Regular readers of the blog will know that Philly based label, Julia’s War Recordings, are on a bit of a hot streak right now. Everything they touch seems to turn to gold so when they pop a new album into my inbox you know I’m going to sit up and take notice.
Joyer are brothers Nick and Shane Sullivan who started the project on the east coast, shifting between cities, floors, and basements, carrying their restless energy into every recording. They’ve cut their teeth on support slots with Horse Jumper of Love, Wishy, and villagerrr, and in 2024 gave us Night Songs, a record that glowed with fuzz and shadow. Now they’ve returned with On The Other End of the Line, a collection of songs shaped by distance, distance from home, distance from each other, distance from stability. It’s their most ambitious record yet, cut over eight days in Chicago with Slow Pulp’s Henry Stoehr helping steer the sound.
“Distance has an uncanny ability to clarify feelings. It can offer an invigorating reset, reaffirming your capacity for love and renewing your sense of self. But if you surrender to its wisdom, you may not always like what it reveals.”
That’s the frame Joyer work within here. They’re looking for connection, so lets drop the needle and get connected.
The record begins with ‘I Know Your Secret’. It’s woozy, paranoid, and utterly gripping, born from Nick’s unsettling dreams in Shane’s childhood bedroom. Guitars jar between fuzzed out bliss and metallic, janky, jangling chords. It simultaneously tickles that slowcore and gaze part of me. The vocals sit close, almost whisper-like. What makes it work is that tension between comfort and unease. The chords crash, then hang in the air, leaving you suspended, waiting for whatever comes next. This is a bold and accomplished opener.
Then comes ‘Cure’, the song that gives the album its name. It leans more into laid back slacker rock territory with a melody Malkmus would kill for. The guitars tumble loose and warm and there’s a casualness to it that feels almost accidental, but the hook is razor sharp. Shane’s vocal folds into the chords, half sigh, half shrug, like he’s letting the words drift rather than forcing them out. I’m really into this one.
‘Creases’ appears all at once guitars at ten gliding across the speakers. The riff is midwestern but the delivery is all their own. It has that wide-open feel, like a motorway stretching out in front of you, but instead of cruising, the song keeps tripping on its own shoelaces in the best way. The drums tumble and scatter, never quite settling into an easy groove, which gives the track its off-kilter charm. It’s nostalgia with teeth, and it cuts deeper the louder you play it.
‘Glare of the Beer Can’ feels brighter on the surface, with twang seeping into the guitars, but there’s melancholy baked into its bones. The shimmer in the chords could soundtrack a hazy summer afternoon, but the vocal delivery undercuts it with a heaviness that lingers. The pastoral touches make it one of the most distinct tracks here, pulling away from shoegaze grit into something closer to folk, but never fully letting go of the noise.
Then everything sharpens with ‘Spell’. This feels like a sister track musically to ‘I Know Your Secret’ but the tone here is sharper. More defined somehow. The guitars are falling over each other in the most glorious way, scrapping and sparking like loose wires. The vocal mostly tracks the guitar melody, and that mirroring effect gives the track a hypnotic pull, as though the voice is tethered to the strings and dragged along for the ride.
The midpoint arrives with ‘Something to Prove’. The song takes its time pulling to its focus which is really clever. Listening to the song emerge form the chaos is a revelation. At first, it’s all squall and static, like a band throwing paint at the walls just to see what sticks. Then, almost slyly, the groove locks in, and you realise all that noise was pointing somewhere. By the time the chorus arrives it feels earned, like they’ve fought their way through the mess to land on something undeniable. It’s messy and obsessive, but also strangely triumphant.
‘Favorite’ pushes further into that energy, a spidery rocker with itchy guitars and explosive bursts. It’s messy in the best way, that kind of chaos you only get when a band is willing to stretch their songs until they break. The chorus doesn’t so much arrive as detonate, guitars and vocals tearing open space all at once. What’s special is that even inside the racket, there’s a hook in that chorus that digs in deep. You hum it hours later, almost surprised it stuck given how ragged the delivery feels.
‘At the Movies’ reins things back. It’s a breather, a softer track that whilst it loses none of the wonky intensity of the previous tracks it chills things out. The guitars shimmer with a loose, hazy quality. Vocals arrive hushed, conversational almost, like leaning over to whisper during a film. What I love here is the balance. It’s gentle without tipping into sentimentality, still carrying that off-kilter edge that marks the whole record.
‘Test’ follows with sharper teeth again. Fickle rhythms keep it constantly shifting, and the guitars come in jagged. It’s one of the most immediate cuts here, and live it’ll tear the roof down. The riffs snarl and scrape, and when they lock together it’s like sparks going off. Vocals ride the chaos with a deadpan delivery that only makes the explosions feel bigger. This is Joyer at their most celebratory.
Everything closes with ‘Tell Me’, and it lands perfectly. Nick sings, “I give up and I try. But I know I’ll be alright. When I walk down to your door. It can’t hurt me anymore.” It’s vulnerable, raw, and hopeful all at once. That plea for connection cuts deep, the desire to be known by someone else in a way that feels simple yet overwhelming. The song circles back to the theme of distance, showing us that even when separation gnaws, the act of reaching out is its own kind of cure.
On The Other End of the Line is such an immersive listen. Guitars swing between jagged and melodic, sometimes colliding, sometimes weaving together, always demanding your full attention. Each track opens a different door. The sequencing makes the album less a straight line and more a ride, where every shift feels deliberate and takes you off somewhere new. By the time the final track fades, you’re left with the sense of having been inside something unpredictable but oddly cohesive. It’s a record that plays with your expectations, always moving just slightly to the left of where you think it’s going. Listening through once is satisfying, but the pull to go again is strong especially when each spin reveals something you missed. You never quite know what you’ll hear when you pick up, but it’s always worth answering when Joyer is the band is on the other end of the line.
On The Other End of the Line is out now via Julia’s War Recordings. Follow the band on the Joyer Bandcamp page.
You can follow Joyer on social media here…
Photo Credits
Eve Alpert
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