Cloth, for the uninitiated, are the twin siblings Rachael and Paul Swinton. They first made waves with their 2019 self-titled debut Cloth, a record that immediately marked them as something different in the Scottish indie landscape—low-lit, late-night indie that drew on minimalism and atmosphere more than bombast. With Paul’s intricate guitar work and Rachael’s serene, whisper-soft vocals, Cloth felt like a secret you were lucky to stumble across. It was all space and suggestion, a masterclass in how to say more by playing less. That debut went on to be shortlisted for the Scottish Album of the Year Award and won them the admiration of tastemakers across the UK, from BBC 6 Music to Rough Trade.
Then came Low Sun in 2022, a shift in both tone and scope. Still unmistakably Cloth, but tinged with a darker, more exploratory mood. Where Cloth sounded like the dusk falling gently over the city, Low Sun ventured into midnight—a little more layered, a touch more rhythmic, as if they were beginning to push gently at the walls of their own sound. You could hear the confidence growing, and with it, a quiet hunger.
Which brings us to now. To Pink Silence. An album that doesn’t so much announce itself as seep in under your skin. Released via Rock Action Records (yes, that Rock Action—home of Mogwai), Pink Silence sees Cloth stretch further than ever before, but they do it with the same hushed poise that made us fall for them in the first place. Produced by Ali Chant (Perfume Genius, PJ Harvey), and featuring contributions from luminaries like Adrian Utley of Portishead, Owen Pallett, and Stuart Braithwaite, it’s an album that feels expansive, confident, yet still deeply intimate. It’s twilight music with muscle.
Let’s get into it.
The opener—and title track—sets the tone with a stunning emotional ambiguity. Built around a skeletal guitar figure and Rachael’s signature feather-light vocals, it’s an invocation of stillness. But listen closely: there’s tension lurking beneath. That phrase “pink silence” is borrowed from the light just before dusk or dawn, and the song embodies that liminal beauty—part longing, part peace, part dread. It’s a curtain-raiser that doesn’t explode, it glows—and in doing so, it tells you everything about the slow-burning world you’re stepping into.
‘Polaroid’ lands like a memory you’re not sure you want to revisit. Released ahead of the album as a single, it gives us one of the strongest melodic hooks Cloth have written so far. There’s a heartbeat pulse to the rhythm, a sense of propulsion that makes this one of the most immediate tracks on the album. It’s shimmering, sad, and quietly devastating.
A claustrophobic and hypnotic highlight. ‘Stuck’ does what it says on the tin—its groove is a loop, a cycle, a spiral. Rachael’s delivery becomes almost mantra-like, and it works brilliantly. Paul’s guitar drips tension, and the way the production folds layers in and out creates a dizzying sense of stasis. This is Cloth at their most experimental without losing that signature clarity. You feel trapped, but willingly so. Like you’re letting the track hold you in its vice grip.
Up next might just be the crown jewel of Pink Silence. ‘Golden’ flirts with outright pop, but with Cloth’s typical restraint and emotional intelligence. There’s a hi-hat skip in the beat, some real brightness in the mix, and a yearning chorus that absolutely kills you. It’s beautiful and bruised—hopeful but haunted. It gives me Radio Dept. vibes, or a slightly euphoric Beach House moment. An end-of-summer song with the first cool wind in the air. Sublime.
Minimal, melancholy, and so emotionally pure it feels intrusive. ‘The Cottage’ unfolds slowly, like a letter being read in real time. The instrumentation is stripped way back and distant, giving space to Rachael’s voice, which here feels especially fragile and intimate. The lyrics are sparse but suggest deep memory—images of a retreat, a shared escape, now tainted or gone. It feels like grief, but also closure. Like someone saying goodbye to the past without bitterness, just truth. It’s the stillest song on the album, and perhaps the most powerful.
‘It’s A Lot’ arrives next all edgy, jittery and checking the corners. Every space in the mix gets its own highlight throughout the song. Rachael’s voice assuming more authority and the guitars both short and sharp as well as serpentine in the latter stages—like they’re trying to find an exit that isn’t there. There’s a beautifully restless energy here, like a person pacing a small room, mind racing, heart pounding. It’s anxious music—but held with such grace.
‘I Don’t Think So’ might be the most pop moment on the record, but still delivered in that unshakeable, whispery Cloth fashion. The sparse guitars here are angular, with an almost post-punk energy, and Rachael’s delivery has a cold detachment to it. But come the chorus, there’s a fire. This is where the restraint is, the drama. It’s one of those rare songs that feels like a quiet scream.
‘Stones’ feels like a classic Cloth deep cut—textured, moody, and metaphorical. The “stones” of the title feel symbolic of all the small burdens we carry, the invisible weight that accumulates. There’s a looping, seasick rhythm and a slow drift in the chord progressions that echo the lyrics perfectly. It’s not flashy, but it stays with you. The kind of track you go back to weeks later and realise it’s been playing in the background of your brain the whole time.
Now we get a real shift in temperature. ‘Burn’ is raw and cathartic—its sonic edges sharper than much of the album. There’s a scorched-earth feel to it, as though Cloth are exorcising something. The instrumentation hits harder, the reverb is deeper, and the emotional arc is undeniable. The closest they’ve come to a musical purge.
The closer is one of the finest endings to an album I’ve heard in ages. ‘Write It Down’ is Cloth looking directly into the heart of everything they’ve built up over the album. It’s about memory, communication, and the need to document our pain before we forget it—or worse, rewrite it. There’s something sacred about the stillness here. A looping, almost music box-like motif anchors the track, gently unfurling like the kind of thought you only dare have at 2AM. Rachael’s vocal is at its most tender and clear, almost like a voice inside your head. The instrumentation remains sparse, but there’s a quiet grandeur in the restraint. It’s not a goodbye. It’s more like a memory being sealed. A moment held in amber.
Pink Silence isn’t an album that chases your attention. It earns your trust. It unfolds like a slow emotional film—quiet, detailed, devastating. Cloth have managed something really special here: an album that feels like a natural progression, but also a huge artistic leap. More confident, more exposed, more them. This is music for the quiet moments. For the deep-end thinkers. For the dreamers and the emotionally fluent.
If you haven’t heard Pink Silence yet—really heard it—go find a still hour, some decent headphones, and let it wash over you.
Pink Silence is out Friday April 25th 2025 Via Rock Action Records. You can check out the album and more on the Cloth Bandcamp page. The album is also getting the Dinked treatment too.
You can follow Cloth on social media here…
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