Under Cover of Darkness

This is a song about momentum — about the feeling of running toward something before anyone else notices you're gone. The guitars are lean and direct, hitting with a kind of confident jangle that recalls the best of Casablancas's early work without being nostalgic about it. There's a brightness here that's more structured than raw, the rhythm section locking in tight while the lead lines dart around with this restless, searching energy. Casablancas sounds more present than on much of the band's output — engaged, even urgent — singing about the particular freedom of night, of slipping away from expectations or relationships that have gone calcified. The song has a feeling of escape that isn't desperate but almost gleeful, like someone who's thought about leaving for a long time and finally just does it, light-footed and without drama. It arrived on an EP between *First Impressions* and *Angles*, and there's something about its in-between position in the catalog that suits it — a moment of clarity between more complicated eras. It's a song for open windows and late departures, for the specific hour when the city quiets down enough that it almost feels like yours alone, and moving through it feels less like commuting and more like inhabiting.