East My Love - Current Joys, Album Review
A review of Nick Rattigan's latest project under Current Joys.
“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” Aristotle, c. 340 BC.
I get it—you’re already groaning because this asshole opened an album review with a philosophy quote, but sometimes you need borrowed words to describe what you can’t find words for yourself. This is exactly where Nick Rattigan comes in.
Rattigan is a songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and the mind behind Current Joys (and the lead man for Surf Curse). At his best, Rattigan excels at using music as a mirror to reflect those feelings you can’t name, especially under the Current Joys alias. But his fatal flaw, and ultimately the main smudge on his otherwise beautiful new album, East My Love, is that he’s inconsistent with both his songwriting and his decision-making when crafting albums.
East My Love is allegedly the result of Rattigan retreating to a cabin in the woods of Tennessee to stew in solitude. And when this album works, it really works. You can feel the creak of the wooden floors, the flicker of candlelight, and the nagging existential whispers you’d rather ignore. At its best, it feels like Rattigan is handing you a beer and a cigarette and inviting you to sit beside him, watching the leaves fall as the weight of the world presses in, asking what it all means. The album’s title track is the kind of songwriting that makes you thankful you exist in the same era as its creator. It's Rattigan at his most vulnerable and alone.
Take Lullaby for the Lost, where Rattigan talks himself—and maybe you—out of spiraling, whispering, “Don’t give up / You know it takes some time / There’s no love in a suicide,” over a swirl of slide guitar, aching strings, and acoustic warmth. It’s Rattigan not only pleading with himself, but extending a lifeline out of the chaos for anyone else feeling as lost as he is, insisting that life is worth holding onto. You’re not just listening—you’re working through it with him.
Later in the album, we realize that there, is of course, a lost love involved in his emotional state. In Tormenta, Rattigan reasons with himself, “So give me back what I deserve / I try to hold on, it only makes it worse /And I won't let your winds blow me anymore / But you'll always be my favorite storm.” It’s powerful to recognize a weakness in yourself, but the real transformation comes with accepting it. Rattigan admits he’s drawn to the anguish that haunts him, but resolves not to let it control him anymore. It’s raw, self-aware, and devastating in the way only acceptance can be.
Then, fast forward to the magnum opus on this album (and potentially the Current Joys discography), the title track East My Love. Rattigan constructs a gospel-like song over a simple guitar riff, piano, and crashing symbols. It’s the type of song that puts Rattigan’s songwriting on full display, immersing you into his world. It’s heavy, but also laced with hope. Rattigan sings, “And I will fill your heart with gold / In hopes that you can recognize it / So when you're out there in the cold/ There is always warmth beside you.”
It’s a heart-wrenchingly beautiful track that should have been, without a doubt, the album closer. It’s an unforgivable decision to stuff in “Feelin’ Groovy,” an out-of-place closer that feels like a cop-out, as the final song. It’s a cheap way to tell you that everything (and that he himself) is ok, trying to let you off the hook when it doesn’t have to. It’s the musical equivalent of someone telling you to “cheer up” after a cathartic therapy session.
You come to this album to lose yourself in the headspace Rattigan occupied in that cabin—a space of reflection, solitude, and quiet reckoning. It’s the kind of record you play on a cold fall day, when the trees are stripped bare and you’re looking for company in your sadness. Rattigan doesn’t need to spend the entire album trapped in his pain, but he does need to trust the listener to carry the weight without him lightening the load. The beauty of this music is in its honesty; you’ll find our way out when you’re ready. He doesn’t need to do it for you.
Similarly, Sister Christian—with its jagged pace and distorted screams—tries to shift gears but ends up feeling like a speed bump, especially when Tormenta had already played with tempo more gracefully.
Still, East My Love reaffirms what makes Current Joys essential: it’s not about perfection. It’s about honesty. After the glossy detour of Love + Pop, this album feels like a course correction—a retreat into the deeply personal and unpolished. Rattigan is at his best when he leans into his diary-like confessions, offering his listeners the gift of shared melancholy without trying to soften the edges. Sure, there are cracks in the cabin walls, but isn’t that why you’re here? To sit with those imperfections and feel a little less alone? This author might call that “excellence,” even if it’s still a work in progress.
6.9 /10: Despite its sparks of brilliance, East My Love feels like a step toward something greater rather than a fully realized masterpiece.