Joy is often the last thing people believe they deserve when going through the darkest phase of their life. But that search for joy is exactly what led Sam Hales from The Jungle Giants to create their fifth album Experiencing Feelings of Joy.

Behind the colourful production and euphoric indie-pop moments sits an album born out of emotional collapse, heartbreak, and creative paralysis. Hales had not only lost someone deeply important in his life, but also the person he had been creating music alongside for years.

For an artist, losing both emotional connection and creative direction at the same time can feel like losing your entire identity. Understandably, that period pushed him into one of the darkest mental spaces of his life.

What eventually gave him a glimpse of light was stumbling onto The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron — a book centred around reconnecting with creativity and rebuilding your relationship with yourself through art.

In many ways, Experiencing Feelings of Joy feels like Hales creating his own version of that process in musical form. The album almost plays like a self-help book disguised as an indie-pop record, documenting someone slowly learning how to feel alive again through creating.

What makes this even more interesting is that you would never immediately guess the emotional state Hales was in when first listening to the album. Sonically, the record opens with warmth, movement, and an almost celebratory energy. Instead of drowning in sadness, Hales chooses to fight through it with colour, rhythm, dancing, and human connection.

That emotional contradiction is captured perfectly on the opening track, which is dedicated to Hales’ mother and already feels destined to become one of the band’s defining songs. Beneath its infectious energy sits a deeply personal tribute to unconditional love, resilience, and the people who keep us grounded when life begins to collapse around us.

When Hales sings:

“Mumma did you know your love is kinda punk
Ain’t no man was stoppin’ you from raisin’ me all on your own”

it becomes clear that this album is not simply about escaping darkness, but about finding the people, memories, and emotions that help you survive it. Even the repeated refrain — “Will you tell me how it feels baby?” — feels less like a hook written for a crowd, and more like someone desperately trying to reconnect with emotion itself.

For perhaps the first time in a Jungle Giants record, Sam Hales feels completely exposed as a songwriter. And that vulnerability is exactly what makes Experiencing Feelings of Joy their most human album yet.

The Search for Joy

What makes Experiencing Feelings of Joy so emotionally interesting is that the album never sounds like it was written from a place of complete healing. Instead, it feels like Sam Hales documenting the process of trying to get there in real time.

Across the album, joy is not presented as a permanent emotional state or some perfect ending waiting at the finish line. It feels more like a conscious decision to keep moving, keep loving, keep dancing, and keep creating even when parts of your life are collapsing underneath you. That tension between emotional pain and sonic euphoria becomes the defining heartbeat of the record.

And sonically, the album fully commits to that idea.

The first four tracks are incredibly upbeat, colourful, and alive. The production constantly pushes towards movement, warmth, rhythm, and connection. Even when the lyrics are dealing with heartbreak, loneliness, uncertainty, or emotional confusion, the compositions themselves almost refuse to stay emotionally stagnant. The music wants to move forward. It wants to breathe, and dance its way through the darkness rather than sit still inside it.

That contrast becomes one of the album’s strongest qualities. Songs about longing, breakups, emotional distance, and vulnerability are wrapped inside some of the brightest and most accessible compositions The Jungle Giants have ever created.

The upbeat nature of the album doesn’t exist to hide the pain. It probably exists because of the pain.

There’s a feeling throughout the project that Sam Hales is using music itself as a way to reconnect with life again. Whether it’s love, friendship, physical touch, community, romance, dancing, or simply being present in a moment, the album constantly searches for emotional experiences that make existence feel meaningful again.

Around the middle of the record, the emotional cracks begin to show more openly. Tracks become slightly more introspective, more reflective, and more emotionally exposed, but the album never fully loses its warmth.

That’s what makes the sequencing of the album so effective. The joy never feels naive, and the sadness never completely consumes the record. Instead, both emotions constantly coexist beside each other.

By the time the album reaches World’s Getting Smaller, the emotional walls fully come down.

The production becomes more stripped back, more spacious, and far more vulnerable than anything that came before it. After an album filled with movement and colour, the closing track almost feels like the moment after the party ends and someone is finally left alone with their thoughts.

It’s easily the most emotionally exposed moment on the record, and perhaps the clearest glimpse into the emotional state Hales was navigating while creating this project.

