Vinyl Floor sound like a band who know exactly who they are — and more importantly, who they’re not trying to be. Formed in Copenhagen in 2007 by brothers Thomas Charlie Pedersen and Daniel Pedersen, the duo return with Balancing Act, an album that wears its influences comfortably without turning them into a checklist.
There’s something quietly reassuring about Balancing Act. Listening through, it recalls the alternative records that soundtracked the late ’90s — not in imitation, but in pacing, restraint, and confidence. These songs take their time. They breathe. They trust melody and feel over excess.
The opener, All This and More, sets the tone immediately. Spacious and assured, it unfolds around memorable melodic lines and creative, considered playing. Everything feels intentional, from the instrumentation to the warm vocal delivery that gently pulls the listener in. I’m on the Upside roughens the edges slightly, introducing a bit more grit while staying rooted in the same melodic instincts. It feels like progression rather than pivot.
The Helping Hand lightens the mood, with percussion and piano giving the track an almost floating quality. There’s emotional openness here, but it never tips into excess. Mr. Rubenstein takes another turn altogether, borrowing from a wry, ’70s songwriter sensibility — knowing without being smug, playful without losing purpose.
The album peaks with Tell the World It Happened. Driven by urgent drums and one of the strongest vocal performances on the record, it’s the kind of song that invites repeat listens without demanding them. Land of the Desert pulls things inward again, while Back of My Hand rebuilds momentum with a slow-burn intensity reminiscent of early indie rock — communal, patient, and unforced.
The back half of the album holds its own. Puppet Laureate is fast and playful, using smart breakdowns to avoid linearity. Swan of Eileen Lake stands out for its layered vocal harmonies, particularly on the hook, which feels carefully assembled without being overproduced. Less Dystopian Book introduces fresh textures, and Jacaranda Blues settles into a loose, confident groove.
The closing title track, Balancing Act, ties everything together. Its sense of tension and timing feels considered and effective, offering a closer that feels earned rather than obligatory.
This is a record built on strong songwriting and clear intention. The best moments here are genuinely memorable, and Balancing Act rewards being listened to front to back. For longtime fans, it’s a confident reaffirmation of Vinyl Floor’s strengths; for newcomers, it’s a reminder that patience, craft, and emotional clarity still matter.
Balancing Act doesn’t chase relevance — it quietly claims its space.
