Stamped Ashore by Apologram

You know us. Ryo muttering apologies, Lila and Croix kicking up salt. We called this album *Stamped Ashore* because that's what it felt like making it: one long, weird graveyard shift down by the pier, where the air hums with old stories and unspoken things. We wanted to bottle that feeling, from the heavy thud of mailbags you just *know* are full of regrets, right through to that first weak light of dawn promising something else.

Musically, it's us, but maybe a bit more worn in. You’ll hear that surf twang we mess with, but it's wrapped in a heavier shoegaze blanket this time. And yeah, the mailroom still speaks through our gear – perforator clicks, stamp licks, the low sigh of a conveyor belt – they're not just effects, they're the bones of the melodies. It’s strange, how those everyday sounds become something you can actually hum. Ryo’s apologies, which used to just echo in the mailroom, they’ve found their way into the lyrics. We’re all dealing with this burnout, these messages that never got through, that deep loneliness of being stuck “in transit.” It's a gentle jab at how things are, wrapped up in a kind of skin-prickling melancholy.

The whole thing builds, track by track, toward “Postmark Tomorrow.” That one felt like a real turning point, shouting "Send yourself home to the light" into the salty air. It’s got this jangling guitar energy that just demands you sing along, even if your throat feels tight. We even captured the fan-fed confetti from unsent letters live in that track. It felt right, taking all that collective despair and spinning it into something silvery, something that still feels real, not some bright, shiny fake hope.

What we aimed for wasn’t just a collection of songs. It was more like a ritual, something you can physically feel. The idea was to take all those forgotten, tactile postal moments – the paper, the stamps, the waiting – and push them into lush, approachable guitar pop. We wanted to be honest chroniclers of the everyday sorrow we all carry, hoping maybe, just maybe, it sparks something in people. Makes them think about how they package up their own regrets, how they send them off, and if they can ever really forgive them. We think there’s something important in exploring that, in that sound.

Apologram: Surf guitar twang, shoegaze haze. We play songs for missed connections, for every unsent letter.