Growing up rarely feels like a clean ascent. More often, it resembles falling into something before understanding its depth, trying to remain agreeable while the ground quietly shifts beneath you. And on his new release ‘Diving’, Northern Virginia artist Aidan Leclaire turns that instability into a seven-track album that begins with urgency and gradually strips itself back, moving from bruising alternative rock towards a more exposed folk-influenced close.
The sequencing is central to the record’s effect. ‘2:02’, ‘Dive Slow’ and ‘Talk’ open with immediate guitars, sharp hooks and a sense of emotional pressure that places him within the lineage of melodic punk and alt-rock.
While at the centre of the album is the instinct to preserve relationships by continually accommodating other people. He writes about the white lies, compromises and performed calm that can keep tension hidden for a time, while gradually moving a person further from their own needs. ‘Dive Slow’ makes that conflict especially clear, confronting the point at which pleasing others becomes a form of self-erasure.
While ‘Lucy’ briefly lifts the record into brighter pop. Its melody and lighter production create a convincing high, capturing the excitement of being drawn towards someone or something despite recognising that the attraction may not lead anywhere sustainable. The warmth is genuine, but temporary, making the descent that follows feel sharper.
‘Parfait’ and ‘Fishbowl’ slow the album considerably. Their mellower, more soulful arrangements give his writing greater room, replacing the opening rush with a sense of suspended reflection. ‘Fishbowl’ is an especially fitting title for a record concerned with emotional performance: it suggests visibility without freedom, and the strange isolation of being observed while remaining contained.
By the time ‘Nature’s Tune’ arrives, most of the armour has disappeared. The acoustic closer moves towards folk, offering neither a dramatic solution nor a final burst of release. Instead, it allows stillness to become the album’s last significant gesture. After several songs spent resisting, appeasing and anticipating impact, the decision to remain quiet feels substantial.
But the album is strongest when it accepts imbalance. Its louder and quieter halves are not distributed neatly because emotional life rarely follows that kind of symmetry. Elation passes quickly; worry lingers; a confident decision can be followed immediately by doubt.
With this new offering, Aidan Leclaire delivers an assured second album that expands his band’s range without losing its directness. It begins by bracing for impact and ends by recognising that control may never have been available.
The fall remains frightening, but the record finds meaning in finally allowing it to happen.