Geoff Westen’s MUSIC FOR MY FRIENDS is one of those records that shows up, entirely uninvited, kicks down the door of your carefully curated lo-fi playlist, and loudly declares, “Remember when songs used to be songs?” And before you can reply, it’s already halfway through a synth solo. It’s loud. It’s glossy. It’s borderline ridiculous. And yes, it’s glorious.
Westen calls it “Hard Pop for our new world order,” which sounds like something a lesser artist would use to name a crypto project, but in this case, it’s actually… accurate? Imagine the musical lovechild of late-night MTV, the Tron soundtrack, and a midlife crisis wrapped in a leather jacket and aviators. This isn’t music for passive listening while you do your taxes. This is music that bursts through your headphones like it’s auditioning for Top Gun 3: Goose’s Revenge.
The vibe? Think ‘80s, but not the corporate, beige, “let’s slap a synth on this for Stranger Things” version of the ’80s we’re currently being fed. No, this is the real stuff. The high-octane, over-the-top, earnestly emotional, weirdly theatrical wave of pop that believed in the power of hooks so massive they needed their own zip code. Westen doesn’t just imitate that era; he builds a time machine out of MIDI and lives in it.
Let’s be clear: this album isn’t chasing trends. It’s chasing structure, and not in a boring, “let’s follow the formula” kind of way. No, this is structure as defiance. Verse, chorus, bridge, key change. Westen remembers that a song can have dynamics. It can start in one emotional place and end up somewhere completely different without needing a Spotify-friendly fadeout after two minutes and thirty seconds. Shocking, I know.
Take It’s Not Over; this track is like being handed a cassette tape by your coolest friend in 1984 who insists that you listen to it immediately. It sounds like Thomas Dolby and The Buggles got locked in a room with a stack of vintage drum machines and a shared existential crisis, and somehow emerged with a perfect synth-pop banger. It’s the soundtrack to a montage of you learning how to rollerblade again after a bad breakup, blasting through your emotional baggage at 30 miles per hour. Glossy, punchy, and full of those razor-sharp synth stabs that make you want to drive too fast in a video game.
And then there’s Headed For A Fantasy, which I can only describe as the theme song to a cartoon that never existed but somehow shaped your entire personality. It’s got that cartoonish optimism, that sense of stakes and wonder you used to feel as a kid when the hero finally powered up for the last battle. It’s sweet without being saccharine, nostalgic without being patronizing.
Closing out the album is You’re Too Good For Me, which should be ridiculous but also manages to land with surprising emotional weight. It’s like Eddie Winter woke up in the middle of an arena show, found out he was fronting A Flock of Seagulls, and just went with it. It’s all soaring vocals, dramatic synths, and a genuine ache beneath the glitz. There’s no ironic distance here. Westen means it. And that sincerity, in 2025, feels almost revolutionary.
What sets MUSIC FOR MY FRIENDS apart is its complete lack of self-consciousness. This isn’t “pop music but sad” or “pop music but on purpose bad.” This is pop music that believes in itself. It’s not posturing. It’s not chasing TikTok trends. It’s not pretending to be low-effort while secretly being run by a team of brand consultants. It’s just a guy, some massive melodies, and a belief that music should do something.
This album doesn’t care about being cool. That’s what makes it cool.
Because here’s the truth: sincerity is punk now. Structure is rebellious. Choruses are a political act. And Geoff Westen? He’s out here staging a quiet-quote-unquote revolution. While the mainstream continues to drown in self-aware, irony-drenched “vibes,” MUSIC FOR MY FRIENDS by Geoff Westen dares to be fun, melodic, dramatic, and genuine.
So what is MUSIC FOR MY FRIENDS really? It’s a throwback, yes. But more than that, it’s a statement. It’s a refusal to give up on the idea that pop can be smart, emotional, danceable, and unapologetically massive. It’s not afraid to be silly. It’s not afraid to be big. And it’s definitely not afraid to beat the crap out of a melody if that’s what it takes to get your attention.
You might laugh at it at first. And then you’ll find yourself humming Headed For A Fantasy three days later while microwaving leftovers, and realize: oh no. I think I actually loved that.
And that, my friends, is what good pop does.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
