Coming Up Roses – How Did We Fall So Far?

Coming Up Roses arrived on the underground radar with the youthful shimmer of Waters in 2019, matured through the bittersweet reflections of Everything Is in 2021, and sharpened their melodic bite on the self‑titled EP that followed last year. Each release hinted at bigger statements to come, yet none predicted quite how emotionally wide this debut would swing.

This is a band that have taken their time. This album has been quietly building in the background, tucked between festival sets, the aforementioned EP drops and a slow but steady word-of-mouth groundswell. With roots split between Singapore and the UK, they’ve never felt locked into one scene or sound. Instead, they’ve carved out something personal, guitar music that isn’t afraid to be tender, loud, and completely transparent.

There’s a definite shift here. How Did We Fall So Far? feels more exposed than anything they’ve done before. The songs go deeper, linger longer, and aren’t looking for easy exits. I asked the band to tell us more about this change in tone.

‘Hello Miss Anxiety’ is our opener and  it drifts in on a hush of cymbal wash before Emily pleads, “Hello Miss Anxiety, will you go quietly?”. Guitars flicker like faulty neon, building a pulse that mirrors a racing heartbeat. When the chorus blooms the band let distortion spread in every direction, turning a personal panic attack into an anthem that still feels strangely communal.

Up next ‘I’m In Bed’ is a track that folds in on itself. The band lean into restraint here. The pacing while up there is also heavy, like dragging a duvet across your entire body just to block out the day. What’s powerful is how little they do with so much impact. No tricks. Just a sense of stillness, disorientation, and the vague idea that nothing really helps even when it should. It’s honest in a way that feels brave. The last note finishing on an almost unresolved crescendo just seals the deal.

We stride in to power ballad territory with ‘Over Your Head’.  There’s a weight hanging over this one. The drums whilst measured move forward with purpose, guitars flicker like light on the water. It plays with expectations, on yourself, on others and the way those can grow until you can’t move without feeling crushed by the pressure. It never shouts. It just keeps pushing forward, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched. That sense of trying to hold it all together is felt in every measured beat.

With ‘Little Guy’ the tone changes. It’s sharper, more direct. A protest song wrapped in frustration and half-swallowed rage. The band tighten their grip, with the rhythm section punching through the mix and the guitars suddenly carrying more bite. There’s real tension in the delivery. You can hear the fatigue of being overlooked, but it never folds into self-pity. The softest guitar tone on the album becomes the backdrop for its angriest vocal. Emily spits “Ah, hate to be the little guy” while Charlie Wilson’s bass rumbles like distant thunder. This is a confrontation, not a confession.

Glistening chorus‑laden guitars nod to an early Cranberries influence on ‘Billie and Allie’. The subject matter here is mortality. Lines such as “Billie, won’t you tell me your secret to escaping?” hang in the air like candle smoke. A dreamlike swirl of questions that never quite find answers. The band strip back the noise and let Emilys powerful vocal shine through. Despite the sombre subject matter the song sounds joyous.

‘Tired’ is possibly the most physically felt song on the album. The repetition in the structure mimics that brain-fog burnout perfectly. The band keep things circular, almost hypnotic, as if trying to replicate the loops of overthinking and emotional fatigue. There’s a resignation in the delivery that hits hard but not because it’s sad, but because it’s so familiar.

The band single out ‘Gotta Lose It All’ as the focus cut for good reason. This is pure catharsis. The melody is euphoric and all consuming. The guitars drive the song along with intent but also with reall care and sympathy to the nature of the lyrics. Just check out when Emily sings “Don’t know how it happened” looping over and over while the band stack layer on layer until the song becomes a tidal wave. For this isn’t just the best song in the album, it’s the best song they’ve written to date.

Piano takes centre stage for ‘I Miss You’, offering fragile footing for a portrait of grief. There’s a stillness to this one that feels sacred. No posturing, no need to impress. Just grief, laid bare. The arrangement gives the song room to breathe, to pause, to cry if it needs to. One of the album’s most disarming moments that’s so relatable as we have all felt that loss. The mix allows empty space to ring around each chord. It’s so powerful.

‘Awake’ is a slow descent into the kind of insomnia that blurs lines between nightmare and waking. The arrangement swells and recedes like shallow breathing, mirroring the liminal state between nightmare and dawn. The guitars loop and shimmer like flickering light from a hallway bulb that never quite stays on. Never settling, the song shifts shape as it goes. Every corner feels just slightly off. A sonic portrait of unrest that lands somewhere between surreal and terrifying.

The title track steps back from interior monologue to ask the world at large, “How Did We Fall So Far?’ This, the final track feels less like a conclusion and more like the start of another hard question. The band strip back again here, making space for doubt, discomfort and reflection. It’s less about finding meaning and more about admitting you don’t have any left in the tank. It doesn’t fade out, it just steps away quietly, as if unsure if anything else needs to be said.

Coming Up Roses have stretched every lesson from their EP years into something deeper and braver. The record traces anxiety, loss, and exhaustion yet somehow lands on possibility. It’s full of worn-out thoughts, grief that still stings, and those heavy quiet days when you’re not sure who you are anymore. The band doesn’t rush to fix anything. They just sit with it. And that, somehow, is exactly what makes this record stick. If any of these songs mirror your own late‑night inner voice, press play again and let them keep you company. Then tell a friend. Music like this deserves to travel.

How Did We Fall So Far? Is out now on vinyl, CD and digital streaming and will also be available at local record stores around the world including Rough Trade (UK), White Wabbit (Taiwan) and Disk Union (Japan).

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