I came to this one late. For all the hours I spend digging through Bandcamp tags and dusty blog archives, Highspire somehow slipped through my net. I’d seen the name mentioned numerous times online. But Crushed is the first album of theirs I’ve properly sat down with (Thanks Rob). And now I’m kicking myself for not tuning in sooner.
I had to investigate further. They formed back in the late 90s, with their debut Your Everything arriving in 2004 on Clairecords. From what I can see that record became a staple on early shoegaze forums. KEXP even listed it in their top ten of the year. A second album, Aquatic, landed in 2010. Then silence. Until now. Fifteen years later, Highspire have returned. And Crushed doesn’t just feel like a comeback. It feels like a statement. The kind a band makes when they know exactly who they are and don’t feel the need to explain it.
Highspire feature a new lineup which includes Laura Watling (Tears Run Rings, The Autocollants), John Loring (Fleeting Joys), drummer Kory Gable, and original drummer Guyton Sanders. Loring also handled mixing and mastering duties, and you can hear the care in every second.
This record grabbed me right from the start. Here’s why.
The album opens with the title track. Full of early 90s flavour, the looped sample hooks us in before the guitars erupt. There’s a sense of build from the first second. That warped sample feels like a memory trying to surface, and just as you start to settle into it, the track blows wide open. The guitars are thick, layered, pushing the air around them. Aggressive and insistent. The vocals arrive quietly, buried just deep enough to feel ghosted. It’s more of a presence than a statement. There’s something fractured in the delivery. As the track rolls on, you notice how tightly it’s been constructed. There’s a looping quality to the rhythm section, locking into repetition without becoming static. Everything feels like it’s leaning forward It’s a clever opener. Coming out swinging, Highspire draw you in with atmosphere and unease.
Beaming in on a fractured laser comes ‘Gloria’. Mean and moody through the instrumental passages, it lightens up with some jangle pop vibes in the vocal-driven sections. The intro is jagged, spitting shards of distortion in short bursts. The drums hit a little harder here too, giving the track a punchier backbone. There’s a bitterness in the way it moves, something slightly off-kilter and wired.
Then the vocals arrive and everything shifts. Suddenly it feels like a different track. Bright chords jangle underneath, the rhythm loosens, and there’s space to breathe. It doesn’t quite become cheerful, but the clouds’ part just enough to let the light in. The harmonies bring a soft, melodic lift that makes the whole thing feel momentarily weightless What’s clever here is how those two moods play off each other. The verses and instrumental breaks keep dragging the song into darker territory, but the vocals keep fighting for some kind of beauty. It’s a tug-of-war that never resolves, and that tension makes it stick.
‘Ghosts Forever’ doesn’t so much come in but slowly appears. The haze of stacked guitars gives way to a bright keyboard riff that in turn ushers in the vocals. It’s a slow reveal. The track arrives like a figure in the distance, edges blurred, gradually sharpening into focus. The guitars are thick and clouded at first, layered into a soft wall. But they never smother. Instead, they serve as a warm bed for that bright, chiming keyboard line to slip through. It’s subtle but striking. Highspire know exactly when to pull focus. Then come the vocals, and the whole thing lifts. This is where the band’s melodic instincts really shine. There’s a kind of careful sadness in the delivery, not overplayed, just gently felt. The harmonies feel close, like they’re being sung just for you. No theatrics, no drama. Just melody, laid bare and sincere. What’s special about this track is how light it feels despite the density of the sound. It carries emotional weight but moves with a softness.
There’s something triumphant about the intro to ‘She Talks in Maybes’. It starts with this quiet confidence. The opening chords feel bigger, brighter, like the track’s lifting its head up after a long stretch of staring at the ground. The synth line chimes gently in the background, adding sparkle without overpowering the mix. It’s subtle, but it creates this sense of uplift before a single word is sung. Then the vocals enter and mirror that mood. There’s a sweetness to the melody, but it’s never syrupy. It feels hopeful, but measured. The phrasing is careful. You can hear the hesitation baked into the title. Someone caught between what they want to say and what they actually manage to get out. The drums are loose and unfussy, giving the track enough room to breathe. It’s not rushed. Every element is given its space. The guitars wrap around the vocal lines without cluttering them. There’s an emotional clarity here that really lands.
Keeping us on our toes next is ‘You Don’t Think You Matter’. The band lean into a more jangle pop sound here with a result that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Primitives album. There’s a spring in its step from the very first bar. The drums are crisp, the guitars tight and chiming. Everything feels dialled in and sharpened. It’s the most immediate track so far, both in tempo and tone. That jangle pop flavour cuts through the mix with clarity, giving the record a refreshing shift just when it needs it. But listen closely and you’ll find that the lyrical content is at odds with the shimmer. There’s a sadness threaded through the lines. It’s delivered in a plainspoken way that makes it even more affecting. No embellishment. Just a quiet confession that hits hard when it lands. The chorus arrives quickly and doesn’t overstay. It’s lean, melodic, and catchy without trying to be. The kind of hook that sneaks up on you. The harmonies are particularly sharp here, lifting the vocal line while adding just a hint of melancholy beneath the surface. There’s no fat on this one. It says what it needs to say, makes you feel it, and then it’s gone.
