THE CITY SHRINKS is a ska-indie breakup album told by a younger quantum me who thinks he can fix feelings with logic, plans, or a good Tesco meal deal. He can’t — and that’s the joke and the tragedy.

Across twelve jangly, frantic, hyper-real London tracks, he stumbles through pubs, night buses, parks, Shoreditch pavements, and the kind of conversations where one person asks to be heard while the other proudly offers solutions. His mates try to help, the city keeps getting smaller, and every shortcut to healing turns into another reminder that he can’t out-think heartbreak.

The guitars are scrappy and warm, the drums punchy, the vocals half-spoken, half-broken, and the songs bounce with the kind of upbeat melancholy you only get when you’re not okay but pretending hard enough to dance anyway.

It’s funny until it hurts.
It’s sad until it laughs.
It’s the sound of a city closing in and a heart finally learning to breathe.

Regrets? I got two

Ever feel like you've been playing quantum leap in your own life?

Regrets? I got two

Quantum me