Spaceface – Lunar Manor

Spaceface have been around since 2012, carrying that lysergic sparkle through sunny song writing but shaping it into something sleeker, funkier, and unapologetically fun. Their debut Sun Kids leaned heavy into dreamy psychedelia. Following that Anemoia chased wistful nostalgia and left listeners in a daze of earworms and soft-focus bliss. They’ve toured relentlessly, throwing kaleidoscopic light shows, pulling weird props onto the stage, and always leaning into the joy. Over the years, they’ve traded verses and riffs with a who’s who of left-field pop friends, and now they are presenting us with yet another gem. Lunar Manor feels like the band finding their sweet spot, part disco ball, part bedroom window, part cosmic confessional.

The band is led by singer-songwriters Jake Ingalls, fresh from his years with The Flaming Lips, and Eric Martin, a long-time creative partner in the project. On stage they’re joined by Marina Aguerre of Teal Pop on bass and Garet Powell of Double Wish on drums, the four of them locking into grooves that teeter between woozy dream pop and sweaty disco. Across twelve years they’ve become known as much for their wild light shows and offbeat stage props as their knack for melodies that hang in your head for days.

The band have this to say about the album.

Let’s not hang about, it’s time to drop the needle and take a trip!

The album opens with ‘Be Here Forever’, a woozy cruiser that glides like Burt Bacharach refracted through a sci-fi lens. It’s the kind of track that makes you slow your walk to match its sunny tempo, maybe even loop an extra block because you don’t want it to end. The lyrics sinks in like warm sunlight. There’s no rush, no big drama, just a reminder to hold still and let the moment hum. It’s a luscious welcome to the album, a great bit musical hug.

Then the pace picks up. ‘Acceleration’ does exactly what the title promises. The synths flash, the bassline struts, and suddenly we’re on roller skates, spinning under disco lights. You can hear the band smiling inside the groove, riding that line between psychedelic swirl and full-on funk workout. It’s the first hint that Lunar Manor isn’t all starry-eyed floating, it wants your body moving too.

That mood spills into ‘Beach Within Reach’, a playful little sunbeam of a track. Theres a baroque charm, like stumbling barefoot across hot sand at some exclusive euro resort just to dive headfirst into the waves. It’s carefree but never lightweight. Spaceface always tuck depth beneath the shimmer, and here it’s the way nostalgia creeps in, reminding you that summers fade even when the memory doesn’t.

Then comes the first curveball. ‘IDKW2G’ is jagged and strange. There’s a restlessness beneath it, an anxiety that feels like late-night indecision. Do you stay out? Do you head home? The production gets more fragmented here, fractured beats colliding with dreamy synth washes. It’s a head trip, and it works.

‘I Never Learn’ follows like a relaxing exhale, pulling back into something more tender. Short and sweet it’s melancholy wrapped in psychedelic shimmer, the vocals, here simply another blissed out texture, floating just out of reach. Spaceface have always known how to sneak sadness into the funhouse, and this track aches in the best way. You feel the sting, but you’re happy to let it linger.

The playfulness returns on ‘Everything Is Money’. Here the satire cuts sharper, bouncing over funky riffs while poking fun at material obsession. The groove is infectious, but the message bites. It’s the kind of track that makes you dance even as you’re nodding in recognition.

Their cover of ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ arrives like a glitter bomb in the middle of the record. The Verve’s original is all grandiose melancholy. Spaceface flip it into something stranger, more neon and pulsating. The strings are replaced with synth waves, the rhythm looser, the atmosphere heavier on groove than solemnity. It shouldn’t work, but it does. You hear the familiar melody wrapped in disco-pop haze, and it feels like walking into a party where everyone knows the words. I’m going to be controversial here and say I prefer this version.

‘Look Into the Sky’ drifts softer, opening like a dream sequence. The vocals echo into the ether, drums marching against a background of synth stardust. They really have created another musical world. It’s a pop moment of cosmic reflection before the record pivots again.

‘All We Have’ pulls the threads together. It’s bittersweet but warm, reminding you of those fleeting nights where the laughter fades and suddenly you’re aware of how fragile everything feels. The lyrics sting but the groove keeps you swaying in time, a contradiction Spaceface nail time and again.

By the time ‘Watching You Watch the Moon’ hits, the album has become almost cinematic. The title alone feels like a scene from a 70s cult film, and the song leans into that voyeuristic romance. Slow grooves, echoing guitars, and a mood that feels like lying on a rooftop watching someone else’s moment of wonder. It’s gorgeous and wonderfully haunting.

The closer, ‘Wonder About You’, ties it all back to intimacy. After all the galactic glitter, the swirling funk, the dancefloor detours, Spaceface end on something soft and personal. It’s dreamy, yes, but grounded too. The record doesn’t vanish into space, it leaves you with a lingering thought, a quiet reflection, the sense that beneath all the spectacle they’re still just singing about connection.

Lunar Manor is a house you’ll want to keep coming back to. Every room glows differently. Some are full of mirrors and strobe lights. Some are cozy with candlelight and whispers. Together, it feels like Spaceface finally built the home they’ve been sketching since their earliest days. A place where you can dance, sigh, laugh, and get lost all at once.

Lunar Manor is out now via Mothland. Follow the band on the Spaceface Bandcamp page.

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