What makes the ending particularly powerful is that the album never fully resolves its emotions. It doesn’t pretend heartbreak disappears. It doesn’t offer some grand conclusion about healing.

Instead, Experiencing Feelings of Joy understands something far more human: sometimes healing simply means finding enough reasons to keep feeling things again. And that’s exactly what this album does.

Sound Under Top 3 Picks

1) Tell Me How It Feels

There could not have been a more perfect opener for Experiencing Feelings of Joy. In many ways, Tell Me How It Feelsacts as the emotional thesis of the entire album. It captures everything the record is trying to say — love, community, movement, vulnerability, emotional survival, and the search for connection during moments where life feels emotionally overwhelming.

At the same time, it also feels destined to become one of the biggest songs in The Jungle Giants catalogue.

What makes the track so powerful is the contrast at the centre of it. Sonically, the composition is bright, euphoric, danceable, and full of life. But underneath that energy sits someone desperately trying to reconnect with emotion, purpose, and the people around them. That emotional bait-and-switch becomes one of the defining characteristics of the entire album, and this track introduces it perfectly.

The production constantly moves forward with warmth and momentum, while Sam Hales delivers some of the most emotionally open writing of his career.

The emotional core of the song ultimately comes back to love — not just romantic love, but the love of family, home, friendship, memory, and the people that shape who we become. Lines directed towards his mother become some of the most powerful moments on the entire album, grounding the song in something deeply personal rather than purely euphoric.

2) All The Time In The World

At just over five minutes long, All The Time In The World is the longest track on the album — something that almost feels rebellious in an era where attention spans are shrinking and songs are increasingly designed for short-form consumption. But rather than overstaying its welcome, the track slowly pulls you deeper into its emotional warmth with every passing minute.

This is easily some of the finest songwriting on the entire project.

What immediately stands out is just how effortlessly addictive the song is. The hook is arguably the strongest on the album, and one of the reasons the record works so well as a listening experience overall is because of how naturally these songs embed themselves into your head.

There’s a warmth and repetition to many of the melodies that almost feels comforting rather than commercial. The album understands the power of earworms, but it uses them emotionally instead of mechanically.

Sonically, the track fully embraces the euphoric and romantic side of Experiencing Feelings of Joy. The composition feels weightless, patient, and deeply sincere.

That’s what makes the writing feel so effective.

The emotional core of the track is beautifully captured in the chorus:

“We got all the time in the world
And you know you’re my favourite girl
They say love comes, let it unfurl”

There’s something incredibly human about the simplicity of those lines. No overcomplicated metaphors, or emotional games. Just someone trying to hold onto a feeling before life changes again.

3) World’s Getting Smaller

If Tell Me How It Feels represents the emotional heartbeat of the album, then World’s Getting Smaller feels like the emotional aftermath.

This is Sam Hales at his most vulnerable and emotionally exposed. After an album filled with movement, colour, groove, and euphoric compositions, the closing track strips almost everything back. The production becomes quieter, more spacious, and far more intimate, allowing the emotional weight of the writing to sit completely in the foreground.

And that restraint is exactly what makes the song so powerful.

There’s a feeling throughout the track of someone looking back at one of the hardest periods of their life with a clearer perspective. Not necessarily healed, but emotionally aware enough to finally sit with the pain instead of trying to outrun it. Unlike many of the earlier songs on the album that use rhythm and energy as emotional survival mechanisms, World’s Getting Smaller feels like the moment where all distractions disappear and only honesty remains.

And throughout the track, Hales captures a feeling that many people experience after heartbreak — the strange contradiction of living in a world that feels increasingly connected while emotionally feeling further away from someone than ever before.

“If the world that we’re living in is getting smaller
Why do you feel so far away?”

That hook alone carries the emotional weight of the entire song.

What makes the ending of the album especially beautiful is that despite all the heartbreak and emotional distance being described, there’s still love present inside the writing. Even in loss, Hales never fully turns cynical. If anything, the pain exists because the love itself was real.

And perhaps that’s the final message of Experiencing Feelings of Joy.

By ending the album in such a stripped-back and emotionally vulnerable way, The Jungle Giants leave listeners with the clearest glimpse into who Sam Hales really was while making this record — someone trying to rediscover joy while still carrying the weight of everything he had lost.

Very few albums manage to sound this joyful while carrying this much emotional weight underneath them. That’s what makes Experiencing Feelings of Joy such a special record.

