethos too, with piano and tuned percussion flickering like streetlights on wet tarmac. There are moments where the harmony opens and you get that Radiohead-adjacent tingle, but the mood is Selway’s own. He writes about doubt and care with a clear gaze, using small images that stick, like the hum of an appliance at night or the weight of a door closing after a long talk.

Liminal works as a coda and a reframe. Where Strange Dance breathes in wide phrases, the EP lingers in pockets of air. Themes reappear in softer focus, rhythms stretch, and the arrangements leave more space for overtones to bloom. It’s the sort of companion piece you put on after guests have left, when the house quiets and you can still feel the day. Heard on vinyl, those textures feel tactile, with Peel’s strings and Magaletti’s cymbals settling into the room like smoke. If you’re crate digging for Phil Selway vinyl and spot the double set, this is the one that convinces you to take the long way home.

The record has been framed as Selway stepping into the foreground, but it never feels like a vanity turn. He gives his collaborators real room. Utley’s guitar doesn’t solo so much as smoulder. Keys and marimba tones flicker in and out without calling attention to themselves. Even the rhythm section seems to lean back and listen. That collective patience gives the songs their shape. It also keeps the album from slumping into polite mood music. There’s tension in the corners, a gentle tug that keeps you tuned in.

Critics responded to that subtlety when it landed, noting how confidently the album sidesteps bombast. It’s easy to hear why. Selway’s voice won’t knock you off your chair, but it sits right in the heart of the mix, steady and humane. He’s not playing at mystique. He’s sharing a room with you and letting the songs do their slow work. As a result, the record rewards full plays rather than snacking on singles. Put it on, pour a cup, and let it run.

For collectors, the Strange Dance / Liminal vinyl pairing makes a neat case for the format. The sequencing flows, side breaks feel natural, and the low-end bloom does the arrangements a favour. If you’re the sort who loves flipping through Phil Selway albums on vinyl at a Melbourne record store, this will catch your eye and hold it. And if you prefer to buy Phil Selway records online, plenty of shops that specialise in vinyl records Australia wide have carried this set since release. Either way, Strange Dance vinyl is the one you’ll reach for when you want to feel the air in the room.

In a catalogue that already includes the tender Familial and the autumnal Weatherhouse, this feels like a late evening companion. It’s generous, carefully built, and quietly adventurous. Liminal gives it an echo, a second voice down the hall. Together they make a record you live with, not just admire. You’ll hear new corners each time, the way you notice different streets on the walk home when the city’s lights have gone soft.