“Night Songs”, the second EP from Twin Cities post-everything group Too Late, But Still, arrives on September 26, 2025, with presales opening a week earlier.
The record follows the band as they sort through the small and not-so-small events that keep shaping them. The band calls these tracks the kind you put on during smoke breaks and late-night confessions, the moments when you realize things weren’t always like this, and don’t have to stay this way either.
Recorded between The Anger Castle and SignatureTone Studios with Adam Tucker, the EP holds a crisp edge without sanding off the parts that should stay raw.
The opener, “Feedback City”, sets the tone before the first minute even finishes. Jorge says the lyrics arrived “in one chunk” during a cigarette he bummed from a coworker after quitting for almost a year.
Those moments in the song—out-of-order memories he still recognizes as his—are him naming the places in his timeline, praising them for what they were, then loosening his grip so they don’t have to stay preserved in whatever shape he left them in.
Dean frames the musical side as a product of listening to bands that don’t pretend to be anything other than themselves—Birds In Row, Syndrome 81, Comadre, dramatic Converge, screamo corners that lean into dissonance and unresolved phrases.
He remembers the drive at the end starting as a guitar melody, with Rob building the structure around it and Jason and Jorge making that last stretch push forward. The song hangs on a line that cleanly sums up the entire release: “I’m getting back, back into bad habits again. Because they make me feel good, good, good, good, good.”
“Gentle Howls” moves into a quieter space, though it hits just as directly. Jorge wrote it about putting down Mason, a dog who took years to trust anyone.
She eventually turned into what he calls a spoiled sweetheart at home, even if strangers misread her energy.
Her sibling, Dax, joined her this year, and he says he and his wife still talk about them. Dean calls this track “a sleeper,” something they wrote during the previous record’s sessions but set aside because it hadn’t settled yet.
When they revisited it, the song felt almost unfamiliar in a good way. He zeroes in on a “little metalcore tail at the end of the bridge,” the part that makes him smile, and how the breaks that follow open the final section into something that breathes rather than presses.
“Nine Years” folds personal history into a wider question about how relationships drift. Jorge originally wrote it as a confrontation with his dad making him feel invisible growing up.
The line “when I pick up the phone and they ask for someone else” was literal for him; that was the extent of their communication for years. Over time, the song shifted into an attempt at understanding how connections fade or twist without it always being someone’s fault.
Dean didn’t realize until reading Jorge’s notes how much their dads were both woven into the track. His father had died shortly before the song was written. Their relationship, when it existed, was turbulent.
After the funeral he ended up with his dad’s reissue Fender Super Amp and a black Strat, and he tried repairing both as a way to find some kind of peace: “a very Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance moment,” as he puts it. At that workbench, he wrote the core parts of “Nine Years”, sending the band nothing more than a dark cell-phone video of the ceiling with him roughly playing the idea in the background.
The closer, “Auspicious Fictions”, feels like someone checking in with their past while also quietly running the math on the years ahead. Jorge talks about being part of a friend group right after high school—the parties, trips, fights, the supposedly lifelong bonds—and then watching everyone scatter as life took its shapes. Some people circle back in their thirties.
Then the conversations shift, and “the future” starts to mean whatever happens after you’re gone. He thinks about leaving what he has to nieces and nephews because he and his wife didn’t have kids. Dean remembers writing the song as winter settled in, when he tends to play guitar in a dark room for hours.
He was listening to moody records—Katie Kim, Bright Eyes, Tegan and Sara’s “The Con”, Explosions in the Sky, Emma Ruth Rundle—building what he calls a soundtrack to the season’s mood. Jorge, Rob, and Jason brought that feeling into the arrangement, and he points out the shifting counts and the sense of scale as the parts stack into something bigger than their pieces.
“Night Songs” introduces four tracks holding personal memories at arm’s length, recognizing the weight they still carry, and letting them move a little. The band frames the EP as wading through loss with a kind of quiet optimism, and the stories behind each song show how literal that is. It’s post hardcore in that old, unpolished way where the punch isn’t always in the volume but in how bluntly it owns the truth it’s carrying.