At its core, this is not an album about someone who has fully healed or figured life out. It’s an album about someone learning how to survive again through music, movement, love, vulnerability, and creation itself. Sam Hales takes heartbreak, creative paralysis, loneliness, and emotional exhaustion, and somehow transforms those feelings into some of the warmest and most life-affirming songs The Jungle Giants have ever made.

What makes the album resonate so deeply is that it never pretends pain magically disappears. Even in its most euphoric moments, there’s still sadness living underneath the surface. But rather than allowing that darkness to consume the record, Hales chooses to dance through it, sing through it, and create through it. And in many ways, that feels like the entire message of the album itself.

By the time World’s Getting Smaller closes the record, it becomes clear that Experiencing Feelings of Joy is less about reaching happiness, and more about rediscovering the ability to feel things again after emotionally losing yourself for a period of time.

This might end up being one of the strongest albums released in 2026, and certainly one of the most emotionally honest records in The Jungle Giants’ catalogue. At some point, we’d love to sit down with Sam Hales for a deeper conversation around this project, because this album genuinely feels like it still has layers left to unpack beneath the surface.

There aren’t that many bands sounding truly unique and interesting right now, especially in a scene where a lot of bands are starting to blur into each other. But nightlight are taking influences like many others and turning them into something that genuinely feels like their own.

Even when the Melbourne band first started as a duo, there was already a very clear identity forming around the project. Not just sonically, but visually and emotionally too.

Their music always carried this mix of chaos, confidence, drama and pop sensibility that made them stand out from a lot of alternative bands trying to occupy similar spaces.

But with PARALLEL//LINES VOL. 1, it feels like that vision has become much clearer.

Since becoming a trio in 2024, the band feel far more settled into who they are. The songs feel bigger, the transitions feel more intentional, and there’s a confidence running through the EP that makes it feel less like experimentation and more like nightlight fully understanding their strengths.

The band describe themselves as “pop music for alternative people,” and honestly, that probably explains their sound and the EP better than any genre label could.

Across these four tracks, nightlight move through heavy guitars, electronic textures, breakdowns, huge choruses and hyperactive production choices. Even though there’s a lot happening, everything still feels connected to the same emotional world.

And the world they are building here feels loud, dramatic, messy and a little dangerous in the best possible way.

This is the kind of EP that will make you dance, scream, mosh, and probably break something at the same time. And although nightlight’s sound has always been interesting and unique, it genuinely feels like the release of their EP what if i’m the devil? and the addition of Jordan on drums helped push the band into another gear creatively.

Performance, Control & Emotional Chaos

One of the most interesting things about the EP is how much it revolves around performance and control.

A lot of the lyrics across the project play with exaggerated personalities, manipulation, ego and obsession. The people inside these songs are constantly pulling others closer while also creating distance at the same time. There’s attraction, tension, confidence, insecurity and emotional games all happening together.

That’s what makes the EP work so well. nightlight understand how theatrical this world is, and instead of hiding that, they lean into it completely.

There are moments across the project that almost feel larger than life, but the band always keep enough self-awareness in the writing that it never becomes exhausting.

Even the way the songs move feels connected to that energy.

The hooks often feel seductive before suddenly becoming aggressive. Certain moments feel playful one second and chaotic the next. There’s this constant push and pull throughout the EP that keeps everything moving in an interesting and engaging way.

The music feels heavy enough for hardcore and alternative crowds, but still melodic and accessible enough for almost anyone to get pulled into it after a few listens.

That balance is difficult to get right, especially for bands mixing this many influences together, but nightlight make it feel surprisingly natural.

The Sound of the EP

The opening track VOL. 1 does a really good job introducing the EP’s world before things fully open up. It feels less like a standalone song and more like the beginning of a longer experience.

By the time the second half of the track expands and transitions into DRAMA//DRAMA, the tone of the project already feels fully established.

From there, the EP keeps building momentum.

What stands out most throughout the project is how controlled the chaos feels. There’s a lot happening sonically across these songs, but the band never lose sight of structure or melody. The drums add a huge sense of movement throughout the EP, especially during the heavier moments, while the hooks still remain central to almost every track.

That’s probably what makes the project so replayable.

Underneath all the distortion, attitude and energy are songs that are genuinely catchy. Not catchy in a forced commercial way, but in the sense that certain hooks, melodies and moments naturally stay with you after the EP finishes.

