The Canary opens with an ominous synth growing closer and closer, like the footsteps of an intergalactic supervillain. Shrouded in a ray of ethereal light, our “Eagle Rider” hero, vocalist Lars Wolfshield, parts the clouds overhead and welcomes listeners into an apocalyptic world where lyrical upheaval and despair are concealed by effervescent vocals and neon-pulsing club beats. “Don’t even think about/ It’s nothing but a feeling/ Go on and let it out/ They don’t need to haunt you anymore,” the songwriter warbles in “The Dive,” a contagious dance floor hymn that pairs angelic promise with strobe light escapism. In the last breaths of the eight-track record, windswept harmonies and thunderous drumbeats swirl around a somber refrain: “All the wells are drying out/ All the stars are burning out and in.” On this debut LP, space-bending electronic duo Wolfshield and TaSzlin Trébuchet (Fuck Money) synthesize a sound that’s part sci-fi laboratory, part folkloric magic, all dystopian dance tracks. Nineties ambience-rich trip-hop and Eighties New Wave synthetic sensibilities shapeshift fluidly through hyperpop shapes and club-quaking rhythms. The sound, and the world, is all their own, but its message is meant for ours: Personal and shared planets are imploding, but we can dance together in the darkness.
This article appears in March 27 • 2026.