With his new single, New York-based songwriter Alwyn Morrison lays himself bare in a way that feels devastatingly human, delivering a track that lives in the quiet agony between love and helplessness. From the very first note, ‘Chained’ earns your undivided attention.
Built around a stripped-back guitar line and vocals that carry just the right amount of ache, ‘Chained’ is the kind of song that reminds you that indie-rock doesn’t need a wall of fuzz or a towering hook to hit hard. Sometimes, it’s the hushed moments that crush the loudest. Morrison walks the line between restraint and rawness with an emotional intelligence that’s very rare.
What makes ‘Chained’ land isn’t just the subject matter, though the theme of trying to love someone battling their own darkness is handled with incredible sensitivity. It’s the way Morrison delivers it. Every lyric feels like a confession that was never supposed to be heard, which makes listening feel almost voyeuristic.
The production keeps things unfussy, letting the bones of the song breathe. There’s a clarity to the mix that puts Morrison’s voice and guitar front and centre, with a few well-placed background harmonies that creep in like memories. It’s emotionally heavy without being overwrought, and that’s a tough balance to strike.
The backstory only adds to the weight- written on a plane, inspired by a real relationship, recorded as Morrison’s first proper studio track. But even without knowing any of that, the feeling is all there. You can hear the exhaustion. You can hear the care. You can hear someone trying to hold on.
This isn’t the kind of track that’s designed to go viral or fill stadiums. It’s the kind of song you stumble on at midnight, headphones in, when you’re looking for something that understands how messy love can get. If you’re into the confessional edge of early Bon Iver or the raw nerve of Elliott Smith, ‘Chained’ is going to sit with you in the best kind of uncomfortable way.
