Alex G - Headlights
The major-label debut of lo-fi’s reluctant icon signals a new chapter in the career of indie rock’s most enigmatic guiding light — but the best thing about Headlights is that it still feels like the same old Alex G we fell in love with years ago.
It’s been fifteen years since Alex G first emerged from the American DIY scene, quietly releasing fractured home recordings that would, over time, shape the very sound of indie music in the 2010s and beyond. Once a fringe figure uploading songs to Bandcamp, Alex Giannascoli has slowly and steadfastly become one of the most quietly influential musicians of his generation. His fingerprints are now everywhere: from scoring the eerie glow of A24’s I Saw the TV Glow, to contributing his production touch to Halsey’s The Great Impersonator.
Last year, he signed to RCA — a move that could’ve easily signaled a creative compromise. But on Headlights, his tenth studio album, Alex G proves he’s lost none of his weird magic. The production may be cleaner, the songwriting tighter, but the spirit remains unshaken.
What has shifted, though, are the themes he’s willing to confront. On “Beam Me Up”, he disguises pointed commentary about America’s shifting immigration policies in the metaphor of a high-stakes football game. The opener “June Guitar” rocks in place with a melancholic swing, as if caught in a loop, suggesting the quiet dread of political stagnation and personal inertia. Elsewhere, fatherhood quietly emerges as a central concern. Though on Headlights he never explicitly says he’s become a parent, questions of responsibility, fear, and legacy haunt the corners of these songs like static on the radio.
Still, Headlights urges us to move forward. The cover’s knight gazes upward, sword in hand, chasing not salvation but orientation — something distant and extraterrestrial, something that might not save you but might at least show you where to go. Alex G has rarely sounded more invincible, and that quiet invincibility spills into the record itself. His lyrics remain as cryptic as ever, forcing listeners to meet him halfway. “Louisiana”, for example, appears at first to be a dusky state homage before unraveling into an obsessive love letter — one that turns sinister by its final verse.
In many ways, Headlights continues the sonic trajectory he began with 2021’s God Save the Animals. Once known for bedroom recordings soaked in tape hiss, Alex G has leaned fully into hi-fi textures — but that polish doesn’t dull the edge. Lead single “Afterlife” glows with crystalline mandolins and retro synths, like a message beamed in from a lost ’80s FM station. It’s one of his most immediately catchy tracks to date, a rare moment where the haze clears into something bright, even radiant.
Ultimately, Headlights doesn’t reinvent the wheel — and that’s the point. At this stage, what matters is that Alex G remains unmistakably himself. His career has always been marked by contradiction: raw vs. refined, sorrowful vs. euphoric, outsider vs. beloved cult figure. But the throughline has always been sincerity. Listening to Headlights feels like catching up with an old friend — the kind who changes, matures, and wrestles with the world, but never pretends to be anyone else.
7.8/10
