When critics say that a band makes them fall asleep it’s almost always meant in a negative way. With Cigarettes After Sex, however, their slowcore format of dreamy guitars, delicate drums, and heavenly vocal hooks create such a tranquil atmosphere to doze off to. Whilst there are endless Spotify playlists for chilling out, studying, and intimacy etc, their debut self-titled album feels like a heavenly voyage, with each track almost at the same tempo, but in a way, you don’t want any deviation because you feel intoxicated by Greg Gonzalez’s and co.’s noir-pop soundscapes. It’s also worth noting that because practically every song is about romance, you can essentially lose yourself in the affectionate lyricism, or choose to zone it out and still gain the same sense of enjoyment from their material.

Dynamically, there’s little variation, but that’s what makes Cigarettes After Sex’s formula so perfect, and any drastic changes from that would taint the band’s lucid charm. The delicate vocal cadences lightly dust over the minimalistic instrumentation like you’re having a private audience with Gonzalez himself, with each line more endearing than the last. They’re also one of the very few bands that can be shared with a partner at the peak of a relationship, but also be used for emotional solidarity when it falls apart and you cry yourself to sleep over what went wrong.