7/10

There are records you toss on to fill the room, and then there are records that swallow the whole damn room. Brood22’s latest EP 'just past the exit with the truck stop' crawls under your skin, flickers in your rearview mirror, and haunts your late-night drives like a ghost you can’t shake. Born somewhere between Tucson’s shimmering heat and Portland’s damp grey corners, this release crafts a vast, echoing landscape where each note feels like a heat wave rolling over empty asphalt.

From the jump, 'hedonismbot' sets the tone: a creeping rhythmic pulse that grows into a massive, unexpected finish. It feels like watching a lightning storm gather on the horizon; tense, unpredictable, and thrilling once it finally breaks. The track’s complex build mirrors the psychological push-pull at the core of the EP, that urge to let go, even when you’re terrified to.

On 'this again', they show off their uncanny ability to make minimalism feel maximal. Guitar lines smear like streaks of sunset, and you can practically hear the mental loops of regret and hesitation. Then there’s 'genderless fuck monster', the curveball of the collection. But rather than collapsing under its own emotional weight, the track injects a weird, mischievous spark, a reminder that even in the bleakest mindscape, there’s room for surprise.

By the time we drift into 'bottle of sleep', you’re so deep in Brood22’s hypnotic spell you forget where the world ends and the music begins. Labeled a lullaby, it’s more like a quiet, heavy exhale after a night of overthinking; comforting but tinged with unease, as if you’re floating just above your own body.

Closer 'funnel web' is the gut punch you didn’t know you needed. The restrained tension throughout the EP finally snaps in a burst of scorched guitar and raw emotion. It’s the equivalent of finally screaming into the void after a lifetime of whispered complaints.

What makes 'just past the exit with the truck stop' extraordinary is its unflinching honesty. Brood22 lay bare the cycles we can’t break, the hometown ghosts we can’t shake, the self-destructive comfort of staying stuck. This EP is tailor-made for those weird, liminal hours. When your hands stay on the wheel but your head drifts ten years into the past, or five exits too late. For anyone who’s ever felt the slow-burn ache of wanting to leave everything behind and simultaneously fearing what comes next, Brood22 have written your soundtrack.