The production also deserves credit for understanding when to let songs breathe. Even during the loudest sections, things rarely feel overcrowded. Every element feels like it exists to push the atmosphere of the EP further rather than simply making things heavier for the sake of it.

And because of that, the whole project feels immersive rather than overwhelming.

Final Thoughts

What makes PARALLEL//LINES VOL. 1 exciting is not just that nightlight are making good songs. It’s that the band already feel like they have a strong understanding of the kind of world they want to create around their music.

The EP feels dramatic, chaotic, confident and emotionally messy, but all of those things feel intentional and packaged in a way that people across different genres and age groups can still connect with after the first listen.

And if this is only the beginning of the PARALLEL//LINES series, it feels like nightlight still have a lot more to show.

Some bands spend years trying to define their sound. Divers seem more interested in escaping definition altogether.

Across three EPs, the Naarm/Melbourne four-piece built a reputation for restless evolution — moving between slacker indie rock, warped electronics, post-punk tension, surreal humour and moments that feel like they were discovered by accident rather than carefully designed.

That unpredictability is what made them interesting. On Odd Dog in the Capital, it becomes what makes them special.

Released on May 1, Divers’ debut album feels less like a formal first statement and more like the natural result of years spent experimenting without needing permission.

The title itself says plenty. Odd Dog in the Capital captures the discomfort (and freedom) of being outsiders in a scene obsessed with categories, algorithms and easy branding. Divers don’t sound built for neat playlists or obvious lanes. They sound like four friends following instinct until something clicks.

That looseness runs through the entire record. Yet beneath the weirdness is a band with sharp songwriting instincts.

The third single from the album, “Head Chef”, is the clearest example. On paper, a track built around breakfast, coffee, brisket and kitchen ego should collapse under its own joke.

Instead, it turns into one of the album’s most infectious moments: a wiry, high-energy song about inflated self-importance disguised as kitchen chaos. It’s funny, catchy, slightly ridiculous, and deeply precise in how it works.

Even the presentation reinforces that spirit. The cover art’s wild-eyed blue dog staring over a city skyline feels like the album’s mascot: slightly chaotic, impossible to categorise, and strangely charming.

Combined with titles like “The Great Tree”, “Cruisy Confusion”, “The Mouse” and “Health Freak”, Odd Dog in the Capital presents itself less like a conventional indie release and more like a collection of strange urban fables.

The World of the Album

The opening track “Plans” wastes no time pulling listeners into Divers’ universe.

It begins with an almost sinister laugh before unfolding into something quirky, jagged and intentionally off-centre. It is not the kind of opener designed to ease people in — which is exactly why it works. Starting the album this way shows a band fully confident in the strange language they have built for themselves.

One of the hardest things for any band to achieve is a sound that feels unmistakably their own. Divers have flirted with that identity across previous releases, but Odd Dog in the Capital is where it fully clicks into place.

“Plans” feels built on instability — chaotic rhythms, sudden turns and production choices that never let you settle. That same spirit runs through the broader record. The album often moves in extremes: “Sand Dunes” leans into dancefloor energy with disco and electronic textures, while “Beep Beep” hits with a heavier, more abrasive force. That contrast becomes one of the album’s biggest strengths.

What ties it all together is the sense that Divers are building a world rather than chasing a genre. Their music can be difficult to pin down, but experimentation has always been central to what they do. On this album, that instinct feels sharper and more purposeful than ever.

That is what the title captures so well. An odd dog naturally stands out. You may not fully get it at first, but you remember it.

Odd Dog in the Capital works in the same way.

It is not an album built for everyone, nor does it try to fit the increasingly common template of clean, predictable indie music. Instead, it chooses personality, risk and originality — and becomes far more memorable because of it.

Humour, Anxiety and Real Meaning Beneath the Weirdness

One of the best things about Odd Dog in the Capital is how much it says without ever forcing the point.

Divers rarely approach ideas in a direct or overly serious way. Instead, they filter them through humour, strange characters, sideways storytelling and a constant sense of mischief. That playful surface is part of the appeal, but it also hides a surprising amount of emotional and thematic depth.

