With “If You Don’t Know by Now,” Elli Perry and Drew Cullen Miller Weave a Slow-Burning Visual Ballad.
American singer-songwriter Elli Perry releases “If You Don’t Know by Now,” the third single and music-video herald for her forthcoming LP, GHOST TALKER. Framed by director Drew Cullen Miller and steadied by Grammy-nominated producer Andrew Sovine, the film doesn’t just decorate the song—it bring it to life. Perry sings from a vast bed of dead flowers that, shot by shot, exhales into a superbloom, as if regret itself were photosynthetic. She folds a miniature boat with shoemaker patience, a totem for the message-in-a-bottle the track keeps promising. Then she runs—twenty miles from the Atlantic coast through Savannah’s moss-draped oaks—until the camera lands in the neon of a neighbourhood dive, where the band strikes the song’s quiet-then-sudden climax.
The mood is chill, but not inert. It’s a tempered drift that loosens the shoulders and clears the chest. Sparse production keeps the air uncluttered, letting Perry’s timbre slip from hush to wail without theatrics. Andrew Sovine’s pedal steel glints like brine on dusk water, while drummer Jalen Reyes and bassist Dylan Puckett apply a slow-burn undertow nudging the piece toward Americana—a different orbit than much of GHOST TALKER’s grit-laced, ’90s-shadowed palette. Perry has called the track a favorite and the pair—song and film—some of her most meaningful work. On screen, that claim feels earned: a message-in-a-bottle finally reaching shore, calming the heart while quietly re-arranging it.
FEATURED
Every quarter-life crisis deserves its own hymn, and Drew Schueler’s “I Thought By Now” arrives like a confession whispered over blue light and unpaid dreams. The title track from his EP Vulnerable For Once turns the myth of linear success…
It’s a common knowledge that every lost summer has a soundtrack, and Brando’s “When You Stay” volunteers itself as the quiet anthem for the moments you replay in your head long…
Every revolution needs a bar jukebox, a desert highway, and a girl who refuses to shut up. ILUKA’s the wild, the innocent, & the raging album arrives as exactly that: a neon-lit road movie of an album where witchy cowgirls, runaway girls and manic pixie…
They say winter teaches the pulse to whisper; in SIESKI’s “Close,” that whisper becomes a hearth, glowing steady as snowfall along a quiet Canadian street. Catchy piano keys chime like frost-bright porch lights, while a cello moves beneath them…
A campfire flickers on the prairie while the city votes to forget—rrunnerrss, the eponymous debut by the Austin-born band rrunnerrss led by award-winning songwriter and composer Michael Zapruder, arrives as both shelter and flare…
A roof leaks from the inside first; by that law of damage and repair, Khi Infinite’s new single “HOUSE” reads like both confession and renovation permit. The Virginia native, fresh from a high-water…
Heartbreak teaches a sly etiquette: walk softly, speak plainly, and keep your ribs untangled. By that code, Ghanaian-Norwegian artist Akuvi turns “Let Me Know” into a velvet checkpoint, a chill Alternative/Indie R&B…
Call it velvet jet-lag: Michael O.’s “Lagos 2 London” taxis down the runway with a grin, a postcard of swagger written in guitar ink and pad-soft gradients. The groove is unhurried yet assured…
A Lagos evening teaches patience: traffic hums, neon blooms, and Calliemajik’s “No Way” settles over the city like warm rainfall. Producer-turned-troubadour, the Nigerian architect behind Magixx and Ayra Star’s “Love don’t cost a dime (Re-up)” now courts intimacy with quieter bravado…
Unspoken rule of Saturday nights: change your type, change the weather; on “Pretty Boys,” Diana Vickers tests that meteorology with a convertible grin and a sharpened tongue. Following the sherbet-bright comeback…
A good record behaves like weather: it arrives, it lingers, and it quietly teaches you what to wear. Sloe Paul — Searching / Finding is exactly that kind of climate—nine days of pop-weather calibrated for the slow slide into autumn…
They say the soul weighs twenty-one grams; Giuseppe Cucé answers by asking how much memory, desire, and regret weigh when they start singing. 21 Grammi is his response—a nine-song indie-pop cycle that treats that old myth not as a scientific claim…