Hearing Addie and her latest offering Bunk Notes feels like finding a crumpled receipt in an old jacket and realizing it’s a map to somewhere you forgot you loved. It’s the kind of indie rock that feels lived in and frayed around the edges like a favorite sweater because there’s a grit to the production that most polished bedroom pop acts wouldn’t dare touch. Addie doesn’t ask for permission to take up space and instead she kicks the door open with a guitar tone that bites back.
The song started as a post-mortem on a dying relationship but morphed into an open letter to music and that shift is where the magic happens. You can hear the desperation of someone trying to hold onto the one thing that never leaves when lovers do and it turns the whole experience into a religious-level plea for salvation. There’s a particular crack in her voice when she hits the high notes in the chorus that feels like a physical pull in your chest and it reminds me of the raw honesty found in the best Phoebe Bridgers tracks.
Bunk Notes isn’t a track you listen to once and put on a background playlist because it demands you sit with the discomfort and the beauty of its existence. By the time the final notes ring out you feel like you’ve been through a cleansing ritual and you’ll find yourself hitting repeat before you realize the silence has started. It’s what happens when a songwriter stops trying to be perfect and starts being human and it is the most exciting thing I’ve heard all year.