“Head Chef” is a perfect example. It arrives as one of the album’s funniest and most immediate songs, built around kitchen imagery, caffeine-fuelled energy and exaggerated personality. But underneath the absurdism is a sharp take on ego, pressure and the performance of status. It pokes fun at people who take themselves too seriously, while still sounding like a blast.

Elsewhere, “The Great Tree” expands the album’s world into something more reflective. It carries a sense of environmental unease and frustration with short-term thinking, but never turns into a lecture. Divers understand that satire can often land harder than sincerity, and the song benefits from that balance.

What makes Divers compelling is that they never separate meaning from fun. Many bands can write serious songs, and many bands can write quirky songs. Fewer can combine both without losing momentum. Odd Dog in the Capital consistently finds that middle ground.

Standout Moments

A few moments on the record hit especially hard:

Cruisy Confusion

“Cruisy Confusion” feels like one of the album’s most complete moments. Built around a rolling guitar riff that carries grit through nearly every second of the track, it sounds loose, but never careless — something Divers do really well.

What makes the song hit harder is the emotional core beneath its swagger. While the production and hooks carry confidence, the writing comes from a more vulnerable place. Ben Bray has described the track as emerging during a period of identity crisis, wanting to make music that felt genuine rather than chasing the wrong reasons. You can feel that honesty in the performance.

Lyrically, “Cruisy Confusion” captures the strange emotional swings of adulthood — workplace banter, nostalgia, boredom, overstimulation and the search for something real underneath routine.

The real turning point, though, comes in the second half.

The song opens up into a bigger, more euphoric stretch where the instrumentation takes over and carries everything forward. It is the kind of section that reminds you Divers are not just interesting songwriters, but a genuinely exciting band musically.

At over four and a half minutes, it never feels long. If anything, “Cruisy Confusion” feels like one of the clearest examples of what makes this album work: personality, movement, vulnerability and a refusal to stay predictable.

Head Chef

“Head Chef” is the kind of song that feels destined to travel. It has already been making waves, and for good reason.

From the first listen, it lands immediately. One of those songs you replay before it’s even finished. Every section feels like it is teasing the next, which gives the track a constant sense of momentum.

There is something deeply everyday about its appeal. This is the sort of song you throw on while cooking breakfast, making coffee or moving through the house with energy. It turns ordinary routines into something a little more cinematic. Few songs manage to feel this casual and this carefully constructed at the same time.

What makes “Head Chef” especially effective is the contrast at its centre. Lyrically, it plays with ego, status and self-importance through kitchen-world imagery, but musically it feels joyful, loose and alive. Divers use that bait-and-switch brilliantly. Beneath the humour is satire, but above it is pure fun.

The hook is impossible to ignore, the groove keeps swerving just when you think you’ve caught it, and the band know exactly when to lean into absurdity without overdoing it. It is catchy without sounding obvious, weird without losing accessibility.

Every time “Head Chef” comes on, it does the same thing: it makes you move without thinking.

Odd Dog in the Capital is not an album built for passive listening. Give it a few listens and its strange little universe starts opening up. Some songs hit immediately, others slowly reveal themselves over time, but almost all of them carry the same sense of character and intention.

What makes the record worth returning to is that Divers never chase easy answers. They back personality over polish, surprise over formula and instinct over trend. In doing so, they have created a debut that feels genuinely their own.

For listeners tired of algorithm-friendly sameness and predictable indie releases, Odd Dog in the Capital offers something rarer: a band that sounds like themselves.

Some bands take years to sound incredible. Others spend years quietly experimenting, failing, learning, then emerge already sharp. Public Figures feel like the latter. They arrive with the urgency of a new band, but the instincts of one that has already done the groundwork.

The Naarm/Melbourne four-piece, built around longtime collaborators Evie Vlah and Gigi Argiro, introduced themselves with “Onto Something” in May 2025. It didn’t feel like a tentative debut. It felt like a band that already understood tension, hooks, identity, and visual language. Less than a year later, Figure It Out! lands as a debut EP that feels fully formed rather than exploratory.

Across six tracks and roughly thirteen minutes, Public Figures do what strong punk records often do best: say a lot without overstaying their welcome. No wasted space. No filler. No over-explaining.

The Visual Language of Figure It Out!

The first thing that stands out about Figure It Out! is the visual world around it.

The artwork feels like an underground zine found in a sharehouse kitchen, or pasted onto a city wall after midnight.

