A Tendency to Seek Distraction (2025)
Every so often you stumble on a debut record that doesn’t feel like a debut. It doesn’t feel like a band trying to find their sound or experimenting with their identity. Instead, it feels like walking into a conversation that was already in progress—one that you can easily relate to.
That’s what A Tendency to Seek Distraction is.
Silvis—Columbus-based and criminally underhyped—wrote a record that lives somewhere between indie rock vitality and folk-tinted reflection. It’s a little Switchfoot, a little Guster, a little Death Cab, a little Young the Giant or The Revivalists if they were self-conscious Midwesterners trying to process emotional overload through group harmonies and guitar lines that could cut glass. It’s catchy, but not sugary. Polished, but not sterile.
A Tendency to Seek Distraction is a lush, lived-in exploration of indecision, overstimulation, longing, and losing yourself on purpose just to feel something again. It’s an album made for driving fast and thinking slow, for laying on your back in your high school bedroom wondering how you’re still feeling things at full volume in your twenties. But the thing is—Silvis doesn’t just sound like other bands. They feel like the memory of other bands. They hit in that soft spot between recall and discovery. The result is a confident, emotionally honest, gorgeously textured alt-rock debut that doesn’t beg to be understood so much as it tells you: hey, we’ve been there too.
The opener, Do I Need It?, starts in the middle of things—no gentle warm-up, just straight into a funky strut of bass and hi-hat. You get Revivalists-style propulsion, but the structure is all their own. It refuses the safety of a traditional pop format, instead choosing to swirl around themes of emotional dependence, lingering voices, and memory: “Do I need it now / But I cannot / Seem to figure it out / How it got away?”
I’m On Fire is dreamy, yet propulsive. Not quite shoegaze, not quite indie-pop. It exists in this dreamscape haze—not technicolor, nor cosmic fog, but something sparkly and wide-eyed. The chorus hits with a sense of passion and urgency. “You make me feel like I’m on fire / Take me higher” and “I’ve been dreaming / On the way your lips” communicate emotional intoxication—that dopamine-slick state where reason fades and feelings dominate.
The guitar tones on No Sleep are cut from the same cloth as the opening tracks, keeping the atmosphere cohesive while letting the rhythm section shine. There’s bounce, sure, but it’s the fun kind. Lyrically, it’s insomnia dressed up like adventure. Pure romantic escapism: “I keep you in closely /You keep getting caught up in my head.” Silvis makes anxiety and restlessness sound like something you might actually dance to.
I Can Feel It is one of the strongest songs on the record. The synth punches in the chorus hit like a caffeine rush after three hours of sleep and four crash-outs. The guitar mimicking the vocals in the bridge? Brilliant. It’s the kind of little detail that tells you this band cares not just about what a song says, but how it feels in your chest. Silvis captures the realization of love—the understanding that someone doesn’t complete you, but allows you to feel seen, safe, and cared for. “Then you make me okay / You put me back in my place / I’m better next to you.” Rip my heart out, why don’t you.
I Already Know brings back that Revivalists-like groove again, but in a more restrained form. The chorus doesn’t explode; it pulses. Think CAKE but with an emotional core. Arguably the track I resonate most with—highlighting the feelings of paralysis and overthinking, the internalized fear of judgment, and the repetition of it all. “Maybe I don’t / Even wanna know / What they think about me / But oh why can’t I let it go” and “I can’t even take one more step without / Thinking I’m late bothering your phone / I’m stuck way back in my head” feel like quotes ripped straight from my inner monologues. The lyrics are raw and vulnerable, opening up about being mentally caged by fear, doubt, and the weight of overthinking.
Avert Your Eyes turns up the amps. The guitar riffs punch a little harder here, flirting with something close to alt-rock bravado. The call-and-response energy between the guitar and vocals is addictive—it’s a conversation in riffs. Lyrically, it shines a light on voluntary blindness: “We won’t open our eyes / We see only what we like.” The overconsumption and overreliance on technology fulfills short term, but over time drains you of vitality and awareness. It’s dopamine-dependence with a catchy hook.
Who I Am starts like a ceremonial folk song you’d hear at a bonfire in the middle of nowhere. Very analog. Very Midwest. But then it builds into this gospel-tinged, soul-stomping, alt-Americana anthem with group vocals and handclaps that somehow doesn’t feel cheesy. It’s wistful and discusses identity as a question yet to be answered rather than as a fact. It’s uplifting and intimate without being corny—which is harder than it looks.
Vocally, Crawling is one of the strongest tracks on the record. There’s this shuffle in the percussion—whether it’s hi-hats or shakers—that keeps the track quietly alive until the guitar solo slides in, smooth and sincere. The whole thing feels like someone trying to hold on to love while also coming to terms with the chaos of life. It never explodes, and that’s exactly why it works. “Wouldn’t chase after you then / Now I’m running after you” is delivered with enough restraint to keep it from sounding desperate—it sounds human. It’s not a plea. It’s a moment of clarity.
If the album artwork had a sonic twin, it’s Each the Other’s Own. Hazy, emotionally tangled, full of open space. These lyrics reflect the experience of being lifted out of emotional darkness by someone who brings light and warmth back into your life. The recurring image of “the blue and red on your dress” becomes a symbol of that awakening—an imprint of beauty that cuts through numbness and lingers in the mind. Lines like “You’re heating me up” and “We stay getting closer” speak to the way love or connection can reignite a sense of purpose. At its core, the song is about being seen, revived, and gently reminded of the beauty that still exists in the world. It’s the sonic equivalent of sunlight through a window you didn’t know was open.
The closer, Hear You Speak, is a slow-burn—ethereal and tender. Backing harmonies float like smoke around the main vocal, and the whole track has a euphoria to it. These lyrics portray a tender dependence in the way they respond to every call and find comfort after every fall. With vivid imagery like waking “To your light like the sunshine on the twelfth,” the song captures how love can feel like salvation, bringing warmth and purpose. “Oh but I live just to hear you speak.”
A Tendency to Seek Distraction isn’t just a debut—it’s an arrival. And while it might feel like a swirl of nostalgia, emotion, and sonic familiarity, it never once loses itself in imitation. Silvis has built their own world here. One filled with fire, fog, longing, and enough self-awareness to know that even when you don’t have it figured out, it is entirely human. And doesn’t that just make you feel?
