Wolfgang Webb doesn’t write songs so much as exorcise them. With The Lost Boy, his newest 10-track album released May 1, 2025, the half-Austrian Canadian singer-songwriter unearths deep emotional terrain, layering electronic pulses, raw confessions, and celestial arrangements into a body of work that feels both haunted and healing. It’s an album that lingers—like a dream you don’t fully understand until later, when its meaning slowly begins to unfold in the back of your mind.
Crafted almost entirely in the quiet hours between midnight and 5 a.m., The Lost Boy is more than a collection of songs—it’s a diary of solitude and survival, a sonic map for anyone who’s ever wandered through darkness hoping for a glimmer of light. “Music is therapy,” says Webb, who also recorded across France, LA, Toronto, and the UK. “Often, I find clarity about what I’ve created only after the process is complete.” And what a process it’s been.
From the opening track “march,” featuring the ethereal vocals of Esthero, The Lost Boy signals its intention to pierce through the noise of modernity. Esthero’s voice floats like a protective spirit across a landscape of decayed ruins and melancholic synths, offering comfort to Webb’s disoriented narrator. The track’s accompanying video—a visual poem filled with crumbling architecture, tangled brush, and faintly glowing angels—took half a year to complete, and its symbolic richness mirrors the emotional depth of the song itself. Webb, who co-directed the video, calls it a meditation on decayed beauty and the remnants of love.
The theme of transience continues on “the ride,” where Brian Eno-inspired synths, trip-hop percussion, and haunting trumpet lines (a nod to Massive Attack and Everything But The Girl) fuse under the gaze of UK producer Bruno Ellingham. It’s a song about moving forward with no clear destination, its hook—“What do you say when all is gone, the history won’t play along?”—echoing in the void. The video, shot entirely in abandoned places, reinforces the song’s themes of loss and impermanence. “I wanted the only presence to be my ghost,” says Webb. “It’s about what’s left behind when joy disappears.”
Sonically, The Lost Boy is as fearless as it is fragile. “is it ok to fall?” trades electronics for jangling guitars and a splash of goth pop reminiscent of The Cure and Love and Rockets. It’s romantic in a wounded, wary way—a rare glimpse of vulnerability amid the album’s more cerebral soundscapes. On the brooding “phoenix,” Webb experiments with dissonance and build-ups, creating a track that embodies rebirth through fire. The title alone suggests a painful resurrection, and the music doesn’t shy away from that process.
But the real emotional gut-punch arrives with “rough road to climb” and “it all goes away.” These tracks dive deep into Webb’s personal reckoning with trauma, channeled through sparse arrangements and aching vocal performances. There’s nothing ornamental here—just voice, memory, and mood, stitched together with unsettling honesty. Webb says many of these songs were written in under an hour, the speed of creation suggesting less composition than revelation.
Closing tracks “in the end” and “clap (reprise)” pull the album full circle. The former is a whispered acceptance of fate, while the latter revisits earlier motifs with new understanding, as though the listener—and Webb himself—has come out the other side transformed. It’s not a happy ending, but it’s a true one.
Contributions from heavyweight collaborators like Mark Gemini Thwaite and Derek Downham only enhance the record’s weight and texture, adding layers without overshadowing Webb’s intimate storytelling. Despite the scattered recording locations, The Lost Boy feels astonishingly cohesive—held together by one voice, one mind, one restless spirit seeking answers in the stillness.
For Webb, this album is not just a sophomore effort; it’s an emotional exorcism and a step forward into the unknown. After The Insomniacs’ Lullaby, which established him as a dark-pop auteur with a cinematic touch, The Lost Boy confirms what many suspected: this artist isn’t afraid to make music that hurts—and heals.
Available now in a limited edition blood orange vinyl, The Lost Boy is as beautiful to hold as it is to hear. Visit wolfgangwebb.com to experience the full project, including all four meticulously crafted music videos. In a world obsessed with surface-level playlists and instant gratification, Wolfgang Webb dares to go deeper—and he invites you to follow.
