Victims of the New Math capture fleeting emotions and dusty horizons on Open Highway.
- asonginlife
- 5 days ago
- 3 min read
The newest undertaking by Phoenix-based indie project Victims of the New Math landed on April 24, 2025. Titled “Open Highway,” the release spans over nine songs and clocks in at just under twenty-three minutes. Each remains brief, personal, and penned with a clarity that doesn’t demand attention but invites it. Rather than following a polished or radio-friendly format, the album prefers things to be close, raw, and varying from start to finish.
Victims of the New Math is the brainchild of Thomas Young, a solo artist who has released several albums independently since 2006, prominent ones being “Moon Man” and “Satellite Head.” His musical compositions have always embraced a lo-fi, analog-friendly aesthetic with simpler artwork and straightforward patterns. While his presence online is low-key, his sound has stayed true and consistent across albums: short, guitar-driven numbers that sound pleasantly homespun without being messy. Many of his songs center on personal reflections rather than broad philosophical statements, and "Open Highway" continues in that same lane without hesitation.
The album begins with “Orange and Purple Skies,” an opener that captures the quiet tension before parting ways with someone. A raucous, fuzzbox-overdriven guitar powers the part shoegaze, part 60s-rock inspired arrangements, as the vocals are open about the agony of heartbreak. There are no dramatic shifts, just a sense of time slowing down at sunset. The song fades before it fully resolves, as if the moment ended before the thought was finished.
“Apology Implied” takes an opposite route with mellow, jangly riffs, played with restraint. The mood is quiet and uncertain (“Don’t say it, I already know”), suggesting emotional fatigue rather than frustration. The guitar holds the pace steady while a mild rhythm pulses underneath. The absence of layers, stripped-back soundset leaves the airy vocals enough breathing room.
Adding further momentum is “We Can Talk About It,” coming in with twangy 90s indie-rock intonations and vocals that want to mend a heartbreak. Almost following a sonic pattern, this remains equally sparse with light drums, paying the most emphasis on the emotions and cadence.
“Open Highway” lasts the longest, perhaps synonymous with its title. Any complicated ideas are done away with, as the lyrics resonate with being free after shedding prior emotional weights; that it’s best to keep driving forward in the ever-changing motorway of life, not looking back (as the vocals repeatedly encourage that everything will be alright). Other remarkable features are the sweeping guitar tones (which reappear several times through the album), offering a psychedelic and swirling quality to immerse the listener.
“Crescent Sun” stood out with its structure: blunt, dusty drums sustain a groove, with resonating guitar melodies that anchor around the hook. Balancing artistic minimalism with a grabby chorus, the track has quickly become a favorite among the listeners. “What We Already Have” contemplates the never-ending quest for self-satisfaction, a mindless hunger that often clouds judgment and understanding oneself better. “Love Will Survive,” on the other hand, is short and reflective, and more like an afterthought than a full conversation (emphasizing the unwavering potency of selfless love through thick and thin). The closing piece “The Golden Age” concludes the album on a melancholic note: the crooner is gloomy about feeling out of place in days gone by, signed off by a majestic coda containing a guitar solo (with a creative twist of heavy flanger on it).
“Open Highway” has a creative ambitiousness, traversing into the indie and alt-rock sounds from yesteryears with a modernistic and expansive approach. Yet, there's earnestness in the songwriting, keeping it grounded, staying low and letting tender moments carry the weight.