Review
A rush of furious guitars gives way to a hush on “SAFE,” where Witch Fever trade their usual blunt-force attack for exposed nerves. When the chorus crashes back in, shoegaze softness mutates into doom-punk weight, with Amy Walpole’s vocals moving from restraint to rupture. When the Horn Blows calls it “a dark, twisty lullaby,” a fitting description of a song that keeps tenderness and violence in the same room.
The Line of Best Fit names “SAFE” the album’s “centrepiece,” praising its breathy opening, layered chorus, measured bridge, and piano-and-strings outro as evidence of a more deliberate Witch Fever. The Soundboard similarly hears a “bittersweet ballad” in its account of a relationship becoming friendship, emphasizing the clean guitars and mournful cello beneath the distortion. The result is unusually vulnerable but never subdued: a bruised, slow-burning confession that eventually hits with the force of a breakdown.
