On paper, separation, distance, and uncertainty don’t seem like a good recipe for creating music. Then again, indie rock band Great Grandpa thrives on crafting unusual songs with unpredictable twists and turns. Patience, Moonbeam is the Seattle outfit’s first album in six years, and it’s one they feared they’d never get to make. After the release of 2019’s acclaimed Four of Arrows, life dragged the band’s members in different locations—quite literally. Bookstores opened, people got married, and many migrated to Denmark and LA. Understandably, it looked like the end of the line for the promising cult favorite. Luckily for us, it wasn’t.
Reconnecting in 2023, the band decided to scrap older ideas and recordings, and instead pour the last few years of life into their most mature work yet. The result is both pastoral and explosive. Great Grandpa’s innate sense of intimacy remains, but this time, their sound is dreamier, more chaotic, and full of striking contrasts. Album number three is defined by its contrasts, and all the better for it.
A song such as the infectious “Ladybug” makes a fine example. At first, glitched vocals play, sounding like a lost transmission from space. Before long, a buzzed-out synth bassline joins the party, pulling the song into an electronic-leaning psychedelic pop groove. As the track quickly progresses, slide guitar, piano, and banjo pile on, creating a sonic collision that somehow works. It’s like a bluegrass band and The Flaming Lips tossed into a blender. It shouldn’t work, but it’s a feast of melody, unpredictable yet irresistibly catchy.
The band cites Abbey Road as an influence, particularly how seasoned musicians—now a decade into playing together—can weave their singular sounds into a stronger whole. The result is 11 songs that are both gorgeous and strange. The twitchy “Doom” channels In Rainbows-era Radiohead before erupting into an apocalyptic breakdown of drones and distorted power chords. It’s this mastery of tension and release that makes Patience, Moonbeam such a refreshing listen. No song takes quite the journey you think it should. And yet, the band’s chemistry and ear for a hook ensure that even their more experimental tendencies remain deeply satisfying.
With this rebirth, the quintet has taken their earthy vibes, doused them in glitter, and fired it back at us at 1,000 mph. In the most flattering way possible, Patience, Moonbeam sounds like the work of an entirely different band than the one behind 2017’s scrappy debut, Plastic Cough—as fun as that record was.
Great Grandpa has delivered— by a large margin—their best album to date. It’s emotionally resonant, endlessly fun, and leaves you reaching for the replay button to catch all the little details you missed on the first listen. As cliché and corny as it sounds, albums that take you on a journey tend to leave the biggest impact. Patience, Moonbeam is quite the ride—and possibly the best record we’ve reviewed this year so far. Let’s thank the stars that Great Grandpa gave it another go.