THE FRONT ROW

I’ve sat with this album for weeks.

Drafted and scrapped and redrafted again. Not because the record was hard to write about — the opposite. It’s because this one means something. And when something means this much, the words have to do it justice.

Songs From The Spine isn’t just a good second album. It’s a defining moment — for the band, for the scene, and for every one of us who still believes that guitar music can move people. I’ve tried to find the right way to say all of that, and I think we’ve landed it.

So here it is. The piece that took longer than any other this year. Because The Royston Club earned it. And so did you.

There’s a moment on this record, not a lyric, not a breakdown, just a flicker between two notes, where it all clicks. This is the one. The Royston Club have levelled up, and they’ve done it on their own terms.

You’ll have heard it whispered all year. That this could be their time. That something’s stirring in Wrexham again. That after a run of electric singles, a sold-out Blood Records zoetrope vinyl, and early signs of the faithful turning into a movement, Songs From The Spine might be the moment guitar music finds its next torchbearers.

And now it’s here. And it’s glorious.

Not in the chest-puffed, over-produced, industry-tailored sense. Glorious in the way that real albums used to be. Built for people who feel too much. Made by people who feel even more. Ten songs that mean it. Ten songs that are unapologetically raw, melodic, restless and ready. Ten songs that mark The Royston Club not as one of the best up-and-coming bands in the UK, but one of the most important.

This isn’t about chasing playlists. This is about belonging. About showing up for your mates, falling in and out of love in the same week, standing in a field with tears on your cheeks and mud on your trainers. This is about North Wales, sweaty venues, long drives home with your ears still ringing. This is about every kid who’s ever screamed lyrics into the dark because nothing else made sense.

This is about us.

A Moment in the Making

You could see this coming. From the demos to the debut, from every early show with broken strings and bouncing heads, there was always something magnetic about The Royston Club. They weren’t just good. They had a pulse. A rhythm that didn’t feel learned. It felt lived.

But Songs From The Spine is a different beast. You can hear the time spent, much of it written in Beaumaris, in the record’s confidence. This isn’t a rush job or a rinse-and-repeat follow-up. It’s a patient, purposeful body of work that balances raw emotion with serious musical craft.

Shivers, written during a fleeting moment between love and distance, sets that tone straight away. Built around a patient, distorted guitar line that swells like a wave before crashing into sudden silence, it draws its power from contrast. You can hear the influences in the structure, but this is very much The Royston Club’s own sound now, driven by Faithfull’s impassioned vocal and a bassline that holds steady while everything else falls apart.

From there, the record blooms. The Patch Where Nothing Grows, the first single to drop, still feels like a central pillar, emotionally weighty, musically taut, with a chorus built for outdoor stages but grounded in something deeply personal. Matthias’ songwriting, written in the haze of new love and uncertainty, shows a band writing from the trenches of real experience, not the sidelines.

Then there’s Glued To The Bed, the record’s heartbeat. An immediate highlight, it carries the swagger of The K’s with a darker, more groove-led undertone. It’s here where the rhythm section really flexes. Jones and Tute hold things down with finesse while layers build and release above them. It’s textured, moody, and charged with the kind of tension that makes your shoulders rise without you realising.

But Songs From The Spine doesn’t live in tension alone. It’s also a record of emotional release. Cariad, in particular, stands as one of their most exposed moments to date. Acoustic-led and slowly unfurling into a soaring hook, it’s a clear crossover point, without ever compromising what makes them great. Matthias described writing it in the wake of a breakup, a track that treads the difficult line between letting go and wanting it all back. And while its vulnerability is the talking point, the arrangement deserves equal praise, measured, deliberate, and executed with absolute control.

Not Just Songs. Statements.

What’s remarkable about Songs From The Spine is its sequencing. It knows when to charge and when to collapse. 30-20 kicks off side two with jangly guitars and an earworm chorus that conceals some of the most clever melodic work on the record. Falsettos are dropped in sparingly, guitars twist in directions you don’t quite expect, and yet it all lands like a straight-up indie anthem. It’s that dual appeal, surface-level accessibility, underlying craft, that puts them in a different league.

Then comes Spinning, and everything changes. A ballad that dials the tempo right down, but somehow increases the emotional pressure. Lyrics like “You say you’re fine but you’re lying through your teeth” and “the lights go out and you’re left holding on” are delivered with weight and precision. It’s the kind of track that will catch people off-guard, quiet, intimate, devastating. And then, just like that, they drop a Royston Club breakdown into the mix, and you remember exactly who you’re listening to.

Through The Cracks lifts the pace again, all stomping guitars and melodic muscle, and while it might not hit instantly on first listen, it’s the sleeper that’ll stay with you longest. Give it time, and it reveals the band’s knack for letting complexity live beneath catchiness.

And then Curses & Spit, the penultimate track, and arguably the most complete musical moment on the record. Every Royston Club hallmark is here: roaring vocals, delicately restrained guitars, moments of calm before chaos. It’s both anthemic and intricate, the kind of track you want to hear live, loud, and lose yourself in completely.

Then the closer. The Ballad of Glen Campbell. Six and a half minutes that pull everything together, the hooks, the lyricism, the dynamics, the emotion. If Songs From The Spine had to be distilled into one song, this would be it. Not because it’s the most obvious. But because it’s the most earned. A slow-burn masterclass in everything this band can do, and proof that they’re not just chasing moments, they’re building legacy.

What Comes Next?

Let’s be honest: if you’re reading The Front Row, you already love this band. You’ve already queued for the merch. You’ve already made a playlist that ends with The Patch Where Nothing Grows. You already know what this album means.

But here’s the difference: this one won’t stay yours for long.

Songs From The Spine is going to travel. It’s going to find its way into break-up playlists and driving soundtracks. It’s going to echo out of festival tents for summers to come. It’s going to matter to people who don’t even know the band yet, because it’s written from a place we all recognise, even if we call it something different.

This isn’t just a win for The Royston Club. It’s a win for guitar music. For the regional scenes. For the bands doing it the hard way. For every fan who’s stood at the barrier and thought this is ours.

Songs From The Spine doesn’t scream. It resonates.

It’s proof that feeling something, really feeling something, is still the most powerful thing music can do.

Buy the record. Learn every word. Take your mate to a gig. Let it into your life. Let it be your life.

Because if this is the shape of modern indie, we’ve got a lot to look forward to.

The Front Row stands for this. Bands with backbone. Records with reason. Emotion with purpose.

This is The Royston Club.
This is Songs From The Spine.
And this is just the beginning.