Night Flight return as a pared-down duo with Exit Stage Left, a record that plays like overhearing two close friends talking softly long after midnight. They shape these songs driven by the impulse Sam describes: “There is this thing that sits inside me when I’m writing. If I hit upon it, where I go somewhere that feels new and I don’t think it’s already been done, then I'll follow it, and I'll keep following it. And if I keep following it and it ends up in a finished song, then that’s the best feeling of all.” Outside the band, Sam manages a restaurant while Harry works in an e-bike factory, yet they return to music because nothing else gives that same jolt.

What they’ve made is warm, wry, quietly restless indie-folk that moves between tender honesty and sly humour, full of the little imperfections and observations that come from actually living life. Across the album, they navigate heartbreak, self-mockery, and the strange comfort of growing older together, wrapping it all in arrangements that glow with soft ’70s warmth, relaxed grooves, and a close, personal feel.

The record carries a maturity reminiscent of late-era Elliott Smith — the words feel weighted, the melodies are finely shaped, and the arrangements strike the same rare balance between transparent and meticulously detailed. There’s also a touch of Big Star’s bittersweet glow, that feeling of recognising how flawed the world can be while still holding on to some stubborn thread of hope and quiet optimism.

There are some truly outstanding tracks on Exit Stage Left. The lead single, “Forget You”, unfolds like a fragile dream, carrying the unease of trying to leave the past behind. Its chorus, sung with soft, breathy intimacy, slips into your mind like a quiet serpent and coils itself there, leaving a gently bittersweet aftertaste. With backing vocals from Hohnen Ford, the track drifts and pulses with a subtle, hypnotic rhythm, capturing the delicate balance between holding on and letting go.

“Cold to the Touch” brings a completely different energy, balancing introspection with a powerful groove in a way that recalls Heatmiser’s signature mix of weight and lightness. Meanwhile, “Lucy” carries a hint of Beatles magic (a nod the title quietly suggests) — the song’s sunny melancholy evokes McCartney’s bright, tender sadness while offering a Harrison-like bird’s-eye perspective, complete with a guitar solo that nods to the sitar-infused spirit of his work.

“Awful Mess” moves slowly and heavily, like the pull of depression, yet it remains transparent and ultimately infused with hope, shining through in the shimmering guitar arpeggios and the warmth of the vocal delivery.

By the time you reach the last track, you’ve been carried through heartbreak, small victories, quiet frustrations, and fleeting joys. You close your eyes and listen again, and the songs feel like small conspiracies — like someone just told you a secret and walked away, leaving you to figure out whether it’s comforting, alarming, or both. And in that quiet, you realize Night Flight's music has done something simple but rare: it has made you feel less alone.