The sound of Lensmen holds a deeply personal space in my musical journey—a liminal zone straddling my teenage years and early adulthood, framed by two towering, tragic losses in rock history: the death of Jim Morrison in ’71 and Ian Curtis in ’80. The shadows cast by these enigmatic, tortured geniuses loom large over Lensmen’s work, a haunting presence felt in every raw note and dark lyric.

But make no mistake—this is no mere criticism. Far from it. I have immense respect for artists who wear their influences on their sleeves, unafraid to let the ghosts of their musical forebears seep into their sound. The true test lies in their ability to transform these inspirations into something vital, to navigate the perilous waters between homage and mimicry without capsizing into tribute-band territory.

Lensmen, though still in their early days, offer glimpses of something stirring beneath the surface—a brooding ferment of fresh ideas that balance bleakness with fragility. Their music is a shadowed landscape, but within it glimmers the sharp craft of lyricist Alan Hughes. Like Morrison and Curtis before him, Hughes injects a surprising streak of dark humor into the mix—a vital spark that breathes life into the gloom.

Yes, Lensmen’s sound is raw, sometimes jagged, but beneath the rough edges is an emerging talent carving out their own space in the musical twilight. If they can steer clear of the rocks ahead, I believe Lensmen have a compelling, intriguing journey unfolding before them.

This is just the beginning. Stay tuned—and enjoy the ride.