B-Side Guys

From Brighton’s seaside stages to scattered European outposts, Slung has crafted a debut single that turns anxiety into architecture. “Neurotic” doesn’t just describe mental states—it builds living spaces out of them, each verse another room in a house of carefully managed chaos.

Katie Oldham’s lyrics map the geography of control with surgical precision. The opening scene—”passenger princess, seatbelt superstar”—establishes the core tension immediately. It’s not just about being driven; it’s about that sickening moment when you realize someone else’s decisions have more power over your survival than your own.

Released through Fat Dracula, the track builds its momentum through accumulation rather than explosion. Each verse adds another layer to the anxiety spiral: bad drivers, sick friends, recurring dreams of powerlessness. The production treats these elements like exhibits in a museum of discomfort, giving each one space to be examined from multiple angles.

Former members of Sit Down, The Death of Us, and Intechnicolour bring their collective muscle to these arrangements, but it’s the restraint that impresses most. The “formerly gifted and talented” crew understands that tension comes from the threat of chaos as much as chaos itself.

The bridge sequence about childhood dreams of failed heroism provides the track’s psychological anchor. When Oldham sings “I’d go to use my powers/Just to find there’s nothing there,” she’s not just describing a nightmare—she’s articulating imposter syndrome’s origin story.

What distinguishes “Neurotic” from standard issue anxiety anthems is its refusal to seek resolution. The outro’s defiant embrace of neurosis as survival strategy—”It’s the only way to live my life/And keep myself afloat”—feels earned rather than imposed. This isn’t trauma transformed into triumph; it’s trauma transformed into methodology.

The ’90s slacker rock influence shows not in simple nostalgia but in how the band uses that era’s sonic vocabulary to express contemporary concerns. The “blistering riffs” and “sinister drum patterns” serve the story rather than overshadow it, creating a framework sturdy enough to contain these confessions.

Between Oldham’s “sickly sweet vocals” and the band’s muscular arrangements, “Neurotic” maintains a fascinating push-pull dynamic. It’s like watching someone organize their panic attack into alphabetical order—a demonstration of control even in descriptions of its loss.

This debut suggests a band that understands how to turn personal dysfunction into universal connection. When they sing about being “broken,” it’s not a badge of honor or a cry for help—it’s simply inventory, a clear-eyed assessment of available resources.