Tired Panda – Voyage

There’s something endlessly fascinating about how Andrea Rubbio’s path winds through places and projects yet always circles back to the same restless creative core. With Geography of the Moon, Rubbio (aka Santa Pazienza) built something raw and thoughtful alongside Virginia Bones. Their debut album Fake Flowers Never Die set out a blueprint: psych rock, post punk, new wave and indie all fused under the banner of what they once called psychwave. The words mattered as much as the notes; each phrase delivered with a careful mix of spoken word and melody.

After returning to Glasgow for a spell — where Andrea’s family roots lie — the duo took to the road almost permanently. Over 450 gigs since lockdown lifted, taking them from Thailand to Indonesia, Japan and beyond. Those shows sharpened the edges of the band’s sound, but they also planted seeds for something different. That something different is Tired Panda.

Tired Panda is a solo project born out of hotel rooms, city alleys and long stretches of road where sleep blurs with thought. Here, the sitar steps forward, the beats sink deeper into trip hop and electronica, and the sense of place becomes even stronger. It isn’t just music made somewhere; it’s music about movement, about letting the places you pass through leave their mark. Rubbio’s move from the rainy familiarity of Glasgow to the humid streets of Thailand cracked open a new palette. Where Geography of the Moon leans into the dance of the guitar melody and lyrical push-pull, Tired Panda drifts, loops and meditates. Yet both projects share that quiet confidence: the belief that imperfections are worth keeping, that songs should sound lived in rather than polished.

After giving us a taster with the Indian Tales EP at the start of the year Rubbio has delivered us his debut album, Voyage.

Let’s dive in and see where each track takes us.

We are straight in with ‘Den Yllek’. Right away you’re caught by that eastern vibe looping around a slow, heavy beat. The title itself feels like a code you’re invited to crack. Everything moves in slow circles, snatches of reversed textures, delayed percussion, bass that slides rather than walks. There’s no drop, no climax, just a steady draw into Tired Panda’s world.

Next up ‘Shambala Blues’ is dusty and loose. It sounds like it was tracked straight to tape late at night, under a wide-open sky. Hints of shoegaze style chords, the walking bass notes and the sitar threading through like a ghost melody. What really strikes you though is the restraint. The track holds back, always on the edge of fully forming. That restraint is what makes it feel alive.

‘The Last Radio Station’ arrives. There’s a lazy swing to this one that instantly calls back to those late 90s beats. Think Alabama 3 if they packed up the drum machine and took a cheap flight to Bangkok. The rhythm shuffles and stomps, built from vinyl crackle, half-heard samples and sitar runs that drift in like stray thoughts. Ultimately it feels handmade, dusty, and quietly hypnotic, but all the more real for it.

‘Ghosts of Phnom Penh’ drifts between two worlds. Miss Sarawan’s vocal feels ancient, carrying the weight of old stories in every note. Then come these bursts of noisy, almost abrasive guitar that cut through like passing traffic in a quiet temple courtyard. The sitar weaves gently underneath, never fighting for space, just adding colour around the edges. What keeps it compelling is that contrast: the softness of the vocal against the raw scrape of the guitar, modern noise crashing into something timeless. It doesn’t settle, and that’s exactly why it lingers. I keep coming back to how it feels simultaneously ancient and modern, a quality Rubbio capture’s well.

‘From Brian’s to Mumbai’ is built around a slow, plodding beat that feels like tired footsteps on a winding mountain path. The sitar stays patient, playing sparse notes that seem to pause and look around rather than rush ahead. Underneath, gentle drone and busy tabla give the track quiet momentum without forcing it forward. The title hints at humour, but the sound feels reflective. It is less about reaching a destination and more about each careful step along the way.

‘God am I Awake?’ stands out right away because of Darthreider’s vocal approach. He raps in Japanese, words tumbling over each other in loose, conversational bursts, then slips into English almost mid-thought once or twice. The switch is really clever. I t keeps you leaning in, wanting to catch every syllable. Behind him, the track leans on a thick dub-style bassline, slow and deliberate, anchoring everything in low-end warmth. Then you get these unexpected shards of bright Thai pop guitar, sharp and sweet, almost dancing across the rhythm. The sitar sits out here, letting the vocal take the spotlight, but guitar is there in the spaces, colouring the beat rather than leading it. What makes it click is the contrast: Darthreider’s freestyle feels restless and fluid while the bass stays rooted, heavy and calm. It feels like listening to three cities at once, each part pulling in its own direction but somehow still travelling together.

