The Catch (2025)
Oproer’s sophomore record, The Catch, is a masterclass in beautiful emotional malfunction. It’s an album built on misreads, mixed signals, and two people trying to sync up while tripping over each other at every turn. Synths punch, vocals flare, and every track feels like a different angle on the same question: What are we to each other, and why does it hurt so much to ask? The record keeps slipping out of balance as lovers cling, dodge, accuse, whisper, recoil, and repeat the cycle anyway.
Sweet Fame opens the record with Oproer at their most instantly hooky: synth lines jogging up and down the scale, piano and vocal mirroring each other like a nervous call-and-response. Lyrically it’s that dazed, hungry stare at fame and validation; musically it’s built to be shouted in the car with the windows down. It sets the template early: big emotion, big melody, and a jittery edge humming underneath.
Something To Die For leans hard into tension and release with sharp synth stabs and a chorus that’s held back just long enough to make you anxious for it. The song circles obsession and self-destruction, the idea of wanting something so badly it becomes the entire point. When the hook finally arrives, it doesn’t blow the doors off. It glides in, controlled and eerie, and somehow that makes the moment land even harder.
Different Realities shows up fully armed with Oproer’s signature rebel sing-talking. Rapid-fire phrasing hits over driving drums and glimmering synths. The song lives in that space between doomscrolling and dissociation, where “different realities” means both the online world and the stories we tell ourselves to avoid feeling the real thing. It’s catchy as hell, but the beat carries a low-grade panic that keeps the fun from feeling safe.
On Say It Out Loud, the tempo stays steady while the tension spikes. Darker synth beds hum under a vocal that sounds like someone trying, and failing, not to blow up. When the rebellious sing-rap comes in, it jolts the track forward. This isn’t a communication anthem; it’s a warning shot. “Say it out loud” lands less like a request and more like an ultimatum.
After all that high voltage, You’re Too Much becomes the record’s first big breath. The instrumentation is light and delicate, and the vocal stays cautious at first. It circles fear, paranoia, and the risk of being “too much in love.” By the end it swells into a full-body sing-along, the kind you scream in the car and feel in your chest. It lets everything spill out, then it gently resets the room for whatever’s next.
In Royal Blue sneaks the funk in: rubbery bass lines, rich low-end piano, and cascading synths threading through like television static. Lyrically it’s about seeing the cracks in something that once felt royal. Deja vu betrayal. Trying to “stay alive” while realizing you’ve been played. The funky piano solo and sticky hooks keep it breezy on the surface, but the sting is still there.
Get Back On Your Feet launches with an a cappella lead-in before dropping into a stomping, synth-heavy, dark-new-wave fever dream. It feels very mid-to-late ’80s, unconventional and dramatic and more interested in mood than a classic verse/chorus payoff. It’s about trying to restart after emotional carnage. Tripwires. Do-overs. Fights you can’t seem to win. Live, this would be a jaw-to-the-floor moment.
Was It Worth A War? comes straight from the previous track and acts like an epilogue to Get Back On Your Feet. Musically minimal and mantra-like, the repeated question slowly shifts from metaphor to self-evaluation. It’s smart connective tissue; artful, intentional, and emotionally clarifying without needing to be loud.
I Hold No More Grudge is an instant throwback with those mid-2010s falsetto gang vocals that could sit on a playlist next to 2014 alt-radio staples. The verses snap back into pure Oproer: wordy, slightly bitter, delivered on the edge of a sneer. It’s about “forgiving” someone while still getting stuck in the reruns of what happened. The blend of eras and tones is quietly one of the album’s best tricks.
I Think Your Mother Wants Me Dead is exactly as unhinged as the title suggests, but in that Oproer way where chaos becomes pop. Percussion snaps, the bass thumps, and the synths drag the melody upfront by force. The lyrics are petty, messy, and oddly funny. Rumors, sharp looks, overprotective parents. A full “how did we get here?” moment. And somehow, the whole thing is ridiculously replayable.
The Silence Is Too Loud feels like a spiritual cousin to the Closed Sessions era. It’s richer, heavier, and more emotionally direct. The song paints a relationship frozen in place, where the quiet hits harder than any argument. It’s the mushroom cloud sort of hurt, just without the explosion — more like the fallout you’re stuck sitting in. The octave jumps dial up the drama without tipping into cheesy territory. It’s Oproer proving they can be theatrical without losing their edge.
Cold Feet was my intro to Oproer, and it still makes complete sense. It’s the most obviously “single-coded” track here. The keyboard riff is pure hook, the rhythm section never stops pushing forward, and the lyrics nail that familiar scenario of chasing someone who’s scared of their own feelings. It’s sleek, danceable, and still unmistakably them. If you’re new to Oproer, start here.
I’m Sure You’ve Heard About Enough closes the record with almost island-leaning, xylophone-like tones before snapping back into Oproer’s neon world. The lyrics feel like a late-night confession, wanting love to “catch on,” promising the impossible, and admitting you’d do it all again even for a false alarm. Tom-heavy drums and bright, airy synths make it feel like floating upward while the credits roll. It doesn’t slam the door. It lets the record exhale.
By the end, The Catch doesn’t solve anything. That’s the point. Oproer embraces the mess, names the contradictions, and turns emotional volatility into something universal instead of exhausting.
It’s sharp. It’s chaotic. It’s honest. And most importantly, it’s stupidly replayable. Oproer isn’t trying to be profound; they’re telling the truth. And we’ve all been there.
