So, Meena put out an album called Different Now. And honestly? It is. Different, that is. It’s one of those records that refuses to sit down politely and say, “Here’s a genre you can file me under.” Instead, it leaps across shoegaze, trip-hop, electronics, and whatever other moods happen to pass through the studio, then insists you keep up. And you do, because it’s worth it.
Now, to be clear, this is not one of those albums where a band says they’re experimental but actually mean they added bongos to a folk song. This thing actually feels like an experiment. And the good news is, most of the experiments succeed. The even better news is, even when they don’t, they fail in an interesting way.
The opener, “Doreen,” is under ninety seconds long, but it manages to condense the entire mission statement of the album into that sliver of time. There are ominous textures, smoky atmospheres, twitching electronic pulses, and the general sense that you’ve been dropped into a fever dream where nothing will quite resolve the way you expect it to. It’s like stepping into a tunnel where the walls hum back at you.
From there, things spiral. “Wait” arrives with hypnotic vocals over a shimmering, warped groove. It has that quality of music that seems both meditative and menacing, like you’re being comforted and threatened simultaneously. The repetition is trance-inducing, the kind of track that sticks you to the floor and says, “No, we’re not moving on yet. You’re going to stay here and dissolve for a bit.”
“Cast” keeps the flow, though it feels like it’s taking a breath. Where “Wait” pulls you into the haze, “Cast” lets the light hit a little stronger, though the edges are still frayed and buzzing. It’s an echo, but one that doesn’t fade. Rather, it grows, feeding on the momentum.
And then “Somebody” happens. It starts all silky and dreamlike, the sort of intro that tricks you into thinking, “Ah, this is going to be a slow burner.” And then it detonates. Suddenly you’re in the middle of a psych-rock jam, the track bellows out like a creature that’s finally decided to stop pretending it was tame. It’s one of those shifts that forces you upright, because you don’t expect the restraint to collapse so violently. It’s not graceful, but it’s thrilling.
By this point you’re aware that Different Now is not interested in linearity. It’s more like mood swings, but choreographed ones. “Carte d’Or” leans into jagged edges, punctured by strange samples that feel like overheard fragments of a different record bleeding in from the next room. It’s brash, playful, and slightly unhinged.
“Even Say” pulls things back into focus. It’s danceable, almost relentlessly so, with a vocal performance that cycles until you’re caught inside the rhythm, like being pulled along by a tide that doesn’t care what you want. There’s something hypnotic about its insistence, as though the song dares you not to give in.
“How Far” takes another left turn, stripping down into something rawer, brighter, almost jangly. There’s less weight here, but not in a bad way; it’s like a release valve. After so much tension, the looseness feels earned. The track has that crooked grin energy: imperfect but all the better for it.
And then, “Peter.” The closer. Just two minutes, but it carries the whole album on its shoulders. It swells with this grand, triumphant quality, like the curtain closing on a play where the characters didn’t exactly win, but they survived. It’s got that heroic sheen without pretending the struggle is over. It reframes everything that came before, saying: yes, that chaos had a point.
Here’s the thing about Different Now: it thrives in contradiction. Every track seems to pull in multiple directions at once; soothing yet unsettling, dense yet spacious, chaotic yet meticulously arranged. That balance is what makes it work. The influences are clear if you dig for them; echoes of industrial menace, trip-hop shadows, woozy psychedelia, but the record never collapses into a patchwork of homage. Instead, it sounds like Meena wrestling those sounds into submission, bending them until they feel like their own.
And it’s that restlessness that keeps the album engaging. There’s no guarantee the next track will resemble the last. Sometimes that can feel disorienting, but that’s part of the experience. This isn’t background music. It’s a record that insists on your attention.
In a world where so many albums aim for smoothness, polish, or an easy playlist slot, Different Now feels defiantly jagged. It’s intricate, strange, and occasionally overwhelming, but it’s also brimming with life. Not every idea lands perfectly, but every idea matters, and that’s rarer than it should be. And in an era where the musical landscape is increasingly risk-averse, different is exactly what we need.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
