Brighton’s indie stalwarts Fragile Creatures have always existed in the space between genres, moods, and moments—but with their new 11-track album Play Both Sides, released on March 28, 2025, the five-piece band fully leans into that liminal space. They don’t just explore the middle ground—they thrive in it. This is a record about duality: joy and sorrow, clarity and confusion, optimism and disillusionment. And in the hands of these seasoned musicians, that tension becomes not only listenable but transformative.
For over a decade, Fragile Creatures have been honing a sound that resists easy categorization. Built around the songwriting and vocals of Adam Kidd and bolstered by the textured keys of Aaron Neville, the searing guitar work of Tom Alty, the steady drums of James Crump, and Adam Whittles’ grounded basslines, the band’s chemistry is palpable. They’ve spent the last six years releasing music independently, slowly cultivating a dedicated following drawn to their mix of introspection, melody, and grit. With Play Both Sides, they’ve delivered their most cohesive and mature effort yet—one that feels simultaneously like a culmination and a new beginning.
The album emerged from the isolating swirl of the pandemic years, a time when connection was both a yearning and a necessity. During the lockdowns of 2020 and 2021, the band—like many artists—was forced to rethink how they created. Instead of retreating, Fragile Creatures innovated, piecing together live sessions remotely and leaning into the constraints of distance as a creative challenge rather than a roadblock. That resilience is baked into every note of Play Both Sides, an album that pulses with both the restlessness and clarity that often come during moments of pause.
The title itself—Play Both Sides—is more than just a nod to indecision or ambivalence. It’s an ethos. It reflects the band’s willingness to exist in contradiction, to blend vintage and modern, polish and dirt, vulnerability and confidence. The opening title track sets the tone immediately: atmospheric, driven, and laced with lyrical insight. From there, the record dives into a spectrum of moods and styles without losing its center.
One of the standout qualities of the album is its live feel. Rather than drowning the songs in overproduction, the band leans into authenticity. You can hear the room, the breath between phrases, the imperfections that make music human. This approach gives tracks like “Don’t Know What To Do” and “Bad Smell” a sense of immediacy—like you’re right there in the rehearsal room, watching ideas come to life.
But Fragile Creatures aren’t content to just crank up the amps and coast on nostalgia. There’s a sophistication here—melodic and lyrical—that sets them apart. Tracks like “Raised By Fools” and “Garden of Eden” draw from deep wells of influence, nodding to the elegance of Al Green one moment and the edge of Radiohead the next. Yet everything is filtered through their own lens, tied together by Kidd’s emotive vocal delivery and the band’s intuitive interplay.
Lyrically, the album is packed with reflection. There’s a weight to these songs, but not one that drags. “Grandaddy” feels like a quiet reckoning with legacy and loss, while “Chasing Hearts” pulses with the ache of romantic disorientation. “Hold On” offers a flicker of hope without false promises, a reminder that perseverance doesn’t always come with clarity. And “Entitled To Love” walks the tightrope between self-doubt and longing with elegant restraint.
The closer, “Frozen,” is a fitting end—a slow burn that simmers rather than explodes, embodying the album’s theme of tension and duality. It’s not a resolution but an echo, leaving listeners suspended in thought long after the final note fades.
What Fragile Creatures achieve on Play Both Sides isn’t just a compelling collection of tracks—it’s a complete musical ecosystem. They don’t shout for attention. Instead, they invite you in, speak to your anxieties, and remind you that contradiction is part of the human condition. With a sound that bridges classic songwriting and modern alt-rock ambition, this Brighton band proves that playing both sides isn’t about fence-sitting—it’s about hearing the whole story.
Play Both Sides is the kind of record that doesn’t just ask you to listen—it asks you to feel. And for anyone who’s ever been caught between two truths, it offers a rare and rewarding middle ground.
