B-Side Guys

Fox Run Sounds packages existential dread in deceptively cheerful wrapping. The two-track Yuh O! EP—its title a phonetic twist on “uh oh”—splits the difference between dance floor and bedroom, upbeat production masking darker undercurrents before stripping away pretense entirely on the B-side. This is music for people who smile through alarm, who recognize the gap between appearing functional and actually being okay.

The title track executes a specific trick: create something sonically bright enough for feel-good playlists while embedding lyrics about intrusive thoughts and mental spiraling. “I was walking on a bridge the other day when I thought about it uh oh” lands with studied casualness, the alarm muted but present. The self-recorded production from this Charleston/New York-based solo project maintains enough momentum that listeners not paying attention to words would miss the song’s actual subject entirely. That gap between surface and content becomes the point—many people navigate daily life exactly this way, presenting functional exteriors while experiencing internal alarm.

The specific imagery cuts through vagueness that often dulls mental health songwriting. “I was sitting in the fridge the other day” operates as absurdist detail that somehow clarifies rather than obscures—the kind of dissociative moment that registers as both strange and immediately recognizable to anyone who’s experienced similar disconnection. “You’re alive, you are here, you are not satisfied and you’re living in fear” states the contradiction plainly: existence continuing despite lack of satisfaction, fear underlying everything.

The production choice to keep things upbeat works because it mirrors actual coping mechanisms. People don’t always wallow when struggling—sometimes they dance, distract, keep moving. The line “I get up, I feel down, still I think about it sometimes, but I can’t when you’re around” acknowledges that company provides temporary reprieve, not solution. The thoughts remain, just temporarily suppressed by social obligation to perform normalcy.

“Landed on the strand of that peninsular emotion / Have I stuck my neck out in the middle of the ocean?” closes the title track with geographic metaphor that captures isolation despite proximity to shore. The image works—being stranded on a peninsula means you’re technically connected to land but functionally isolated, surrounded by water. The neck metaphor shifts to vulnerability, exposure, the precariousness of maintaining position.

“My Medication” strips away the upbeat production entirely. If the title track was crying on the dance floor, this is what happens afterward—exhaustion, seeking comfort in routine, doubting whether comfort even helps. The opening establishes the desperation: “Hungry for my medication.” The subsequent verses catalog small domestic details—ceiling speaking, fan playing radio, shower somehow broadcasting baseball games. These moments of dissociation or hyperawareness blur together, the mundane becoming surreal when observed from the wrong mental state.

“I’m not here for the nation, or to talk about my generation. I’m just looking for my medication” functions as mission statement and resignation simultaneously. The repetition of “I’m not here” reinforces disconnection, each iteration hammering the absence. The song refuses grand political or generational statements, narrowing focus to immediate need for whatever brings quiet. That modesty of ambition—not trying to fix everything, just seeking momentary peace—reads as honest rather than defeatist.

“I am afraid of counting chickens for all the crows I couldn’t see” twists the familiar idiom. The fear isn’t just premature celebration but inability to distinguish between hoped-for outcomes and actual threats. Chickens become crows, optimism becomes danger, and the inability to tell the difference creates paralysis. The weighted blanket of routine provides comfort even when you suspect it won’t actually help.

At two tracks, Yuh O! functions as focused statement rather than comprehensive document. The pairing works—title track establishing the disconnect between appearance and reality, B-side exploring what happens when you stop maintaining appearance. Fox Run Sounds demonstrates understanding that sometimes the most effective way to communicate about mental health struggles is through specific detail and structural contrast rather than explicit explanation. The EP title’s phonetic playfulness mirrors the title track’s approach: taking something alarming and making it sound almost cute, almost manageable, almost like everything’s fine. Almost.