We’re All Late Tonight (2023)
There’s something fundamentally exciting—almost dangerous—about music that refuses to play by the rules. Oproer’s We’re All Late Tonight doesn’t just dodge convention; it dismantles it, sets fire to the scraps, and dances through the smoke. From the first moments, it’s clear this record wasn’t written in the traditional sense. It feels discovered, as if the band unearthed some alien blueprint and just followed it wherever it led. Or they themselves are the aliens.
The opening track No Not Me, Sir kicks things off like a slap across the face. Driving percussion and sharp synth jabs paint a cold, blue-purple soundscape. Frontman Dries’ vocal delivery channels a little David Byrne—nervy, detached, compelling as hell—pacing the track like a prophet who’s seen too much of what’s yet to come. The structure is non-linear and unpredictable, yet it moves with purpose. You find yourself trying to reverse-engineer it—was it built from a beat? A melody? A synth line? A jam session that got possessed? Impossible to say, and that’s half the appeal.
High For More eases into a slightly more accessible shape but loses none of the bite. The synths take on a warmer, more propulsive role here, and Dries shifts fluidly between that revolutionary talk-sing and this airy falsetto that catches you off guard. The arrangement is dense but never cluttered—like the band built an environment out of sonic accents, and every new listen swings you a different way.
And then there’s If You Change Your Mind—a career-defining moment. It’s infectious in the way only the truly dangerous earworms are. There’s a relentless forward motion, a push-pull of restraint and release that toys with you mercilessly until it finally bursts. It holds you in suspense, and when it finally hits, it’s euphoric. One of those rare songs that haunts you after the fact. You don’t just remember the hook—you feel it for days.
Strange descends into darker territory. A bass line and floor tom groove start low and eerie, with the shouted “Strange!” erupting like a haunted preacher’s sermon. Again: very Talking Heads, but with more tension, more shadow. It’s disorienting and theatrical—quirky but deadly serious—and by the time the song explodes at the end, it feels earned. You’ve been crawling through this dark horror-scape, and the exit is a solid brick wall.
Late Tonight is slinkier, almost sexy in its late-night synth-funk strut. It’s got this hazy noir energy to it—like a futuristic barfight in slow motion. The guitar solo tears through like a neon dagger, and the vocal delivery shifts again, veering toward something that feels halfway between rebellion and alt-rap.
Geez is grime incarnate—filthy guitars, groaning synths, vocals that snarl. It leans into the band’s more chaotic side and lives up to the Oproer name—it’s a revolt in 3 minutes.
Then comes Let Go, which dips a toe into more commercial territory—though still far weirder than what passes for pop in today’s climate. It’s meant to be played live at high volume, to be felt through your chest. There’s this catharsis baked into it, a kind of fist-clenching release that makes you want to scream along even if you don’t know the words yet.
In A Daze offers a breather. A beautifully measured track, it floats and glows like a dream-state. The synths stretch out like the sun, and everything about it feels tender and balanced. A well-placed exhale in a record that’s mostly fire rebellion.
Money is a knockout. This is the most universal track on the album, the one most likely to bring new ears into the fold without compromising the band’s integrity one bit. The groove is undeniable, the hook lodges itself deep, and the production gleams just enough to make it shine without smoothing over its edges. It’s the sound of a band proving they could go mainstream if they wanted to—but only on their own terms.
And then they close with The City Burns—a stark, emotional ballad anchored by pounding weighted piano keys and vocals so impassioned they practically split the speakers open. It’s a finale in every sense, wringing out the last drops of emotion and energy the album has to give.
We’re All Late Tonight doesn’t sound like a debut—it sounds like a band that’s already been through the fire and come out weirder, wiser, and more dangerous. Oproer have figured out something most bands take years to learn: how to build tension, how to withhold release until it’s demanded and devastating, how to balance chaos with clarity. They’re not just interesting—they’re unignorable. This is a band already fully formed in their rebellion, already fluent in the language of upheaval. Whether they’re whispering in your ear or screaming through a megaphone, they’ve got your attention. And they’re not letting go.
