If you’ve never encountered the wonderfully odd and deeply human world of Stoat, their latest album I Contain Multitudes, released July 4, 2025, is the perfect place to dive in. The Irish trio—known for crafting witty, whimsical, and surprisingly profound alt-pop since the late ‘80s—have delivered what might be their most complete and emotionally honest work yet. It’s not an album that asks you to leave your baggage at the door. Instead, it welcomes you and your existential clutter with open arms, a raised eyebrow, and a sly grin.
Across ten tracks recorded at home and polished by Grammy-nominated duo Chris O’Brien and Graham Murphy, Stoat does what Stoat does best: observe life with precision, poke fun at its contradictions, and lovingly wrap it all in smart, tuneful indie rock. I Contain Multitudes is an album for those who find humor in the chaos, for people who overthink things, for anyone who has yelled “Let’s just be strangers!” in a moment of existential panic—and then laughed about it five minutes later.
From the opening track “Sing Myself,” Stoat sets the tone with self-aware charm. It’s an anthem of self-celebration without the ego, capturing the push-pull of wanting to matter while knowing you’re just a speck on a spinning rock. It’s playful, poetic, and impossibly catchy. That balance of levity and introspection carries throughout the album, particularly on tracks like “Plan B” and “The Thrill of the Thing,” which grapple with the gap between expectation and reality—something Stoat seems to both mourn and celebrate in equal measure.
Then comes “Why You Should Give Up on Your Dreams,” a track that feels like a warm hug wrapped in sarcasm. It’s not a bitter song—it’s Stoat doing what they do best: telling the truth without pretending it’s prettier than it is. In a culture obsessed with self-actualization, Stoat throws a curveball: maybe letting go is sometimes the most freeing thing of all. Of course, by the time you hit “Yes Is the Best!”—a sparkling closer full of hope and momentum—you realize the album isn’t about giving up at all. It’s about finding something more real than the dreams we were sold.
“Let’s Go Out” offers a refreshing moment of pure fun—jangly guitars, head-nodding rhythm, and a lyrical invitation to simply do something, even if you’re not sure why. In contrast, “Abyss” stares directly into the void, but with a wink. Stoat doesn’t dramatize despair; they normalize it, making even the darkest corners of human emotion feel less isolating. It’s rare for a band to handle mental health with this kind of frankness and grace, and it’s one of the album’s quiet strengths.
Perhaps the emotional heart of the record lies in “Things I Learned (Or Failed to Learn) in Therapy.” With its confessional tone and gentle melodies, it feels like eavesdropping on someone’s journal, only to find your own thoughts scribbled inside. It’s not just relatable—it’s real. Like much of I Contain Multitudes, it doesn’t offer neat answers. But it does offer connection, and that’s infinitely more valuable.
Elsewhere, “Matter” takes Stoat’s philosophical bent into cosmic territory, asking whether any of us really matter—but instead of spiraling, it finds joy in the question itself. It’s Stoat’s knack for facing life’s big questions with small smiles that makes this album so enduring. “Let’s Be Strangers” flips the romantic trope on its head, imagining anonymity as liberation rather than loss. It’s witty, weird, and—like most of the album—unexpectedly moving.
What makes I Contain Multitudes such a satisfying listen is not just its lyrical wit or melodic flair. It’s that Stoat clearly lives in these songs. This isn’t music made to impress; it’s music made to reflect, to amuse, to share in the strange solidarity of being human. It’s not escapism. It’s better—it’s acceptance. Life is absurd, beautiful, tedious, hilarious, and terrifying. This album lets all of it in.
And that’s the genius of Stoat. They’re not interested in polishing away the cracks. They want you to notice them, chuckle at them, maybe cry a little, and then keep going. I Contain Multitudes doesn’t pretend to be bigger than it is—but in doing so, it feels enormous. It contains contradiction and compassion, laughter and loneliness, absurdity and awe. It contains you, me, and every confused, hopeful heart out there trying to make sense of it all.
Thirty-plus years into their journey, Stoat remains one of the most quietly essential voices in alt-pop. They’re not chasing trends or streaming stats. They’re chasing something much harder to quantify: authenticity. And on I Contain Multitudes, they’ve caught it, track after track.
