A little more than two minutes into the opening track “Monochrome,” Runnner bandleader Noah Weinman raises his ragged voice and bellows, “I wish I was drunk enough to call you.” The drums, electric guitars, and keyboards join him in the tonal shift, turning what was a subdued and pensive Americana tune into something truly arresting.

It’s the kind of moment that demands the listener’s attention, telling them that they better listen up, because this is important. And it’s a risky move: in today’s landscape of shuffled streaming playlists and minute-long TikTok’s, many listeners might already make up their mind about what Runnner has to say on this album, pressing the next button before the turn that really reveals the album’s intentions.

But for those patient enough to wait, Always Repeating is rich and rewarding. Once the band speaks up, they keep up the pace. “Urgent Care” pairs acrobatic banjos with a stumbling drum machine. “Awash” is rich with atmospheric treatments and Beach Boys–esque harmonies. “Bodysurfing” infuses Weinman’s folksy instincts with an angular handclap beat and dream pop lushness. When they bring things back down on the nocturne ballad “Trundle Bed,” there’s no doubt that they’ve earned the attention the song demands.

All the flashy production in the world wouldn’t matter at all if Weinman’s songwriting wasn’t so strong. He has a talent for assembling combinations of words that both evoke powerful images and have fun with the sound of the words playing against one another, like on “Trundle Bed” when he sings, “Is it quiet where you are? Are you finding peace of mind? I’m assembling the pieces: biting fingers, biding time,” or on “New Sublet,” “sitting drunk on the internet, looking at prices of places for cities you don’t live in, and you’ve never been.”

These are the sort of songs that could land with a single acoustic guitar and a microphone. But the richness of the arrangements bring out something special. Of course, “band” is a bit of a misnomer—Weinman played most of the instruments himself, which gives the songs a sound that only comes when they’ve been lived in, much like the solitary atmospheres of Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago. Much like Bon Iver, the arrangements play with sparse acoustic guitars and rich layers of horns with the same conviction, creating an album without cliché. And when operating in a genre like Americana, avoiding clichés is easier said than done.  

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