With Will Haven vocalist Grady Avenell shooting over the pond to electrify the UK as part of The Grey last summer, and somehow finding time and emotional resources to moonlight with the likes of Hundred Year Old Man and Frontierer, the hardcore following Will Haven have established have been left wondering where the band stands today. Against that backdrop, Foreign Film’s emergence over the past few years feels at once entirely understandable and just a little bit ominous. On the brooding, explorative A Love Letter, we’re in the company of no fewer than four members of Will Haven and much of the requisite musical DNA, but before you put one foot out in front of you, bend at the waist, and prepare to separate your spinal column, be aware that this is a very different beast.
While Foreign Film share personnel with Will Haven, the musical language of A Love Letter occupies almost entirely different territory. Where Irwin so reliably steps to the plate with weight and abrasion in his playing, setting the table for Avenell to wreck house, Foreign Film trade in atmosphere, texture, and patient emotional release. Given their personal relationship and the influences they share, there’s something beautiful about the unashamed Deftones inflections in some of the guitar work and the atmospherics across the record. There’s also a rich vein of 80s influence that dovetails nicely with the contemporary stylings in sound and production. Layers of guitar, piano, keyboards, and carefully arranged instrumentation create something cinematic and immersive, often feeling closer to a dream sequence than a traditional rock record. It’s easy to imagine Angelo Bandalementi somewhere in the ether looking down and smiling.
The connection to Will Haven‘s ‘Foreign Film’ from their seminal 1997 record El Diablo runs deeper than the borrowed name. That song wrestled with the search for connection and the pain inflicted by the past, and those themes continue to resonate here. Yet within the sorrowful introspection space is carved out for light and hope. The result is a collection of songs that feels intimate yet expansive, balancing warmth and melancholy while exploring the emotional spaces that exist between us all.
One of the album’s biggest surprises is Irwin himself stepping into the role of lead vocalist. His performances serve the songs very well, rooted as they are in vulnerability and restraint. The addition of supporting vocal contributions broadens the emotional palette, adding depth without overwhelming the material. Across the record, the lyrics feel reflective, sensitively written, and deeply personal. There is a sincerity running through A Love Letter that gives its title real depth.
In some ways what makes this record particularly significant is what it suggests about the future. After years spent refining ideas, assembling a wider creative circle, and painstakingly shaping the album in the studio, Foreign Film have emerged as a band that sound fully realised rather than experimental. The project demonstrates that Jeff Irwin and his collaborators still have unexplored territory ahead of them, despite their decades of collective experience. Whether Foreign Film develops into a long-term creative outlet or remains an occasional parallel venture, its existence broadens the artistic identity of everyone involved. For Will Haven diehards, it’s abundantly clear that the creative well remains far from exhausted, even when that inspiration takes forms far removed from the crushing intensity that has made them legendary.