SINGLE REVIEW: WIRD – Solitude
London’s WIRD waste no time making their intentions known. ‘Solitude’ kicks in with a rampant drum intro that sounds like the start of a fight, all momentum and muscle, before reverb-drenched guitars crash down around it like waves. There's an instant sense of force—raw, surging, unrefined in the best way. The vocals arrive thick with grit and confidence, cutting through the noise with clarity but never feeling disconnected from the storm beneath them.
There’s a strong thread of grunge coursing through the track—sludgy, fuzzed-out guitars and a churning, groaning bassline evoke the spirit of early Nirvana without sounding like cosplay. It’s heavy but not lumbering; there’s urgency in the riffs, an adrenaline-fuelled push that keeps everything moving. The song doesn’t hide behind polish or sheen—everything here feels authentic, open, and ferociously immersive. When the guitar solo hits, it’s like the whole track sparks—electrifying and untamed, but with just enough shape to feel deliberate.
What really stands out, though, is the hunger. There’s power and nostalgia in ‘Solitude’, sure, but it’s the longing—that barely restrained need to break out, break through, break something—that gives it bite. WIRD may be rooted in pandemic-era beginnings, but this track isn’t confined by walls anymore. It’s loud, alive, and already halfway out the door.