I’m immediately sucked into the pulsing and pounding sound of ‘Trixster’. This has some real old school shoegaze appeal and wouldn’t have sounded out of place on an episode of Snub TV. The bassline is the first thing that grabs me. It throbs with purpose, anchoring the whole track while everything else spirals around it. The drums hit with a force that feels physical. There’s a live, almost chaotic energy pulsing through the mix, like the track could fall apart at any second but somehow never does. The guitars are wild here. They’re not there to soothe or shimmer. They’re jagged, buzzing, restless like static. There’s a deliberate rawness to the tone that gives it real bite. It’s fuzzy, fast and just on the edge of being too much, which makes it all the more thrilling. Vocals feel like they’ve been caught in a whirlwind all swallowed into the storm and pushed back out. They’re distorted, warped at the edges, but never fully lost. That tension between clarity and noise is exactly what gives the track its bite.
‘Only Malice Haunts You’ is a track that is led by its vocal melody, and you can almost hear the guitars in particular making way for that uplifting mood to penetrate. This one feels more open, more exposed. The production leaves space around the vocal, letting it breathe. That choice pays off. The melody rises with real intent, and instead of being buried in layers of sound, it sits front and centre. It’s a shift in dynamic that lands beautifully. There’s something almost tender in the way it unfolds.
The guitars are still very much present, but they’re less dominant. They hover, they shimmer, they underline rather than lead. It’s as if they’ve stepped back, content to frame rather than fight for attention. That restraint adds to the emotional weight. It feels like everyone involved knew what the track needed and let it happen. There’s a sense of letting go threaded through the melody. The way the chorus lifts gives the impression of someone finally saying what they needed to say.
Next, we float up into ‘Blackened Skies’. The guitars reconfigure and dress themselves in dream pop colours that shimmer rather than burn. It’s a graceful shift. After the tightly wound pulse of the last few tracks, this one opens like a slow breath. The pace relaxes and the textures smooth out. The guitars feel lighter here, still layered, still rich, but more luminous. They don’t push forward; they glow in place. The drumming keeps things grounded. There’s a steady pulse, nothing flashy, just enough drive to stop the track from drifting too far into the clouds. The vocals are hushed and distant again, but this time they feel comforting rather than withdrawn. The melody is gentle, almost conversational, and the lyrics come across like fragments of memory. This one lingers in a different way. There’s a warmth in its restraint, and the details keep revealing themselves with each repeat listen. One of the more subtle moments on the album, but also one of the most rewarding.
‘You’re So High’ has an immediacy that we haven’t heard as yet. It feels like a pop song that has slipped on a shoegaze shroud. Right from the first bar, it feels direct. The hook comes early and it sticks. The vocal melody is clean and confident, standing tall over a bed of thick guitars that buzz without swallowing the song. There’s a clarity here that gives the track a different kind of energy—less haze, more shape. Underneath the fuzz, there’s a real pop sensibility driving everything. The chord progression is simple but effective, the chorus lands on the first listen, and there’s a structure to it that feels classic. It’s compact and hook-laden, but still wears that shoegaze texture proudly, softened edges, woozy layers and gauzy transitions. The title might suggest euphoria, but the delivery hints at disconnection. Admiration mixed with a dose of quiet frustration. It’s all delivered with a smile, but you can sense the emotional static underneath. It’s the most accessible track here. A gateway moment for anyone new to the band. And yet, it still fits perfectly in the wider arc of the album. Shoegaze with a sugar rush.
The album comes to a close with ‘Nautilus’ and what a closer it is. That chorus! Just wow. This is a track designed to get you right in the feels and it’s deadly effective. There’s a slow build to this one. The intro stretches out, unhurried, with soft synths and patient drumming laying down the atmosphere. The guitars are dialled back at first, used more like colour washes than lead instruments. It feels like a reset—like the band are taking one last deep breath before letting it all out. Then the chorus hits. It’s huge, but not in a showy way. The vocal melody lifts everything with a kind of wounded optimism. There’s real emotional pull here. You feel it in your chest. It’s the kind of moment that stops you mid-thought. Everything around it seems to drop away and all you’re left with is that voice, and that feeling. There’s no clutter. No overthinking. Just a direct hit to the heart. As the track drifts out, it doesn’t feel like it’s ending. It feels like it’s dissolving. Fading gently into the air rather than finishing with a full stop. A perfect exit. Not grand, not dramatic, but deeply affecting. They saved their most emotionally resonant moment for last.
This is a band fully in command of their sound. They’re not chasing trends or revisiting old glories. They’re building from the inside out. Crushed doesn’t frontload its best material or overplay its hand. It unfolds in waves. From the sample-driven haze of the opener to the crushing emotional clarity of ‘Nautilus’, every track earns its place. Each song brings a distinct mood, a different shade, a new emotional angle. Some are slow burns. Some hit instantly. All of them stick.
The sequencing is sharp. The textures shift and evolve without ever losing the thread. You get jagged energy in ‘Trixster’, gentle uplift in ‘Only Malice Haunts You’, and that pop-leaning sweetness wrapped in static on ‘You’re So High’. But through it all, the band never drop their focus. The mix never loses its depth. The feeling never fades. I came into Crushed with no history, no nostalgia, no expectations. But by the end, it felt like something I’d been waiting for without realising it. This is the kind of album that sends you straight into the back catalogue. I’ve already started digging through Your Everything and Aquatic and finding so many threads that lead straight here. If you’re new to Highspire too, don’t worry. Crushed is a perfect place to start. It doesn’t just mark a return for me; it marks a high point.
Crushed is available now via Shelflife Records on some lovely vinyl variants. Head over to the Highspire Bandcamp page to find out more.
You can follow Highspire on social media here…
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