There’s a particular magic to the hours when the rest of the world sleeps. It’s a time when thoughts unravel; memories flicker like old film reels and creativity hums like a live wire. Wolfgang Webb knows this better than most. Two years after his haunting debut The Insomniacs’ Lullaby clawed its way out of the sleepless void, Webb returns with The Lost Boy—a sophomore album that doesn’t just stare into the abyss but dares to dance with it. Set for release on May 1, 2025, this 10-track opus is a chiaroscuro of grief, resilience, and the quiet triumph of survival, wrapped in a soundscape that feels like a séance between Portishead, Nick Cave, and a ghostly orchestra tuning up at midnight.
Even after stepping away from music’s grind decades ago, the songs that birthed The Lost Boy refused to stay buried. These tracks—written in frenzied, insomniac bursts—are raw nerve-endings set to music: meditations on fractured relationships, inherited trauma, and the Sisyphean task of healing when closure is a myth. Yet for all its shadows, The Lost Boy is no dirge. It’s a lantern held aloft in the dark, proving that beauty often blooms brightest in the bleakest soil.
Take “March,” the album’s hypnotic lead single. Built on a foundation of trip-hop beats and brooding synths, it’s a duet between Webb’s baritone—all gravel and gravitas—and the ethereal vocals of Esthero, the Toronto-bred chanteuse whose voice seems piped in from some celestial realm. The accompanying video, shot in Italy, Toronto, and Paris, mirrors this duality: crumbling ruins draped in mist, angels carved from stone, and electrical towers stretching like skeletal fingers into stormy skies. It’s a visual feast that took six months to craft, but every frame was worth it.
Photo credit: Angelina Aristodemo
The Lost Boy isn’t an easy listen—nor should it be. This is an album that’s like a confession shared over whiskey at 4 A.M. But therein lies its power. Wolfgang Webb’s genius lies in alchemizing pain into something transcendent, whether through the crackle of a synth, the sigh of a cello, or a lyric that cuts too close to the bone.
After listening to it, we guarantee you’ll be left with a peculiar sense of catharsis—the kind that comes from staring down your demons and realizing they flinch first. For those brave enough to take the journey, The Lost Boy is available on all major streaming platforms on May 1. But true disciples of the night will want the limited-edition blood orange vinyl, a physical talisman of Webb’s moonlit musings. Visit wolfgangwebb.com to claim your copy before they vanish into the ether.
