When “White Lies” opens, the atmosphere is immediate: raw guitars thinly veiled beneath a beat that pulses like a restrained heartbeat, thumping somewhere in between references of Justice and El Ten Eleven.
Astro Brat is just emerging, with only two releases out so far, but they’re living by their mantra “DANCE PUNK. SO DANCE, PUNK.” “White Lies” is only their second release, following “Pretend,” both of which wave post-punk fans (and anyone else who just wants to dance) into the club for a listen.
Back to “White Lies” – it carries a motivating energy rather than aggression: the guitars are tense, the rhythm propulsive yet not overwhelming, and the vocals carry a sense of weariness or confrontation. It’s less about cathartic release and more about facing something quiet but pressing. The title “White Lies” suggests hidden truths, and the sound lives up to that suggestion. There’s an implied confession or reckoning, not loudly declaimed but steadily expressed. Listening to it, you sense a confrontation not between two people but between a person and themselves.
Astro Brat aren’t shouting here—they’re letting the unease speak for itself.
What makes this moment interesting is how it aligns with the broader revival of guitar-driven styles in indie rock, nodding to the post-punk revival talks of earlier in the decade, yet filtered through a younger voice and leaner production. Astro Brat isn’t piling on layers; they’re allowing space for the tension to live. That restraint hints at a maturity that belies the project’s relative youth.
The single doesn’t attempt to reinvent the wheel, and it doesn’t feel incomplete—it simply performs its role with a kind of quiet conviction. For listeners familiar with the genre’s heavyweights it won’t shock, but for those inclined toward introspective rock with tension and edge, it offers something meaningful. On its own, “White Lies” presents Astro Brat as an act worth watching. It suggests a path: more singles, possibly an album, and a voice finding clarity.
