SLOW FICTION

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dollhouse–the self-produced debut album from New York City’s Slow Fiction–frames identity as something both intimate and observed: a private world that’s always, somehow, on display. An uneasy sense of play runs throughout these 11 tracks, where surveillance and introspection blur together to probe the line between who we are in private, and who we become when we’re seen; by others, via the internet, or by ourselves. Lyrics twist in perspective, circling petty pain and other people’s cruelties, searching for some kind of clarity. “Who are you when no one’s looking back or through,” Julia Vassallo sings on opener “junior year,” over a quizzical bass line and refracting guitars that build to catharsis. It’s propulsive rock that encourages reflection.  

Anyone who moves to NYC understands that survival hinges on some sort of makeshift family for sanity’s sake. Over five years, Slow Fiction’s dynamic has evolved from natural friendship to a familial bond where they artistically challenge each other. Close proximity has become a creative engine: bassist Ryan Duffin and guitarists Paul Knepple and Joseph Skimmons now live together, while drummer Akiva Henig and vocalist Julia Vassallo are just a short walk away. In mid-2022, the five-piece began to further define their standards as a band. “We are a family and we work on our music like that. Everyone is part of the organism,” says Vassallo, stressing the group’s close-knit dynamic. The band’s foundation of trust allowed dollhouse songs to be revisited and reshaped over time rather than locked in too early. “You have to live with the song a little bit,” Duffin adds.

dollhouse embraces transformation, exploring identity and performance, and the varying perspectives expressed across the LP reinforce a sense of self the band has spent years building–trying on different angles without losing their center. More than anything, it reflects a band learning to let go: of expectations, of habits, and of the need to have all the answers before the music exists. Songs move in waves, sonically and emotionally, offering different entry points for different listeners. Vassallo jokes that gravitating toward certain tracks feels like a ‘00s magazine personality quiz: the romantic introvert (“idle hours”), the leather jacket-donning extrovert (“ninteynine”), the wallflower (“mouthpiece”), the big-hearted self-descructor (“bottle episode”), the wanderluster (“g.a.l.s.”) or the vigilant resister (“turning down flowers”).  

Many songs had spread their limbs live onstage, becoming fleshed out over a few tours. But instead of recreating those versions, the band chose to unlearn them. Songs often began or became fragments—late-night ideas and half-formed lyrics that didn’t fully make sense until much later. They soundtracked writing sessions with muted films. With screenings of classics, such as Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas, the striking and impressionistic contexts seeped into the album’s DNA. Recording began in August 2025, with final mixes completed in January with the help of Sonny DiPerri (DIIV, Julie). Songs revealed their multifaceted natures as the band carried them to new environments—a dark and cramped rehearsal space in Brooklyn, a snowy upstate New York retreat, and an ocean-facing studio north of San Francisco. These scenic spaces shaped the material into expansive works, absorbing the intricacies of each room they passed through. The band embraced trial and error, pulling from whatever was within reach: vintage instruments, unfamiliar textures, and spontaneous ideas. A pump organ, Mellotron, and vocoder became central simply because they were there. Self-producing became “another layer of the songwriting,” as Knepple puts it.  

Certain songs marked turning points. When “what the night told me” came together in the studio, it felt like new ground–lush and sprawling, with Vassallo’s vocals weaving through tangled drum chains and guitar dust bunnies. It’s one of dollhouse’s many moments that feels cinematic and transcendent, recalling The Cranberries or the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. But rather than pulling from specific references, the band focused on capturing feeling and energy–an approach that pushed the songs into less predictable territory. “We're drawing inspiration less from specific songs and more from the way artists approach music,” Knepple explains. They list Yo La Tengo and Broken Social Scene as groups that inspired the album’s vast and layered atmosphere. Duffin adds that it was about asking how songs were made–not to replicate it, but to think in a way that leads you somewhere just as unexpected.  

Ultimately, dollhouse is a shifting document that resists fixed meaning. It becomes less a statement than a mirror—formed as much by the listener as by the band. Whether you’re resisting pulling your hair out as a spectator of life’s endless barrage, or maintaining composure while in a constant state of survival mode, the album reflects the messy process of growing into your own skin.