KEN SIO talks bittersweet departures and the loss of youth in Somebody’s Child’s When Youth Fades Away.
Time is a fickle subject, something only really sensed in its passing. For Somebody’s Child, it is the departure of youth that sits at the centre of their sophomore album, When Youth Fades Away. Cian Godfrey, the band’s frontman and writer, describes the project as a meditation—staying still, rather than fleeing. In contrast to their 2023 self-titled debut that was brimming with personal indie-rock anthems and unguarded lyricism, this is a project that finds focus in memory. Through a sonic and thematic evolution, the band explores how ageing is not a grand departure, but rather an accumulation of near-imperceptible moments.
The spotlight on Somebody’s Child comes on the heels of a headline performance at Dublin’s 3Olympia Theatre and support slots for Bloc Party, Kings of Leon and The War on Drugs. Admittedly, I was hesitant about whether Somebody’s Child could carve out a distinct place in the increasingly crowded UK indie-rock landscape. Blending synth-drenched atmospheres and stripped-back moments, When Youth Fades Away quickly dispels these doubts, expanding the band’s sonic promise as an introspective authority.
“The Kid” is an overture energised by Godfrey’s gritty vocals as he sings, “It’s hard to see how these hands are my own / Time keeps getting even faster”. The opener indulges in the clichés of the genre with flourishes of synth-pads and a building instrumental. In its five-and-a-half-minute runtime, the influence of producer Peter Katis (of Interpol and The National acclaim) is palpable. The result is an atmosphere across the project that elicits the sentiment of a blissful relationship, and the carefree rhythm of youth.
The album’s anthemic tracks have a shapeshifting quality. “Last Night I Held Your Hand” and the titular “When Youth Fades Away” ascend into expansive, crowd-ready choruses. The interplay between textured instrumentals and confessional lyricism bring a cinematic quality, with each track capturing the bittersweet nature of time. Godfrey cites the band’s influences for this album, ranging from Kraftwerk to Leonard Cohen’s storytelling, and it’s these early tracks that place the band’s experimentation with synths centre stage. While the tracks are a collage of musical influences, the band still manages to craft their individual sound with infectiously charming choruses.
“Porcelain (Losing All My Patience)” emerges as the early heartfelt standout, focused on strained relationships and the conflicts arising from new responsibility. With Godfrey’s velvety vocals driving the chorus, the track builds on the band’s sound from their debut, albeit leaning into some well-worn motifs of 2020s indie-rock. Just as the album risks becoming texturally monotonous, “New Orleans” disrupts the flow with a stripped-back piano-driven ballad on missed opportunities. It’s a necessary reprieve from the synth-heavy soundscape, demonstrating the band’s restraint and capacity for versatility.
Such a respite is short-lived, though. Tracks like “Wall Street” and “My Mind is on Fire” revert to the band’s familiar patterns. The latter is a standout in its own right, with its driving percussion, Godfrey’s vocal talent on full display and the climax of its festival-ready ending. The track exemplifies the album’s pulses of momentum, but also the band’s dependence on structural familiarity, and the perspectives listeners have become all too acquainted with as it unfolds. Though some tracks fail to contribute new ideas to the album’s thematic fixation, this quality underscores the similarly cyclical nature of memory; the past may be revisited but is rarely reshaped.
Then comes “Irish Goodbye”, offering one of the most narratively resonant moments. An apt title for a track about the quiet, unnoticed exits of youth—carrying the weight of regret from not recognising its loss. Godfrey’s lyricism here is at its most potent, reflecting on missed moments, the weight of hindsight, and how time erases itself. It feels like a reminder to make peace with the past, reflecting the developing maturity of the band’s artistry. Then, once again, the band commands attention through its variety in the tracklist, with “The Waterside” entering on broody guitar riffs, and finally evolving as a sonically darker moment.
By the time the closer, “Time of My Life”, arrives, the band fully leans into their strengths. The two-chord foundation brings together the album’s motif in a gratifyingly cathartic release, which serves as an end to this modern coming-of-age story. It’s a fitting conclusion, summarising what the album does best. It’s not boundary-pushing, but it’s gratifying and immersive.
When Youth Fades Away makes a poignant reflection on the passage of time while equally maturing the band’s sound. At times, the record treads familiar ground, though it succeeds without needing to break any boundaries. Instead, the new sonic direction, with its building synths, provides comfort, delivering an unwavering optimism to balance its heavy reflections. With an amalgam of ideas and inspiration, Somebody’s Child renders nostalgia into something both deeply personal yet universally resonant. By confronting the loss of youth with unflinching sincerity, the band don’t just reflect on the past—they carve a path toward a future that demands to be watched.
When Youth Fades Away by Somebody’s Child is out today via Frenchkiss Records.
