There’s something especially satisfying about watching an artist evolve in real time. Ray Bull has been quietly building one of the most interesting indie rock catalogs of the last few years, blending sharp songwriting with a restless willingness to experiment. Their music pulls from garage rock, folk, country, dream pop, and classic rock, but never feels tied to just one lane. I first saw Ray Bull in 2023 when they opened for Sun Room and immediately understood why people were paying attention. Even in an opening slot, there was this undeniable magnetism to them, a confidence in both songwriting and performance that made it clear they were building toward something bigger.
Ray Bull is one of those artists you can feel growing in real time. By the time they landed on our 50 Best Albums of 2025 round-up, it felt fully deserved. Their sophomore album, Please Stop Laughing, proves exactly why. The record feels like a love letter to indie rock in all its forms, but never in a way that feels derivative. Instead, Ray Bull treats genre like a playground, pulling from garage rock, folk, country, dream pop, and classic rock without ever losing their own identity. Every song feels like it could belong to a different character, a different story, a different version of heartbreak. It’s an album built on personality.
“You’re Still Here, So Am I” opens with a simple drum machine and synths before settling into something surprisingly upbeat. The vocals are instantly striking, croony and cool in a way that feels very Julian Casablancas coded, especially on the line “I’m so scared of things I thought I’d left behind.” It sets the tone for an album that sounds emotionally messy but incredibly self-aware.
“All That You Are” shifts into something softer and more romantic, opening with this ethereal atmosphere before guitar strumming and synths that almost mimic strings come in. Lines like “your face is like a guitar string, I’ll play with it and then wait for it to sing” feel poetic in that slightly weird, hyper-specific way that makes indie songwriting so memorable. It’s romantic, but with enough strangeness to keep it interesting.
“Marry A Skater” opens like a dreamy lullaby with soft piano before taking a turn vocally that feels closer to Rivers Cuomo or even Wilco. The lyrics lean a little cheesy, but honestly, that works in its favor. There’s charm in letting a song be a little earnest.
The title track, “Please Stop Laughing,” might be the clearest example of the album’s emotional center. “I’m just a loner baby, tell me a story I can’t wait” lands with this desperate kind of longing, and the whole song feels like it could have lived on an early Strokes record. It’s messy, romantic, and a little pathetic in the best possible way.
“Baby Jean” slows things down beautifully. It reminded me a little of Twin Shadow, especially in the sweetness of the delivery and the way the vocals soften around the melody. The guitar solo at the end is subtle but perfect, one of those moments where less really is more.
“Under Your Eyelid” leans more into a ’70s rock feeling, with harmonies and higher backing vocals that make it feel bigger than its runtime. “Antifreeze” proves again just how much Ray Bull can transform vocally. At multiple points I genuinely thought there were female vocals layered in, but it’s just that level of control and range.
Then the album takes another turn with “Four Little Feet,” which honestly feels almost like a country song. There’s a little Bruce Springsteen in it, a little heartland rock storytelling, and it works. That’s what makes this album so fun: every time you think you know where it’s going, it pivots.
“Pain and Missouri” leans fully into folk, complete with finger-picking and clear Bob Dylan influence. It feels reflective and worn in, with lines like “I’m slowly caving in / cause I’ve seen where life has been” carrying that quiet emotional weight. There’s even something about it that reminded me of Buena Vista Social Club, especially in the warmth and looseness of how it closes.
“How Much Money” keeps that country energy alive, while “It’s Probably Nothing” drops into full sad-boy territory, with light guitar strumming and lyrics like “why do you get so mad / even when things go right / even when nothing’s wrong.” It feels painfully familiar in the way the best indie songs do.
The closing track, “Fuck Out,” might be the boldest song here. It moves through so many unexpected places, falsetto, drama, almost theatrical production, and somehow still feels cohesive. It’s cinematic, weird, and the perfect ending because it reminds you one last time that Ray Bull refuses to stay in one lane.
That’s really the magic of Please Stop Laughing. Every song stands alone with its own identity, its own personality, and its own set of influences. You can hear them actively playing with sound, testing what fits, and pushing at genre boundaries without forcing it. It’s the kind of album that makes indie rock feel exciting again because it remembers that rock music is supposed to have character.
Indie music lovers, listen up: This album deserves your full attention. Some albums are cohesive because every song sounds the same. This one works because every song sounds like it belongs to the same fearless artist, even while each track gets to be its own little universe. That’s much harder to pull off, and Ray Bull makes it sound effortless.
Please Stop Laughing is out now.
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