There’s a stillness at the heart of Jonni Slater’s new album, Between the Shadows — a quiet pulse that feels deeply human and expansively cinematic. Released on November 7th, 2025, this Glasgow-based singer-songwriter’s latest work is less a collection of songs and more a meditation on contrast: love and loss, light and dark, freedom and restraint. From the opening notes of “Voices” to the parting sigh of “Last Dance,” Slater invites the listener into a world of reflection, where memory becomes its own landscape and emotion finds its expression through shadow and sound. It’s an album that feels like standing on the edge of dawn — not quite night, not quite morning, but the beautiful, uncertain in-between.
The imagery woven through Between the Shadows is striking — not only in the lyrics but in the sound design itself. The record conjures scenes like a painter with a palette of light: a red-sailed boat gliding across glassy water, snowfall suspended in air, lovers holding on as the tide swells around them. Slater’s songwriting has always leaned cinematic, but here he stretches that instinct into something almost visual. The production alternates between sparse intimacy and sweeping grandeur, reflecting the emotional terrain he’s exploring — the moments that define us and the ghosts that linger just beyond reach. Each track feels like a vignette, a scene from a film that never needed to be made because it exists perfectly in the music.
Opening track “Voices” sets the tone with an atmospheric hum — layered harmonies and restrained percussion that feel like echoes in an empty hall. The song wrestles with memory and the echoes of regret, with Slater’s voice carrying fragility and conviction. From there, “Super” injects subtle rhythm and urgency, balancing melodic optimism with lyrical unease. “Forgiven,” perhaps one of the most emotionally potent moments on the album, slows everything down to a piano-led confession. There’s a tenderness in Slater’s delivery that feels unguarded, as though he’s reaching across time to speak to a version of himself — or someone he once loved — that no longer exists. The intimacy is palpable, yet it never turns maudlin; instead, it’s grounded in honesty.
“Things We Didn’t Say” and “Believe in the Morning Sun” form the album’s emotional center. The former is a masterclass in restraint — a quiet storm of unsaid words and missed chances. Its chorus feels like a sigh, aching and resigned. In contrast, “Believe in the Morning Sun” lifts the listener back toward hope. With swelling instrumentation and a melody that glimmers like light breaking through fog, it’s a reminder that beauty often emerges from imperfection. Here, Slater channels the emotional clarity of early Peter Gabriel and the cinematic warmth of artists like Elbow or David Gray — proof that even subtlety can sound immense in the right hands.
When “Outside” and “Red Canvas” arrive, the tone shifts again — more atmospheric, more exploratory. “Outside” feels like a walk through a desolate street at midnight, its understated beat pulsing beneath reflective vocals. “Red Canvas,” on the other hand, paints with bolder strokes — distorted textures, reverb-drenched guitar lines, and an emotional urgency that builds to near-catharsis. There’s tension here, a creative friction that suggests Slater isn’t afraid to step beyond the singer-songwriter mold and into the realm of soundscapes. It’s in these moments that Between the Shadows transcends genre altogether, becoming something fluid and immersive.
The album’s most striking philosophical statement comes in “How to Build a Cage for Mice”, from which the title line — “Between the shadows on the floor they see the light” — is drawn. It’s a haunting metaphor for the way constraint defines perception, how freedom gains meaning only through its absence. The track is both somber and strangely uplifting, a reflection on confinement — literal and emotional — that resolves into a fragile sense of release. You can feel Slater grappling with big ideas here: mortality, empathy, and the need to find light even within the darkest corners of human experience. The music mirrors that duality — a mix of minimal piano lines and swelling orchestral touches that evoke the balance between fear and transcendence.
“The Wreck” and “Heavy” continue that thematic thread, each exploring loss and resilience in different ways. “The Wreck” is cinematic in its pacing, building like a storm, while “Heavy” lives up to its name with slow, deliberate weight. Both songs inhabit the liminal space between despair and acceptance — where pain becomes a kind of clarity. Finally, “Last Dance” closes the album with aching grace. It’s not a farewell so much as a surrender — to memory, to love, to the inevitable passage of time. The arrangement feels intimate, like a final scene fading into silence. It’s a perfect conclusion to an album that understands that endings are rarely absolute; they are merely transformations of light.
Between the Shadows is not an album to be rushed. It asks for stillness — for the listener to lean in, to breathe with it. It’s deeply personal and universally resonant, touching on grief, empathy, and the fragility of hope. Jonni Slater proves himself not just a songwriter, but a storyteller of remarkable subtlety — one who paints with silence as much as sound. The production choices reflect that restraint: nothing feels excessive, every note purposeful. This is an album that lingers — in your chest, in your mind, in the quiet moments after the final chord fades.
In a world that often celebrates volume over nuance, Between the Shadows stands as a testament to the beauty of reflection. It’s a record that reminds us that the light we seek often lives within the darkness we fear — that between the shadows, we learn not only to see but to feel. Jonni Slater’s latest work is a masterclass in empathy and artistry, a cinematic journey that finds the divine in the human and the eternal in the fleeting.
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