Royel Otis have gone from strength to strength in the past couple of years. They’ve locked in slots at festivals like Glastonbury, won over a legion of fans with their 2024 debut album, graced NME’s The Cover, and gone viral for their cover of Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’. All of which have cemented the Sydney duo as ones to watch out for, and helped inspire their sophomore record, ‘Hickey’, a sonic exploration of young adulthood.
Late summer feels like the perfect time for the record to arrive: the songs coincide with the band’s sun-drenched aesthetic and, throughout the tracklist, guitarist Royel Madden and singer Otis Pavlovic proudly lean into what they do best. Woozy guitar lines are out in full force, accentuated by shimmering synths and intriguing drum patterns, while Pavlovic’s hazy vocals add the finishing touch, making each track instantly recognisable.
It soon becomes clear that the duo were eager to cut back the fat this time around, too. Following a more minimalist songwriting approach, each track sits comfortably under the four-minute mark and focuses on a few strong elements, rather than an abundance of different sections. By avoiding ambiguous, convoluted lyricism, and focusing solely on what they do best with the instrumentals, the band create some charming melodies that linger.
Sun-soaked single ‘Car’, rhythmic ‘Say Something’ and aptly named ‘Good Times’ demonstrate this best. This is Royel Otis settling into a sound that is unmistakably theirs, and able to capture a dulcet image of the highs and lows that come with young adulthood and heartbreak, without the unnecessary bells and whistles.
While there is a maturity in stripping things back, it also runs the risk of playing it safe when many are ready to see them take things to the next level. Some tracks, like the instrumental ‘Who’s Your Boyfriend’, show profound songwriting abilities and an edging towards new horizons, but others seem to retreat back to a more generic, predictable route. ‘Moody’ feels marred by divisive lyrics like “My girl’s a bitch when she’s moody”, and tiptoes on the cusp of being uninspired. The same can be said of the catchy but forgettable ‘Dancing With My Self’ and album closer ‘Jazz Burger’, which seems to serve only as a way to round off the LP, without having any real calibre of its own.
There is no mistaking that ‘Hickey’ is Royel Otis at their most self-assured. Their time playing live over the past two years has allowed them to find the recipe for building back-to-back summer anthems, guaranteed to bring a feel-good vibe to any occasion. And while there is an admirable quality to focusing solely on their biggest strengths and bringing their laid-back Aussie charm to the forefront, we can’t help but question if slightly more hunger to push the boundaries would add a greater sense of depth to an otherwise satisfying album.
