8/10

With their latest full-length 'When Youth Fades Away', Dublin’s Somebody’s Child step into a newly refined era, trading the wild urgency of youthful escape for a quiet, poignant confrontation with time itself. Following the runaway success of their debut, this second act finds the band not sprinting toward something new, but standing still long enough to reflect on where they’ve been, and how much they’ve grown.

Where their self-titled record felt like a rush of open roads and late-night yearning, 'When Youth Fades Away' trades motion for stillness. It’s a body of work that rewards presence, patience, and deep listening. Produced by Grammy-winner Peter Katis, known for sculpting richly detailed soundscapes with acts like The National and Frightened Rabbit, the album leans into that emotional depth, unfurling in textured layers of synths, analogue tones, and understated arrangements.

At the heart of it all is Cian Godfrey, whose lyrical lens feels more introspective than ever. These are songs about memory’s strange afterglow, about the artifacts of a life once lived more recklessly—dusty corners, yellowing photographs, half-forgotten echoes that suddenly make sense years later. 'Irish Goodbye' stands out as one of the record’s most tender moments, laying bare the ache of distance and the weight of unspoken words. Meanwhile, the title-track dips into rhythmic, retro-futurist pulses—half elegy, half rebirth—suggesting a band unafraid to evolve.

With this release, Somebody’s Child not only cement their place among modern indie greats, they stretch toward something timeless. The rush may be gone, but what’s left is something far richer: a slow-burning, soul-stirring reminder that the beauty of growing older is not in what you leave behind, but in how you begin to understand it.