Cannonball

Felix Walworth makes music that sounds like it came from a conversation happening at the edge of your perception — half-heard, unhurried, deeply personal. The guitar work here is fingerpicked and tentative, not in a way that suggests inexperience but in a way that suggests honesty, as though the song is still figuring out what it needs to say while you're listening to it. The production is lo-fi but not accidentally so — the warmth of the recording, the slight room noise, the imperfections in the takes all feel deliberate, like a frame chosen to match what's inside it. Walworth's voice is light-toned and conversational, rarely pushing above a certain volume, and that restraint does something interesting: it makes the listener lean in rather than sit back. The song's emotional terrain involves desire and the fear of it — the specific tension of wanting to move toward someone or something and feeling your own resistance pulling back simultaneously. Told Slant sits at the intersection of emo's confessional tradition and folk's structural understatement, shaped by the community of bands that emerged from DIY spaces in the early 2010s. It has a slow-build emotional logic: what seems minimal at the start has accumulated weight by the end. This is a song for long train rides, for journal entries that surprise you, for anyone who has ever felt braver on paper than in the room.