Hideous Supermodels | Nathan Phinney

It Is A Band. Sing Along. Yay.

Oh, Hideous Supermodels. Their music is the sort of thing you stumble upon, like a half-finished love letter left on a park bench. There’s no swagger, no forced edge; it simply invites you to lean in, like someone about to share a particularly good piece of gossip.

The lyrics? They’re bits of stories that feel like they were plucked from a dozen slightly-too-loud coffee shop conversations. Sticky, like cheap caramel. You might initially reject it, but don’t be surprised when you want more.

And the sound? It’s analog, warm and unhurried, like it was made for a handful of close friends in someone’s cluttered basement. The vocals linger, curling around the guitar-driven melodies like smoke from a candle you just blew out, faintly sweet and a little melancholic. It’s deliberate, but never overthought, music that knows exactly what it’s doing, even when it’s pretending not to care.

– Anton Vedomsky