Lunavela "Middle Management Asshole"

Sounds from New Zealand

09/09/2025 |

Lunavela’s “Six-Out-Of-Ten Friend” — a track that somehow turns social anxiety into an indie rock anthem — is a masterclass in deadpan poetry wrapped in swirling, psychedelic grit. With its lazy, almost disinterested vocal delivery riding atop a surprisingly busy, punchy groove, the song channels Beck’s genre-bending wit and the angular charm of 90s British alt-rock, all while anchored by a punky, propulsive bassline that refuses to let you look away. Psychedelic guitars coil like smoke around Steve Mathieson’s observational lyrics, painting vivid, cringe-comedic snapshots of human awkwardness: small talk in the pet food aisle with an ex-colleague, the ghost of an ex-girlfriend’s husband nodding politely as you both pretend not to know each other. It’s not misanthropy—it’s mercy. Mathieson doesn’t mock these moments; he elevates them, turning the mundane discomforts of modern life into something strangely beautiful, even cathartic. This isn’t just a pop song—it’s a hug for anyone who’s ever felt too much, said too little, and still showed up anyway.

Produced with care and funded entirely by Mathieson himself, “Six-Out-Of-Ten Friend” is the shimmering tip of the iceberg for Lunavela’s forthcoming album Imposter Syndrome—a deeply personal collection forged from sobriety, self-discovery, and the quiet triumph of creative rebirth. After the emotional toll of making Collapsing Cities’ second record, Mathieson found his voice again—not through grand gestures, but through honesty, humor, and the freedom of working alone. The contributions of drummer Alistair Deverick and bassist Hannan Carter lend the track a lived-in, band-ready energy that belies its solo origins, proving that great music doesn’t need a label, just heart. “My M.O.,” Mathieson says, “is to make you feel something.” And he does—whether it’s a wry chuckle, a nostalgic tear, or the sudden urge to scream along to a lyric about buying kibble next to someone you’d rather avoid. In a world obsessed with curated perfection, Lunavela offers something far rarer: imperfect, relatable, gloriously human pop. This isn’t just the best thing he’s ever done—it’s one of the most quietly revolutionary indie records to emerge from New Zealand in years.