Red Sky Warning
There’s something otherworldly in David Cloyd’s return. Less like a comeback, more like the reappearance of a signal we forgot we were tuned into. His new album “Red Sky Warning” doesn’t chase relevance; it radiates it. It’s not just that Cloyd’s ear is finely attuned to the sounds of now; it’s that he brings the wisdom of experience without nostalgia. Like a kind of indie Peter Pan, he holds onto the ageless capacity to feel everything at once: fear, wonder, tenderness, resistance. The Album feels like a message in a bottle flung into the chaos of our present. You can hear in it the quiet scream of the hyperconnected. Cloyd doesn’t preach; instead, he offers his emotions, unguarded and alive. There’s a love story at the heart of “Red Sky Warning”, but it’s less about a person and more about art itself. The ache to keep creating when the world insists on unravelling. His music hums with the hope that something beautiful can still be made from it all. That’s not legacy. That’s immediacy.