For a band called Sorry, they have never been apologetic. Across their quality-over-quantity artistry, the London five-piece bounce back and forth between genres with restless elasticity, and their latest fragmented, fizzy record COSPLAY also refuses to face the music.
COSPLAY, their third album under Domino Records, continues a body of work that unfolds like a whistle-stop tour of experimentation, each LP charting a visceral journey of growth and exploration. Where their debut 925 oscillated between sardonic commentary and inventive jazz-meets-pop fusion indulgence, and their follow-up Anywhere But Here softened the edges with intimate, wordy vocals and trip-hop soundscapes, COSPLAY diverges even further and wraps up in rich textural sonics and mystifying tonal shifts. It’s a carnival of contrasts; playful and jagged in the bridge, and tender and introspective the next chorus, in a bundle that feels both dizzying and precise.
But throughout all of its chaos, COSPLAY never feels careless, and while Sorry have crafted a flair in thriving on contradiction and playing with collage, their fragmentation always feels architectural. Lorenz and O’Bryen, who have been fine-tuning their sonic push-and-pull since the days of recording homemade demos and Jimi Hendrix covers, treat disarray as building blocks. Each track feels stitched together from scraps of their influences, and the echoes of their London contemporaries whisper through– from the playfulness of black midi to the glimmer of Nilufer Yanya– whilst keeping Sorry’s voice singular.
And their voice has never sounded more confident in their unpredictability. Twangy guitars and jumpy drum loops dissolve into ambient textures, with synths bubbling up only to collapse into distorted static. The glittering riff of ‘Echoes’ yanking you into the hollow drums, fast-paced tempo of ‘Jetplane’ introduced with a screeching sample from ‘Hot Freaks’ by Guided By Voices, to ‘Waxwing’— a standout crooning Mickey Mouse— which feels especially Sorry-esque, reminiscent of ‘Starstruck’ from 925.
‘Antelope’ brings the speed of the album’s launch to a simmer and makes it feel like a fever dream, with a more indie-folk adjacent sound clarified by stunning strings, a hint of what’s to come with ‘Magic’ later on. The tune unravels into delirious harmonies, and sounds like a bleary-eyed love letter to the unhurried, reedy rhythms of Air’s ‘Playground of Love’. Throughout the album, you come to anticipate the twists, but familiarity never dulls them; every left turn feels like a thrilling signature, and Sorry keeps you suspended in motion without letting you settle.
Asha Lorenz’s almost disinterested, richly-accented vocals remain steadfast throughout the whirling textures and disorderly melodies– her monotone, scratchy voice cementing itself as Sorry’s prized possession when it comes to grounding whatever chaos they’re exploring. Lines drill the hilarity and heartbreak further into the ground, chanting, “I’m a hot freak, I’m a bombastique // I’m making modern music in Spain” in ‘Jetplane’ before doting, “There’s an art to loving you, learn something new every year or two” in ‘Antelope’. Of course, Lorenz plunges straight back into sneering, “I’ll be a cunt // I’ll be a cunt again” in ‘Candle’. It’s this ragged interplay between profound and profane that keeps COSPLAY so magnetic— no emotion is too sacred to be undercut, and no joke lands without a trace of unease.
And yet, beneath the experimental varnish, there’s a kind of emotional throughline that makes it one of their most affecting projects to date. The irony still lingers, but the detachment has eased; even the most sardonic lines feel like they’re masking something deeply human. Sorry may never play it straight, but in COSPLAY, they let the havoc become something close to catharsis. It’s a record that mocks itself as much as it mesmerises you— a shapeshifting statement from a band who, true to form, have nothing to be sorry for.
COSPLAY is available on all streaming platforms, and tickets for their headline tour can be purchased from their website: Sorry.
Words by Sophie Jarvis
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