Cranebrook by
Solkyri
Sometimes music arrives at the exact moment you need it. I’ve been working through a stretch of heartbreak lately, and Cranebrook by Solkyri landed like a quiet lifeline. Bands like Mogwai, Do Make Say Think, The Album Leaf, and Sigur Rós came to mind more than once as I listened. That sense of expansiveness paired with emotional control. That slow build toward something unspeakable.
The EP spans six tracks, though at times it felt like more. I caught myself thinking a new song had started, only to realize I was still inside the same one. The transitions are that smooth. There’s an attention to pacing that suggests a lot of thought went into the sequencing. The songs don’t just sit next to each other—they respond to each other. It has the structure of a single arc rather than a series of isolated movements.
The instrumentation is layered and intentional. Strings like violins and cellos aren’t just decorative—they show up with purpose. When they enter, it feels like a shift in emotional weight. I also loved the guitar work throughout. The tones are lush and searching, and when the band locks into a moment of impact, they don’t hold back. They commit fully. There’s no half-stepping into the climax.
What stood out to me most is how much this album values texture and space. It lives in the in-between. It is about the breath before the release, the pause that carries more meaning than the phrase that follows. It is not about constant motion or dramatic spikes in volume. It is more patient than that. More trusting of the listener.
Cranebrook is absolutely a headphone record. The kind you return to not because you missed something obvious, but because it quietly rearranges itself each time you let it in. I needed something that wouldn’t force meaning onto me but would allow me to feel what I needed to feel. This gave me exactly that.