REVIEW: Far Caspian - Autofiction

Far Caspian taps into youthful dissonance by way of bright jangles and nostalgic malaise.

43:04 // July 25, 2025 // Tiny Library Records

I'm not sure about you, but my last memories of true, unfettered youth exist in the post-high school limbo where I had not a care in the world except for, you know, the weight of my future looming over me like an anvil. I invariably sought out forms of escapism to delay the inevitable "get your shit together," squeezing out the last few drops of NEET life by pulling all-nighters on the family PC, immersed in music forums, falling down rabbit holes of 90s obscurities to transport my mind as far away from the present as possible. These are fond memories, but they don't exist without the context of the anvil. The sun would rise, lighting the sky with hues of orange and baby blue, and all I could see was a world of churning gears waiting to swallow me whole. I shut off the computer and ran to bed.

Memories of that phase are encapsulated by a mix of fear and fruitfulness that I have always struggled to put a word to (I hear they just call it “coming of age” in Hollywood), so naturally, the feeling became defined by the music I was listening to at the time. I recall the muted tones of Duster, the textural romance of Drop Nineteens, the scruffy twee pop of Rocketship. Anything that could tap into a youthful dissonance. The music of Joel Johnston, also known as Far Caspian, slots into my personal pantheon amongst these names not just by taking cues from the bygone era of slowcore and dream pop, but for his kindred ability to take those catchy melodies and imbue them with a sucker punch of nostalgic melancholy. There is a listlessness to Johnston’s delivery that I can't help but connect to, but to call Autofiction apathetic would discount how much obvious love has been poured into the instrumental arrangements and melodies, some of which are quite joyful. Take "First Day" and "An Outstretched Hand / Rain From Here to Kerry", which sound like beach balls and ocean spray until Johnston's soft-spoken wistfulness brings down the contrast like a solitary raincloud hanging over the coastline.

Much like my own personal anvil, that raincloud follows us throughout the runtime of Autofiction, providing a sort of dreamy malaise that never manages to fully dampen the record's brightness. There is little in the way of giant hooks or emotional upheavals here (although “Lough” is the clear standout in terms of vocal performance); rather, the act of simply thrumming along through life's hardships becomes the point of meditation. 'One note' might even be a valid criticism if that one note wasn't sublime in all its organic warmth. The drum beats are snappy and utilitarian like a vintage Casiotone, the guitars are often downstroked in tight mechanical rhythms, but there is a lot of feeling to be found in the undergrowth of Autofiction—little splashes of life like the banjo in "Ditch" and "Window", the flute in “Whim”, collaborator Megan Lama's wonderful backing vocals that really shine on "Here Is Now" and "Autofiction", not to mention the caterpillar synths that inch their way around "A Drawing of the Sun" like tiny proclamations of nature's goodness!

Maybe you can see how Autofiction so easily transports me back to those sleep-deprived sunrises spent clicking mediafire links until the song of the black-capped chickadees arrived like a bittersweet reminder of the world's perpetual motion. Through my tireless scientific research I discovered that you cannot actually stop the world from turning just by delaying sleep, but you can find solace and escapism in the worlds generated by good music, and Autofiction is just that—an alternate world where everything is still fuzzy and golden. Johnston taps into that youthful dissonance with a perfect balance of nostalgic ennui, and though the album doesn't have any huge peaks or valleys to point to, its minimal construction and rock-steady rhythms provide the perfect vehicle for navel-gazing daydreams. Something we rarely get the opportunity to indulge in these days.

8/10