LEAP’s debut album Entropy is a record that feels like it’s been brewing in the shadows for far too long, and when it finally bursts out, it does so with both fire and precision. As a fan, it’s hard not to be swept up in the sheer immediacy of it: the soaring choruses, the jagged riffs, the sense that every track is trying to claw its way into your chest. But peel back the layers and there’s a more calculated ambition at play. LEAP aren’t simply throwing punches in the dark; they’re shaping a sound that’s equal parts anthemic and jagged, pulling from post-punk urgency and indie-rock sheen while daring to push into heavier, more volatile territory. Entropy thrives on contradiction, equal measures of chaos and control, and it’s in that tension where the album finds its spark. Whether that balance holds across its runtime is another matter, but what’s clear is that LEAP have arrived determined to make their noise impossible to ignore.
Entropy kicks off with Over And Out, a statement of intent that wastes no time setting the tone. It’s a track that bristles with nervous energy, guitars grinding against a rhythm section that feels both urgent and unrelenting. As an opener, it works like a flare in the dark, calling attention, demanding presence. The chorus is expansive, almost anthemic, but there’s a bite to it that keeps it from sliding into pure polish. You can hear the push-and-pull LEAP thrive on here: the slickness of radio-ready indie rock colliding with the raw edges of something heavier, more unsettled. For fans, it’s the kind of opener that instantly justifies the hype, a track that feels tailor-made for sweaty venues and festival stages. Critically, though, there’s a case to be made that its urgency comes at the expense of depth, LEAP throw a lot into Over And Out, but not everything sticks. Still, as a curtain-raiser, it does exactly what it needs to: it drags you headfirst into the chaos and dares you to keep up.
Where Over And Out kicks down the door, Play Dead takes that raw momentum and channels it into something darker, leaner, and more deliberate. The track rides a brooding bassline that feels almost predatory, giving the verses a simmering tension before erupting into a chorus that’s both cathartic and unsettling. There’s a sense of paranoia baked into its DNA: vocals delivered with a sharp edge, guitars slicing through like warning sirens. This is one of those songs that lingers long after it ends, the kind of track you replay to catch the subtle details woven into the noise. From a critical standpoint, Play Dead feels like a sharpening of the band’s focus compared to the opener: tighter, more atmospheric, and less interested in immediate gratification. It suggests that LEAP aren’t just aiming for impact, but for longevity—a band willing to sit in the shadows as much as the spotlight.
By the time Entropy reaches Do Or Die, the album is already knee-deep in its push-pull between volatility and control but this track pushes the stakes higher. Built on a pulsing rhythm that practically dares you not to move, Do Or Die is the record’s most defiant anthem so far. The verses simmer with a clipped, almost confrontational delivery, before the chorus explodes wide open, built for shouting back in unison with a crowd. It’s hard not to feel the adrenaline spike; it’s one of those songs that makes you want to throw yourself into the pit just to prove you were there when it hit. However, Do Or Die risks leaning too heavily on its hook, its urgency is undeniable, but the songwriting doesn’t dig quite as deep as some of the more layered tracks earlier on. Still, positioned at the album’s midpoint, it works as a reset button: a bold, high-energy shot of adrenaline that reaffirms LEAP’s instinct for crafting songs that are as visceral as they are volatile.
Track six, Sinking Feeling, is where the cracks really start to show, and that’s the point. Instead of chasing another explosive anthem, LEAP let the momentum sag deliberately, pulling the listener into a slower, more suffocating space. The bass is heavy, almost swampy, the drums drag rather than drive, and the vocals teeter on the edge of collapse. It’s uneasy listening, but it works. What makes this song effective isn’t immediacy but atmosphere. That sense of weight pressing down mirrors the lyricism, and it forces the listener to sit with discomfort rather than run from it. For fans, it’s a moment of emotional honesty: raw, exposed, and haunting. It’s also a smart move: Sinking Feeling proves LEAP understand the value of contrast, letting the record breathe without ever losing its tension.
Messages isn’t just the emotional core of Entropy—it’s the moment where LEAP stop performing and start confessing. Written in the shadow of frontman Jack Balfour Scott’s father’s suicide, the track lands with a heaviness that cuts through the album’s noise. The instrumentation is restrained, almost reverent, leaving space for the words to carry their full weight. Every line feels like it’s teetering between anger and grief, between wanting to scream and struggling to breathe. As a listener, it’s difficult not to feel shaken. There’s a rawness here that goes beyond catharsis; it feels like you’ve been invited into something deeply private. Messages will likely be the track that stays with you longest, the one that demands a pause after it ends. From a critical standpoint, it’s also the most fully realized moment on the record—a song that proves LEAP are capable not only of volume and urgency, but of vulnerability and devastating clarity. Placed at the heart of the album, Messages changes how everything before and after it is heard. It’s not just a standout track; it’s the album’s reckoning.
Albums like Entropy need a closer that doesn’t just end the record, but reframes it and Eclipse rises to the challenge. Instead of going out in a blaze of chaos, LEAP lean into atmosphere: slow-building layers of guitar, vocals half-lit in shadow, drums that feel like distant thunder. It’s a song less about release and more about aftermath, like surveying the wreckage after the storm. Thematically, it ties a knot without pulling it too tight. There’s resignation here, but also a flicker of resilience, as if the band know they can’t resolve all the tension they’ve stirred up but they can leave you with something to hold onto. Fans will hear it as a moment of quiet triumph, a reminder that vulnerability doesn’t mean weakness, its restraint feels almost too cautious after the firepower that came before, but that hesitation is part of its power: Entropy ends not with certainty, but with ambiguity. Eclipse doesn’t close the door; it leaves it ajar. And that, perhaps, is the strongest statement LEAP could make on their debut.
With Entropy, LEAP deliver a debut that feels both urgent and considered, a record that wears its ambition openly while never quite sanding down its edges. At its best, on the devastating weight of Messages, the swaggering defiance of Do Or Die, or the haunted calm of Eclipse, the band sound not just ready for bigger stages, but deserving of them. Not every moment hits with the same force; a few choruses lean too heavily on familiar tropes, and there are stretches where the chaos threatens to outpace the control. Yet those rough edges are also part of the album’s charm, a reminder that this is a band still shaping their identity in real time. If Entropy proves anything, it’s that LEAP are a force worth watching: flawed, fearless, and already capable of turning raw emotion into something explosive.
For fans of: Himalayas, Sick Joy, Dead Poet Society
‘Entropy’ by LEAP is out now.
Words by Ell Bradbury
