I love it when an artist previously reviewed on Indie Launchpad releases new music, as I know I'm pretty much guaranteed to like it. Godmuffin is the new release from Mike Viola, who some will maybe remember from the band The Candy Butchers. I last reviewed Mike's album Just Before Dark coming up for 20 years ago and it's an album I still listen to fairly often.

The album opens with "USA Up All Night" setting the tone immediately with a hauntingly beautiful violin introduction that slowly fades as the full band locks into its groove. It’s a seamless transition from elegance to energy, drawing the listener in before the rhythm fully takes hold. And then there’s Mike’s voice, unmistakable and ageless, carrying the same character and conviction it had two decades ago. Time may have passed, but the delivery remains as sharp, soulful, and instantly recognizable as ever.

Drifting in with a laid-back groove, "Creeper" is anchored by smooth synths and a pulsing bassline that set an easy, unhurried pace. As the track unfolds, warm, organic keyboard tones slide in, adding texture and depth without breaking the calm. It’s the sound of a lazy summer Sunday morning, windows open, sunlight spilling across the room, a soft breeze moving through the air. The rhythm doesn’t push, it simply moves, inviting you to breathe, stretch, and take in the sense of an unhurried day stretching ahead.

"Drug Rug" spins a tale of rock and roll excess, laced with sharp, knowing turns of phrase that perfectly capture that reckless, late-night energy. Yet despite the subject matter, it never feels dark or heavy. Instead, it strolls along with a loose, almost sing-song cadence, a grin behind the chaos, a wink to the listener. It’s less a cautionary tale and more a snapshot of indulgence wrapped in melody, swaggering forward with just enough charm to make you hum along.

I don’t think I ever would have imagined Mike tackling a doo-wop song, yet that’s exactly what we get with “We May Never Be Young Again”. Well, maybe calling it pure doo-wop is a stretch, but the echoes of the 1950s and ’60s are unmistakable, those nostalgic vocal inflections and melodic turns are all there. What makes it stand out, though, is how those classic influences are fused with something darker, more introspective. It’s an unlikely combination, but here it works beautifully, giving the track both warmth and weight.

With "All You Can Eat” we return to that familiar blend of darker subject matter wrapped in an irresistibly rich musical backdrop. There’s a weight to the lyrics, but it’s carried effortlessly by the arrangement, making the track more contemplative than heavy. The ending, in particular, stands out — the melody feels instantly recognizable, echoing some half-remembered song you can’t quite place. It’s elusive but comforting, like a tune that’s lived somewhere in the back of your mind for years.

At the midway point, we get something of an interlude with "The Littles" which begins as a loose, almost off-the-cuff jam, it feels like you’ve stumbled into an informal session, complete with background chatter and playful musical fragments. There’s even a nod to "Tubular Bells" in the intro that’s especially fun to catch. Gradually, the piece morphs into a short but striking vignette, a miniature song that flickers briefly to life before fading just over a minute later.

And possibly a contender for the longest track name on Indie Launchpad, “Superkid 2, Trying To Do The Thing That I Thought I Was Born To Do” is a slow, poignant exploration of a mid-life identity crisis. The song delves into the familiar tension between a conventional, secure life and a more authentic, artistic, yet uncertain path. It vividly captures the internal struggles and external pressures that can prevent someone from becoming the person they feel they were truly “born to be.” The track concludes with a synth riff that initially feels jarring, but soon takes on a different quality, like a countdown, a lead-up to a decision, or perhaps the hint of a transformative change.

"Honourable Mention With Jam Show" is an intriguing track, true to it's title. It opens in a loose, almost "around-the-campfire" style, giving the impression of an informal jam session. Around the minute mark, it begins to shift into something slightly more produced, only to transition again a minute later into another relaxed guitar jam, this time with subtle synth textures underpinning the sound. The track feels playful and exploratory, a patchwork of moods that keeps the listener engaged.

The next track, another mouthful of a title, "Please, Please, You’re "The Man Of The House Now" is a stark and dark song that tells the story of someone, likely a young boy, suddenly thrust into responsibility after the loss of a father figure. There is almost no comfort or consolation offered in the lyrics; it’s simply the way things are. This is summed up in the line: "Here's a funeral tap, go find yourself a sandwich. Don’t let them see you crying. Go check on your mother". The statement is dismissive, devoid of compassion, and profoundly resonant in its portrayal of a harsh, abrupt transition into adulthood. As a father, the narrative almost made me angry, not at the song itself, but at the coldness it depicts. But grief can be a powerful emotion, so the narrative can be somewhat forgiven. I can only hope my own son is never forced into a similar situation.

Musically, the mood lightens somewhat with "Ordinary Girl" though that underlying darkness proves hard to shake. The track is melodic and upbeat, with a buoyant rhythm and catchy instrumentation, yet the lyrics tell a more complicated story, of someone constrained by a life prescribed by others, longing for freedom and authenticity. The tension between the bright musical backdrop and the weight of the lyrics creates a quietly compelling contrast.

The album ends with "That Seems Impossible Now", probably my favourite track on the album. Another story of loss unfolding to a waltz. A key relationship that fades into a comfortable "cliche" over a lifetime, ending suddenly without a final goodbye.

Perhaps I’ve done this album a slight disservice, because breaking a work down track by track can sometimes strip away the very essence of what makes it compelling, and this album is truly compelling. Some albums are for unwinding, others for partying, but some are for reflection, for losing yourself in thought and feeling, and this is undoubtedly one of the latter, and album to add to the rotation when I just need to "be".