‘Road to Gokarna’ feels like stepping off a side street and stumbling into an unexpected fairground, lights spinning and bells ringing in the warm night air. Then something shifts. You’re no longer standing still, the sound pulls you forward, like travelling through time and space on a slow drift.
Field recordings blur with chimes and gentle drones until you find yourself on a Thai shore at midnight. The sitar plays soft, scattered notes, never telling a full story, just hinting at one. Above it all, a quiet sky full of stars seems to watch in silence, giving the piece a calm, unhurried magic.

‘The Night’ is nothing short of beautiful. At its heart this feels like post rock set adrift on an eastern excursion, swapping guitars for sitar and hand percussion. Mahesh Vinayakram’s vocal lifts the track into something quietly spellbinding. He moves between phrases so effortlessly, blending classical Indian ornamentation with freer, softer lines that feel almost improvised. Each passage brings a new texture, drawing you closer until you can almost feel the heat rising from the shoreline. What stays with you isn’t just the technique but the grace behind it, turning a simple arrangement into something quietly unforgettable. Easily my album highlight!

Built around a squelchy, restless guitar riff that never quite settles ‘Thin Line’ is always poking at the edges. The sitar answers with huge, spaced-out swells drenched in reverb, rising and falling like distant sirens. Underneath, tablas keep the time, not rushed, but insistent and quietly probing, almost asking where the track might go next. Just when you start to drift with the sitar, the guitars crash back in, crushing and chaotic, shaking you awake and pulling the track into rougher territory. It’s that sudden clash, calm sitar and restless, almost violent guitar and the big beat boutique drums that makes this track hit harder than it first appears.

‘The New Normal’ brings in someone deeply familiar for long-time listeners: Virginia Bones, Rubbio’s wife and creative partner from Geography of the Moon. Her voice doesn’t just add melody; it feels like a conversation, part spoken, part sung, always poetic and quietly observant. Every line feels carefully placed, giving the song a thoughtful, human heart. Beneath her words, a pulsing beat keeps the track moving forward while alien bleeps and bloops flicker in and out like stray signals. It’s a strange balance, kinda mechanical and intimate but do you know what, it works because Virginia’s delivery never tries to dominate. She drifts just above the beat, letting the music breathe around her words. That’s her gift. To sound thoughtful without sounding forced, to speak softly and still be heard above everything else.

On ‘What You Do At Night’ the sound shifts from sitar to sarod, inviting Arnab Bhattacharya, a true master of the instrument, to take the lead. His playing carries the track into a transcendental musical journey. The sarod’s rich, resonant tones weave through the slow, steady pulse of the beat and the intricate rhythms of the tablas. It feels like drifting through soundscapes that blend tradition with a hypnotic modern groove. Bhattacharya’s touch brings a deep sense of calm and focus, anchoring the track while opening space for the music to breathe and unfold.

The album closes with ’45 a Round’, anchored by the gravelly voice of Cove Aaronoff, known from Phnom Penh’s originals scene with Japan Guitar Shop. His vocals bring a raw, smoky edge that immediately sets a sultry mood. The track unfolds slowly, gliding with a relaxed, almost lazy rhythm that pulls you in gently. Then, just when you’re settled into that groove, it erupts with massive, crashing guitar chords in the choruses. Those moments feel like a release of pent-up energy, adding weight and drama to the song’s laid-back foundation. The contrast between Cove’s intimate delivery and the powerful instrumentation makes the closing track linger long after it ends, leaving you with a sense of both warmth and drama.

Voyage is exactly what the name promises: a record about movement, both physical and emotional. There are no easy anthems here, no forced climaxes, just a steady, thoughtful drift across moods, textures and cities. It feels less like a collection of songs and more like one long breath held between multiple continents. A record that opens its palms rather than closes its fists. If you give it time, it slowly reveals where it’s come from and where it wants to go. It’s the sound of someone letting the world in, track by track. Right now, that feels so much more important than anything else.

You can check out Voyage now over on the Tired Panda Bandcamp Page.

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Photo Credit

Steve Porte