Couch Prints’ Pitbull 2 exists in the half-light—between past and future, memory and motion, the glow of a gas station at midnight and the blur of a passenger seat at dawn. It’s an album that aches with the weight of nostalgia but never lingers too long, pushing forward through warped electronics, washed-out guitars, and ghostly harmonies that feel both intimate and untouchable.
On their sophomore LP, the New York-based duo filters early 2000s pop melodrama through a modern, avant-garde lens—melding the homespun warmth of indie rock with the synthetic shimmer of electronica and the raw sentimentality of R&B. Acoustic guitars tangle with 808s, autotune fractures into shoegaze haze, and Jayanna Roberts’ vocals drift between sweet confession and spectral transmission. The result is an album that sounds like a faded photograph of a time that never quite existed—a soundtrack to suburban summers, flickering streetlights, and friendships dissolving into the unknown.
Expanding on the dreamlike world they introduced with Tell U and Impressions, Pitbull 2 feels more lived-in, more visceral. The tension between beauty and distortion, clarity and blur, structure and collapse runs through every moment. Whether unraveling over a beatless drone or crashing headfirst into a spiraling chorus, Couch Prints make music that feels like remembering something you can’t quite place.
