There’s something inherently funny about an album trying to be both sprawling and intimate. Like, imagine someone handing you a shoebox filled with postcards and saying, “This is the Odyssey.” That’s Circle the Dream. It wants to be a folk record, a prog record, and a diary all at once, and instead of collapsing under that ambition, it just… pulls it off. Somehow.
The first track, “While My Eyes Gently Weep,” sets the tone by immediately refusing to be the kind of opener you’d expect. No grand overture, no quick, catchy single to pull in Spotify algorithm goblins. Instead, it’s this Flaming Lips-adjacent, psych-folk dirge that sounds like the walls are breathing with you. The bass thuds along like a tired heart, the vocals sound like they’re trying to crawl out of their own throat, and then there’s this piano guest appearance that feels like someone drifting in from another room to mutter a prophecy. It’s not just bold; it’s the band telling you, “If you wanted background music for studying, you’ve made a terrible mistake.”
Then comes “Circle the Dream,” the title track. It’s prettier, yes, with violin sighs and acoustic strums that sound like they’re trying to remember springtime, but it’s not less conflicted. The lyrics basically boil down to: “What if your dream is both worth everything and also not real?” which is an annoying thing to think about while, say, doing laundry, but that’s the trick here. This band writes music you can’t just passively absorb—it actively throws your anxieties back at you, dressed up in gorgeous instrumentation.
“The Shadow” is the closest this album gets to being “cinematic,” which here means it sounds like the kind of song that would play in a prestige drama right after the protagonist realizes their ideals are incompatible with capitalism. It’s moody, piano-heavy, slightly Coldplay-ish—but not Coldplay the stadium band, Coldplay the “we’re going through something, please buy the deluxe edition” era. There’s a reason it’s the single. It sounds expensive in a way that’s not actually expensive, which is probably the best compliment you can give indie rock.
The middle of the album is where things start getting pastoral, and if that sounds like a euphemism for “boring,” it’s not. “Once a Time of May” feels like a broken campfire song: all warm harmonies, but with an undercurrent of melancholy that makes you think, “Oh, someone died.” Immediately after, “We’re All Like That” arrives like its hyperactive sibling, shaking you and insisting life is worth living if you clap along hard enough. It’s absurdly upbeat to a point it sounds suspicious but it works. The juxtaposition makes both songs land harder, like emotional whiplash but intentional.
“Do Like I Told You” strips it all back, and here’s where the band shows off restraint. No swelling strings, no wall of sound, just a quiet acoustic lament that could pass for The Paper Kites if The Paper Kites had a meaner older cousin. It feels like an interlude, but it lingers, sneaking up on you long after it’s done.
And then there’s “Daylight.” Under two minutes, jangly guitars, birds chirping. It feels like a joke at first; like they ran out of ideas and just decided to record outside. But no, it’s deliberate. The whole album builds this world of tension, doubt, and yearning, and instead of giving you resolution, it leaves you staring at the sky, slightly annoyed but oddly at peace. It’s not closure; it’s a shrug. And sometimes a shrug is the bravest ending possible.
Taken together, Circle the Dream is less an album and more an argument: that it’s okay for music to wander, to contradict itself, to be messy and unresolved. The instrumentation featuring violins and pedal steel never feels like garnish. It’s used with intent, shading each track with emotional specificity instead of flexing technical skill. It’s the opposite of perfectionist pop polish; it’s music that creaks when you lean on it, which makes it feel alive.
Lyrically, the themes hover around longing and resilience, but not in the Instagram-inspirational sense. This isn’t “keep going, champ!” resilience. It’s the gritted teeth kind, the survival instinct that kicks in when you’re not sure what else to do. Even the more joyful tracks carry the sense that joy is fleeting, precarious, worth treasuring because it could vanish.
And maybe that’s why this record works as well as it does. It’s not trying to sell you a mood. It’s trying to sit with you in your mess, to offer company rather than answers. That’s rarer than it should be.
Nom De Plume has always been a band in motion, but Circle The Dream shows Nom De Plume truly comfortable with restlessness itself. For longtime listeners, it’s an evolution: the sound is bigger, weirder, braver. For new listeners, it’s a surprisingly welcoming entry point, provided you’re willing to let an album tell you, repeatedly, that dreams are complicated and probably unattainable.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for various publications around the world, the former lead writer of review blogspace Atop The Treehouse and content creator for Manila Bulletin.
