Middle Spoon (2025)

July 13, 2026

Album by Cheekface

I couldn’t wait to spend more time with Cheekface.

After falling head over heels for It’s Sorted, I immediately jumped into their 2025 release Middle Spoon, hoping lightning might strike twice.

It did.

Cheekface continues doing what very few bands can pull off. They write impossibly catchy three-minute pop songs that somehow function as indie rock, post-punk, stand-up comedy, social commentary, and existential dread all at the same time. Every hook lands. Every chorus feels effortless. Every deadpan lyric sounds like someone quietly pointing out the absurdity of modern life while everyone else keeps pretending everything is perfectly normal.

Middle Spoon feels noticeably pricklier than It’s Sorted. The wink and the nod remain. But underneath all those infectious melodies is an album that sounds increasingly exhausted by the systems, expectations, and performative rituals of modern society.

The humor hasn’t disappeared. It just feels a little sharper. More cynical. More weary.

“Living Lo-Fi” moves along with an infectious rhythm and one of those choruses that immediately plants itself in your brain. It feels joyous. Danceable. Almost celebratory. Meanwhile the lyrics seem busy poking holes in performative virtue and the endless pressure to constantly present yourself as the “right” kind of person.

“Flies” introduces a groove that is almost a soul-disco bounce underneath everything. It’s impossible not to move along to this one. Which makes the lyrics even sharper. References to meat, flies, decay, and consumption create this strange picture of modern life happily dancing on top of systems that have long since begun rotting underneath us. It’s catchy. It’s funny. It’s also a little unsettling.

“Wind Is Gone” changes the vibe. The energy drops. The music becomes hypnotic, driven by an almost mechanical pulse that feels strangely empty. For perhaps the first time on the record, the wit has taken a backseat.

Instead, “Wind Is Gone” feels like an emergency broadcast quietly playing after everyone has already stopped listening. The repeated “9” makes me think of an emergency helpline that’s permanently out of service.

Cheekface follows that with an unexpected reggae groove. “Rude World” immediately changes the temperature. The vocals become more melodic, the rhythm more relaxed, yet emotionally it feels less like satire and more like resignation. Earlier songs laughed at modern absurdity. “Rude World” simply sounds tired of it.

“Military Gum” arrives with sharper guitars and a welcome blast of punk energy before immediately giving way to the wonderfully infectious “Art House.”

Everything about “Art House” sounds designed to be irresistible. Bright harmonies. A melody that refuses to leave your head. An absolutely joyous chorus. Yet underneath all that sweetness sits another layer of frustration. On one level it feels like a song about awkward relationships. But when you zoom out you recognize it as a commentary on independent music fandom itself.

“Art House” quietly asks what it feels like trying to satisfy a community that often prides itself on moving on to the next clever thing before you’ve even finished making this one.

The experimentation reaches another level on “Growth Sux.” Vocal manipulation. Samples. Unexpected detours. It almost feels like Cheekface intentionally refusing to stay inside indie rock’s boundaries.

For me, “Don’t Dream” is the emotional center of the record. It features its prettiest chorus wrapped around perhaps the bleakest sentiment on the album. As the song builds, it gradually pulls together everything Cheekface has been exploring—the punk energy, the dance rhythms, the pop hooks, the little flashes of ska—until it feels like the entire album has been distilled into one enormous, bittersweet crescendo.

“I Know What’s Going to Happen” has an emotional weight to it. Unlike earlier tracks that disguised frustration behind huge hooks, this one lets the music slow down enough to match the resignation in the lyrics.

“Content Baby” is one of my favorite songs here. Musically it reminds me of Jackson Browne wandering into a Cake recording session. Sunny. Almost classic-rock comfortable. The melody practically sweeps you away. Meanwhile the lyrics quietly compare disposable objects—plastic spoons, solo cups—to the way we increasingly package ourselves online.

I honestly think this song captures everything I love about Middle Spoon. The brighter the music becomes, the more biting the commentary gets.

The album closes on another fantastic track. “Hard Mode” has a huge chorus. The vocal phrasing remains instantly recognizable. The central metaphor—life feeling like someone accidentally selected Hard Mode before pressing Start—beautifully captures the album’s worldview. The world isn’t impossible. It’s just exhausting.

Middle Spoon shows just how adventurous this band has become musically. Soul, disco, reggae, punk, post-punk, indie rock, dance music, ska, power pop—they’re constantly borrowing from different corners without ever losing their identity. Somehow it all still sounds unmistakably like Cheekface.

This album is the perfect follow-up to It’s Sorted. The music has become smoother. The grooves deeper. The choruses even more addictive. But emotionally, the record feels rougher around the edges. Less amused. More frustrated. More cynical.

If It’s Sorted felt like laughing at the absurdity of modern life, Middle Spoon feels like laughing because you honestly don’t know what else to do. Cheekface turns that exhaustion into one of the most fun records I’ve heard all year.

Verdict: Great