There was a particular era of indie culture back in the late 2010’s that some might rather forget: Odd Future merch everywhere, an influx of “soft boy” fashion, and suburban youth all over America bumping this zany new boy band called BROCKHAMPTON. They sounded fresh as hell, but they might’ve been the kind of thing you had to just be there for. Over half a decade later, most of the artists that defined this period have moved on to other ventures—but as evidenced by Chasing Moving Trains, there’s one still hung up on it.
Roy Blair was never a part of BROCKHAMPTON, but his ship rose with its tide: He helped out with Kevin Abstract’s American Boyfriend in 2016 before becoming a frequent collaborator with the group in later years, and he came into his own with 2017’s Cat Heaven, which saw niche success as the breakout record of an alt–R&B sad boy. But it’s been seven years since then—what’s come of his career? An EP in 2019, expanded into an album in 2020, then nearly five years of silence until his newest project, Chasing Moving Trains.
Blair is 28 years old now, but he doesn’t sound like it here. No, on this album, the indie darling sounds stuck in the past, with sonic stylings so evocative of his soft boy roots you’d think it was 2017 again: saccharine melodies, boyish pitch–shifting, autotuned gusto, and strummy guitars are all over this thing. But now, it seems, there’s a grander intention behind it all. The sound just isn’t as fun as it was back then—instead, it’s enveloped by a thick layer of poignant memories. The record is as transportative as its title implies, full of ruminations, nostalgia, and an unbearable yearning for change.
The first leg of the journey is sweet: “Karaoke”’s a majestic opener, adorned with warm strums, blissful harmonies, and a garnish of accordion. Importantly, it showcases Blair’s penchant for specificity, as he paints the story of a past romance in detailed scenes. “Amberwood” takes this further, gushing diary–like confessions over his time working with BROCKHAMPTON—it’s a fantastically capricious track, effortlessly swerving between egoistic highs (“Bitch Imma floor it, bitch they adore me, haven't got a Tesla but I can afford it”) and reflective lows (“But do they notice when you're broken? Do they feel it when your hope has been stolen?”).
Important to note are the record’s collaborators, specifically producers Instupendo and CFCF, who have made waves in electronic music in recent years (I was particularly enamored with the biomechanical menageries of Love Power A–to–Z back in 2021) and whose work on this record adds depth to its every empty space. Paired with James Ivy’s unmistakable shoegazey riffs on “Belmont” are Instupendo’s shimmering synthesizers blinking in and out like fireflies—it’s a shame Blair’s piping vocals don’t quite mesh well with the arrangement.
Then there’s “Hummingbird,” a dulcet, albeit pretty weightless, mid–tempo alt–R&B cut pondering the pressures of a past relationship—it’s one of the more forgettable tracks, but with prime indie personas like Choker (who I thought years ago could really be the next Frank Ocean) on guest vocals and Zack Villere on sitar, it still goes down like butter.
After the lead single “Panavision,” an abrupt detour into effervescent liquid drum & bass and the obvious turning point of the record, comes a run of the project’s most remarkable songs—and the barest ones, too. They immaculately capture the night’s slowest hours: the feeling of waiting for transport at the station alone, of wallowing in all the stargaze–y quietude of the dark. “Plum” instantly feels off–kilter, submerged in sparse lo–fi percussion and what sounds like the ambient murmurs of a train station—it’s a markedly intimate change of pace, with strikingly lucid lead vocals: “Staying out all night long / cigarettes in a storm drain / haven't felt like me in a real long time.”
The title track is equally spectacular, slow but lacquered in all the spirited ambience that defined Instupendo’s early work. The wallowing reaches its peak as Blair embodies his younger self again with pitch–shifted passion: “Twenty–three, I'll find out, I'll find out / You and me, I'll find out, I'll find out.” With quietly bubbling synthesizers, indebted to the best indietronica of recent years, the song waves farewell before shifting into a calm reawakening on “Rain”—a track marked by its radiant ambience, hypnotic pianos, and gorgeous pangs of percussion.
But then we arrive at the penultimate track, “Strawberry”—an almost baffling switch–up into high–tempo drum & bass coated in fifteen layers of sugar. It digests just fine, but I’m left a little soured by its inclusion as an ill–fitting reprieve from the heartache of everything else prior. Lyrically, it’s in keeping with themes of living in the past and disillusionment, but its cutesy, shouted deliveries aren’t nearly gratifying enough to justify the tonal whiplash.
Finally, the train arrives at “Garden,” a nine–minute epic touring every sound and theme previously featured on the journey so far. Like passing scenery, it cycles through plucky electronics, ambient ethereality, measured drum & bass, grand string arrangements, and every color of vocal processing imaginable. Blair’s verses contain a sense of determination, a final reckoning with everything he’s come to realize over the album. There’s repeated affirmations of letting go of the past—“I'm sorry but I'm looking out for myself now, myself now”—and striving for better—“I don't wanna wait until you're miles away.” In one verse, there’s an “Everything Is Romantic”–esque montage of specificities—“The clubs, the dancing, the side of a building, the seeds of a fruit, the feel of a mane,” among others—that quickly deteriorates into sonic chaos. “Someday, one day, I’ll wait, I’ll wait, I’ll wait,” Blair concludes, in a bold finish exalting the very act of yearning.
Roy Blair’s Chasing Moving Trains is an odyssey of regret and nostalgia that mourns the passage of time, starry–eyed and earnest at all stops. While I wouldn’t blame anyone for being turned off by its reliance on dated sounds and sappy songwriting, fully investing in the record’s emotional core is worth its weight entirely. Sporting a complex emotional arc, Blair’s newest project is befitting of its title, an immersive soundtrack for a train ride far from home.
