The debut from the Chicago trio tempers grandiose experiments with a keen drive for melody and structure, pushing the further reaches of psychedelia without ever losing its footing.
The maximalist mentality that prevails throughout Touch the Sound, the debut album from the Chicago trio Spun Out, might come as a surprise to those familiar with the band’s history. Vocalist and guitarist Mikey Wells, bassist James Weir, and drummer Alex Otake first came to prominence in the punk quartet NE-HI, who were known for their taut, rubbery guitar sound and sweaty, livewire performances. Though NE-HI became more nuanced in the studio before disbanding in 2019, their defining textures remained sparse and wiry. NE-HI vocalist Jason Balla took that to one extreme with the joyful twang of Dehd, and now the rest of the band is fully committed to a new, grandiose direction.
Small studio flourishes decorate each song on Touch the Sound. From the chimes and synths that open “Dark Room” to the guiro accents on “Off the Vine,” every instrument finds space in the mix. Most songs use the keyboard as their point of departure; they are as warm as Stevie Wonder’s clavichord. Shrouded under a thick electronic blanket, more eclectic choices, like the addition of an errant cowbell and tambourine on “Pretender,” feel familiar. With help from producer Josh Wells, who aided in developing the carefully layered synths of Destroyer’s ken, Spun Out evoke the spark of a jam session within the smoothed, controlled environment of the studio.
The record’s internal transitions—key changes or shifting movements within a single song—feel spontaneous and easy, a mark of the half-decade of camaraderie and chemistry the band’s members have banked. That cohesion also allows for cross-genre experimentations that fit into the patchwork of Spun Out’s overall sound. The buoyant synth-pop jingle “Such Are the Lonely” feels a generation removed from the earnest, piano-driven rhythms of “Don’t Act Down,” but the snap of Otake’s drums, the wistful echo of Weir’s bass, and Wells’ croon carry them into the same universe. From that base palette, the band is freer to experiment with a rotating ensemble of studio musicians, adding a saxophone or an eerie vocal line straight out of Sonic Youth’s “Kool Thing” without running off the map entirely.
Though the beat-driven psychedelia is far removed from the threadbare punk of their origins, what remains is a shared sense of trust. That faith in their collaborative process comes through in their experimentation—what could otherwise become ’80s pastiche instead feels warmly rendered. As a group joins Wells for an emphatic final coda on “Don’t Act Now,” there’s the sense that they could easily go on for another 20 minutes, or more frankly, that time doesn’t factor in much at all; that they restrain themselves to just over 40 minutes across the album seems like a knowing courtesy to their audience. If their previous band trafficked in intense minimalism, Touch the Sound is intimacy borne from abundance.
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