Weight Will Unwind is a record about holding too much, wanting too much, and slowly

learning to let a little of it go. It’s about the landscapes you leave behind, the people who

stay in your head, and the strange, quiet ways life reshapes you when you’re not looking.

It lifts off with “Fly Us Both Away” — all momentum and restless hope, the feeling of

running toward something before you know if it’ll catch you.

“HBDN1” keeps that pulse alive: a bright, slightly cracked demo that feels like trying to

make sense of feelings before you’ve even said them out loud.

The title track, “Weight Will Unwind,” arrives early as the album’s thesis — the pressure

point loosening, the moment you admit you can’t carry everything alone.

From there, the energy swells into “Inside Your Mind,” the loudest and most vivid burst

on the record, all tension, longing, and late-night overthinking wrapped in one rush.

“I Want You” follows like the morning after: honest, bare, and unsure, a soft confession

spoken when everything has finally gone quiet.

Then comes “The River,” grounding the album with memory and movement — how

emotion flows, returns, and reshapes the banks every time. It’s the deep breath in the

middle of the storm.

The mood lifts again with “Two Magpies,” a reminder not to drown in your own

seriousness — a wink, a superstition, a spark of humour that cuts through the weight.

“Hebridean Eyes” shifts into something more intimate and delicate, a nylon-strung

postcard from the islands — all distance, tenderness, and the ache of wanting to be

understood.

As things begin to settle, “Skim Stones” looks back at what’s been lost and what remains

— the ripples, the echoes, the tiny impacts you feel long after the moment passes.

And finally, “Change The Sheets” closes the record with a shrug and a smile: a reminder

that life doesn’t wrap itself neatly, and sometimes moving on is as simple (and

impossible) as tidying your room and choosing to start again.

Weight Will Unwind is messy, tender, hopeful, frustrated, romantic, and painfully human.

It doesn’t offer answers — it just holds the moments up to the light, one by one, until

they feel a little less heavy