TV Priest - My Other People (LP) - Pink Vinyl

Flip the sleeve and you can practically hear the shift before the needle drops. My Other People, released 17 June 2022 on Sub Pop, finds London’s TV Priest stepping out of the serrated post‑punk snarl of their debut and into something more open, more humane. It’s still a rousing, politically alert record, but there’s warmth under the grit, a sense that the band wanted to talk with you, not just at you. As a follow‑up to Uppers, it feels like a conversation continued in a softer voice, without losing any bite.

The band’s singer, Charlie Drinkwater, still carries that rich, weary baritone that made the early singles so compelling, but he lets more light in here. The songs breathe. Bassist and producer Nic Bueth shapes the sound with care, keeping the guitars cutting when they need to, then making space for pianos and synths to colour the edges. You hear it straight away on One Easy Thing, a single that eases into a slower pulse and lets the lyric sit up front. The whole thing moves with a resigned sway, like the end of a long day when you finally sit down and tell the truth.

Bury Me In My Shoes pushes back hard, all throb and clang, the kind of track that reminds you why TV Priest were snapped up by Sub Pop in the first place. It’s a proper stomp, but not a blunt one; the rhythm section drives while small details flutter in and out, a flicker of feedback here, a dry, close mic on the vocal there. Limehouse Cut, named for the East London canal, channels that geography into a hypnotic march. The repetition works like a tide, pulling you along as Drinkwater leans into imagery that feels lived‑in rather than abstract. If you came for the serration, it’s all here; if you stayed for songs you can carry with you, that’s here too.

There’s a tenderness peeking through these tracks that sets the album apart. It Was Beautiful feels like a postcard from a quieter room, patient and unforced. The band don’t overplay. Bueth’s production resists the obvious crescendos, letting texture and tone do the heavy lifting. That restraint pays off, especially on vinyl, where the low‑end thrum sits comfortably and the vocal sits just off centre, almost conspiratorial. If you’re hunting for TV Priest vinyl that suits late nights and early mornings, My Other People is the one you’ll keep flipping back to.

Context helps. This is a London band coming out of a period of isolation, trying to reclaim connection, and you can hear the intention across the record. The title isn’t coy. These songs circle community, care and the messy business of looking after each other when the headlines and the rent say otherwise. It’s not preachy. It just keeps turning the subject in the light, sketching small scenes rather than drawing a line under anything. That focus on the human scale is what separates this album from the current crop of talk‑singing, buzzsaw post‑punk records. There’s plenty of bark elsewhere; this one knows when to sit and listen.

The reception made sense. Publications from the UK and the US clocked the shift and wrote about it, noting the band’s move toward melody without abandoning their core. Fans who found TV Priest through Uppers might have expected another full album of bludgeon, but the curve here feels honest. It’s the sound of a group doubling down on writing rather than just momentum. If you’re crate‑digging at a Melbourne record store and see My Other People vinyl in the new releases rack, give it a spin at the counter and you’ll hear that growth within a minute.

For anyone building a collection, TV Priest albums on vinyl reward repeat play. The detail in these mixes shows up most clearly through speakers, and My Other People is no exception. It’s one of those records that slots neatly between a worn Protomartyr LP and a clean post‑punk reissue, both in tone and in temperament. If you prefer to buy TV Priest records online, you won’t be disappointed when this lands in your post; the sequencing holds, the singles shine, and the quieter tracks bloom as the sides unfurl. Among newer releases filing into vinyl records Australia shops, this one feels oddly companionable. It asks for your time, gives a lot back, and lingers after the runout groove.