Ray Bull offer a persuasive case that any path to great music counts, especially given that the New York duo did not start as a band. They were actually art‑school kids at Cooper Union, Aaron Graham with his images, Tucker Elkins with his films, circling ideas that were generally unrelated to music making. It took a chance reunion at a Brooklyn gallery years later for them to realise that had both been quietly edging toward songwriting. They moved into a Bushwick loft, and the boundaries between their art forms dissolved almost immediately. That fusion of disciplines became their calling card. Their ‘Did You Know’ series, equal parts Photoshop trickery and surreal storytelling, spread fast, as did the ‘Songs That Are The Same’ fusions which revealed uncanny overlaps between pop hits. On a musical level alone, this was all fantastically engaging stuff. It was no surprise to me to find that Taylor Swift songs could be easily married to other peoples’ hits, but was the match making potential of White Stripes ‘Seven Nation Army’ and Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ widely known? Or ‘Running Up That Hill’ and ‘Titanium’? I have one of my own; ‘It’s Raining Men’ by The Weather Girls and Jethro Tull’s ‘Beggar’s Farm.’ Same song, but I digress.

Graham and Elkin’s audience ballooned: 600K on TikTok, half a million on Instagram, and tens of millions of streams for their own songs. Festival slots, support tours, and a sold‑out 2025 headline run followed. And so, after such a groundswell of appreciation and deserved attention, all roads have led us to this new album of original music, a collection that distils a half‑decade spent living, working, and shaping an identity together. It is a portrait of two artists wrestling with the persona they have built and the emotional truth underneath it. Often when someone comes to prominence via a vessel other than producing their own music, getting that aspect of their work accepted can be problematic. People can have a resistance if they sense that composing and building a presence in that way is not their core being; few have crossed between these poles with ease. The times when it does work, however, are like this; from the moment you hit play on opening track ‘You’re Still Here, So Am I’ there is a sense that we are in the realm of a vital, melodically eloquent, modern art-rock band from the US. Ray Bull had already proved with their previous activities that they understood music, that they can play and that they boast tonal range. Here though, they show that they can do something with these skills. They can express, there is something to say and stories to tell.

And when these two sink their teeth into a song it comes out packed with detail and intrigue. ‘Marry A Skater’ has production frills literally piling up on top of each other, not to mention an artisan’s song structure incorporating a slumbering chorus, an elegant middle eight and a nonchalance in the verses that suggest a shrugging of the shoulders at life choices in the lyrics. Lines like “you can marry a skater or go fuck the neighbour’s, its fine” and “go start your family, work at Morgan Stanley and rot, save up for the yacht” appear like withering put downs, but the song is heavily swayed by a sense of wonder at the uncertainties of embracing either conformity or chaos. Far from your basic pop songsmiths, even though each track has a winning immediacy so essential to the form. The same can be said of the title track, more of a guitar strumming indie anthem but still one constructed with chart-hit sensibilities and dramatic lifts akin to Britpop. The thing is, Ray Bull can easily insert these little reference points that might inspire comparisons to alternative savants such as Vampire Weekend or Spoon, but in doing so they also lay down a marker that challenges onlookers with the thought that they do not merely equal the work of their peers, they genuinely have the chops to surpass them.

If anything holds Ray Bull back it might simply be that they are too good at this. It should not be that way but sometimes versatility is a curse, I hope their audience meet them with open minds and arms. The deeper you go into this album the range just keeps on widening. We hear pensive electro pop, folksy ballads, routes into country textures and they even pitch themselves as fully paid-up members of the pop world. One of my most despised modern tropes is the overuse of synthetic, auto tuned vocals but when utilised by these two, even this production tick can sound like a valid, potently applied, production choice. They can do mainstream too, the rising chorus on ‘Under Your Eyelid’ would not sound out of place if played on a prime-time TV talent show. Basically, if this band ignite, it is not a stretch to imagine them becoming massive. Just listen to the perfection that is ‘All That You Are,’ featuring a vocal with strong echoes of Chris Bell’s ‘I Am The Cosmos,’ hinting that we are witnessing a uniquely joyous blend of artfulness within mass appeal of the most satisfying kind. I would love to see that success become ever more real, these two absolutely warrant it.

Danny Neill

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