Black-and-white collage photography, newspaper typography, cut-and-paste disorder, fragmented portraits, vinyl-era sequencing (“Side A / Side B”), ransom-note aesthetics, punk tabloid energy.

That matters, because Public Figures seem deeply aware of one of punk’s oldest truths: image can be a weapon when substance backs it up. The EP cover mirrors the record itself, fragmented identity, public personas, media distortion, inner confusion, resistance through style.

Even the band name becomes sharper in this context.

Public Figures suggests performance, surveillance, labels, visibility, judgment. Who are you when everyone is looking? Who are you when nobody is?

Then the title: Figure It Out!

That phrase can be read as a command, a frustration, a self-challenge, or generational exhaustion.

The Themes Running Through the Record

Without needing to spell everything out, Figure It Out! constantly circles a few central tensions.

Identity vs Expectation

There is a recurring sense of people trying to define themselves while being shaped by outside forces. Whether it is social roles, relationships, public perception, or wider systems, these songs often feel like a pushback against being boxed in.

Emotional Burnout

The record carries the feeling of mental fatigue without collapsing into self-pity. There is frustration here, overstimulation, emotional repetition, and the exhaustion of trying to stay steady while everything around you feels unstable.

Entrapment and Escape

Several moments across the EP suggest cycles people struggle to break out of — dead-end routines, toxic patterns, internal loops, city pressure, economic strain, or emotional dependence. The songs often sit in the tension between wanting freedom and feeling caught.

Defiance and Boundaries

For all its anxiety, this is not a passive record. There is confrontation throughout Figure It Out! The energy often feels like reclaiming space, calling something out, refusing manipulation, or drawing a line where one didn’t exist before.

Modern Alienation

There is also something distinctly current about the EP. This doesn’t sound like retro punk cosplay. It feels rooted in a generation dealing with overstimulation, visibility, fractured attention, unstable economics, and emotional numbness.

That is what gives the project relevance.

Coolworths Top 2 Picks from the EP

1) Cut It Out

There could not have been a better way to open Figure It Out! than with Cut It Out. It immediately throws you into Public Figures’ world with one of the sharpest guitar riffs on the project, a sense of urgency, and a hook that feels impossible not to shout back. If there was one track on the EP that fully captures the band’s songwriting strengths, it is this.

What makes the song hit harder is how much attitude it carries without feeling forced. There is swagger here, but it is backed by craft. The chorus lands instantly, the guitars bite, and the whole thing feels like controlled chaos.

Lyrically, Cut It Out revolves around power, ego, validation, and rejection. There is a tension between wanting approval and wanting freedom from the same systems that hand it out. The references to worship, control, image, and performance make the song feel like a takedown of fake dynamics, whether in relationships, social circles, or wider culture.

And then there is the video. Shot largely inside a lift, it proves Public Figures understand something many bands miss: creativity matters more than budget. It is minimal, raw, stylish, and completely in tune with the song’s energy.

2) How I’m Feeling

Closing the EP with How I’m Feeling was a smart move. Where some of the earlier tracks punch outward, this one turns inward. It still carries punk DNA lyrically, but musically there is an off-kilter bounce to it that makes the frustration feel strangely addictive rather than heavy-handed.

The song taps into urban fatigue, emotional burnout, social alienation, and that recurring feeling of being mentally drained by your surroundings.

At its core, this track feels like someone caught between overstimulation and self-awareness. They know they are spiralling, they know the environment is feeding it, and they know they need distance — from people, from the city, maybe even from themselves.

As an EP closer, How I’m Feeling leaves you with the most human side of Public Figures. Beneath the riffs, attitude, and aesthetics, there is real vulnerability sitting underneath it all.

Why This EP Works

What makes Figure It Out! land so well is that it never feels like imitation. Plenty of young bands borrow from punk’s sound, its clothes, or its attitude. Public Figures understand that punk has always been bigger than aesthetics.

That spirit runs through this EP.

More importantly, Figure It Out! feels emotionally current. These songs carry the pressure of modern life — overstimulation, identity fatigue, social performance, city frustration, the need to protect your own space. It speaks in the language of punk, but it speaks to now.

Public Figures also understand something many debut bands take years to learn: identity matters. They already have a visual world, a point of view, and a sense of themselves that goes beyond individual tracks.

If Figure It Out! is the introduction, Public Figures may already be onto something much bigger.