Based in the Pacific Northwest, musician and composer Ben Eastman makes music that seems to belong to the hours after midnight. Late-night rock, shadowy synths, and cinematic textures run through his work, often giving his instrumental pieces the shape and atmosphere of an imagined film. His melodies can be haunting, and his arrangements leave room for experimentation without losing their emotional thread. On “Relic,” those familiar instincts serve an especially personal purpose. Eastman draws on friendship, loss, and remembrance, allowing the music to hold feelings that are not always easy to put into words.
Made over the course of a year, “Relic” is a 10-track album built around grief, love, memory, and the possibility of healing through music. Real guitars move through deep synths and carefully layered atmospheres, bringing to mind desert ghost towns, empty highways, and roads stretching toward the setting sun. The record honors two people whose presence mattered profoundly to Eastman: his late friend and longtime collaborator Chris Hagedorn, and his grandmother, Julie Eastman. Her steady love and encouragement helped shape his music and the person he became. Their influence runs through a project made during one of the hardest years of his life. Rather than trying to explain the loss away, Eastman gives it space, preserving those connections in sound.
“Golden Hour” opens the album with a welcome sense of release. Luminous synth pads spread beneath expressive, almost raw guitar lines, filling the track with a warm, sunlit sheen. A mid-tempo rock pulse keeps everything moving, while crisp electronic percussion gives the arrangement its clean edges. Eastman’s guitar takes the melodic lead, its sustained notes climbing with the expressiveness of a sung refrain. The result is uplifting without losing its nostalgic pull. There’s something comforting in the way the music moves toward resolution, like catching a brief moment of clarity after a long stretch of uncertainty.
“Stakeout” changes the atmosphere sharply. Here, the production is tighter, grittier, and more compressed, with basslines pushed to the front and little excess reverb to soften the impact. The syncopated beat drives forward at an anxious pace. Sharp drum programming, clipped guitar figures, and tense synth phrases work together to sustain that pressure. There is a deliberate economy to the arrangement: each part feels close, immediate, and alert. Its suspenseful energy recalls the soundtracks of 1980s thrillers, where a restless rhythm can make even an ordinary moment feel charged with danger.
On “Silver Lining,” Eastman slows down and lets the spaces in the music speak. Ambient delay loops and layered harmonies give the track a wide, open quality, while the measured beat lands with surprising weight. The bass is steady and reassuring, grounding the arrangement as the guitars turn away from forceful riffs toward careful, emotionally detailed picking. There is tenderness in that restraint. The song’s sense of hope never erases the grief beneath it; instead, the two feelings seem to sit beside each other. It is a bittersweet, reflective passage, concerned with finding light after tragedy.
“Mirage” takes a more fluid, dreamlike route. There is a warm, almost humid quality to its sound, shaped by chorus and phaser effects that make the guitars and synths shimmer and shift. Retro synthwave rhythms roll along in a loose, syncopated pattern, creating the sensation of perpetual movement. Eastman lets the instruments trade places in the foreground, with synth lines winding around guitar chords before slipping back into the mix. That interplay gives the track an improvisational ease, even as the swirling production keeps the listener slightly off balance. It captures the pull of longing and the strange experience of chasing something that remains out of reach.
Overall, I’d give “Relic” a solid 8. Its strongest moments come from the sincerity of Eastman’s playing and the care with which he builds each atmosphere. The album feels intimate and consoling, its emotional weight carried through melody and texture rather than grand gestures.
The support of his wife, Elishava, adds another dimension to an album rooted in resilience, devotion, and enduring bonds. “Relic” looks back with tenderness while still reaching toward the future. It leaves room for heartbreak, gratitude, and hope, offering a moving account of what it means to carry loved ones with you after they are gone.
“Relic” is now streaming everywhere.
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