FellowFeel returns with Shadows and Lies, a second full-length statement that deepens the project’s fascination with ambiguity, atmosphere and psychological space. The release moves confidently within the borders of electronic and downtempo, yet it rarely settles into predictable terrain. Instead, it unfolds like a half-lit corridor: quiet, deliberate, and charged with tension.
Behind FellowFeel stands Rob Fairweather — bass player, guitarist, composer and producer — whose background across the North London jazz circuit and later collaborations with Simon Warner, Nemo Jones, Maxi Jazz, Debbie Ffrench and Mike Lindup subtly informs the record’s musical vocabulary. There is a sense of musicianship here that feels lived-in rather than programmed. Even at its most synthetic, Shadows and Lies breathes.
Conceptually rooted in Plato’s allegory of the cave, the album circles around perception and distortion. Truth, in this framework, is unstable; light refracts; shadows suggest forms that may not exist. This philosophical underpinning is not delivered through explicit narrative but through sound design. Analogue synths hum with a faint instability, as if slightly detuned on purpose. Pads swell and recede like distant foghorns. Strings — sometimes clearly orchestral, sometimes processed into ghostly textures — evoke a Bernard Herrmann-inspired unease, recalling classic thriller scores without becoming pastiche.
Rhythmically, the album favors restraint. The downtempo pulse is steady yet rarely dominant. Beats emerge from beneath layers of texture rather than sitting on top of them. Kicks are often softened, rounded at the edges; snares and percussive accents feel brushed rather than struck. In several tracks, rhythmic motifs evolve gradually, adding small syncopations or filtered hi-hats that alter the emotional temperature without disrupting the flow. The effect is hypnotic but not inert. There is movement — subtle, patient movement.
Bass lines deserve particular attention. Fairweather’s background as a bassist is perceptible in the way low frequencies are handled: they are melodic as much as structural. Instead of merely anchoring the harmony, the bass often carries counter-themes that shift the listener’s focus. At times it glides beneath the arrangement with jazz-inflected phrasing; elsewhere it locks into minimalist patterns that enhance the album’s noir character.
The synth work oscillates between warmth and tension. Vintage-inspired analogue tones provide body, while sharper digital textures cut through at key moments, like slivers of light across a darkened room. Arpeggiators appear sparingly, used less for propulsion and more for atmosphere — fragments of motion that dissolve before fully crystallizing. Half-heard vocal samples drift in and out of the mix, processed to the point of abstraction. They do not deliver clear messages; they suggest presence.
What makes Shadows and Lies compelling is its cinematic cohesion. Recorded over the course of a year, the album carries the patience of a long-form project. Themes recur in altered form, textures echo across tracks, and the pacing feels intentional. This is music that invites full immersion. Heard in sequence, it resembles the score to an unseen film — a narrative that remains just out of frame.
The darker focus compared to FellowFeel’s 2024 debut is evident in the tonal palette. Minor keys dominate. Harmonies linger unresolved. Yet the record avoids monotony by carefully modulating intensity. Some passages retreat into near-ambient introspection; others introduce percussive tension or swelling strings that hint at confrontation. The balance between intimacy and expansiveness is handled with care.
Shadows and Lies will be available digitally and on streaming platforms from 6 February 2026. It stands as a high-quality release that reinforces FellowFeel’s identity within contemporary electronic music: reflective, textural, and quietly ambitious. For listeners drawn to downtempo atmospheres shaped by noir sensibilities and orchestral shadows, this album offers a cohesive and absorbing experience — one that lingers, like a question left deliberately unanswered.
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