Before I started writing this review, I watched an Instagram reel of a conversation between a lead singer and a label executive, who was calling them to let them know they would not be signing the group.

At the time of posting the reel, the singer’s band had eight thousand followers. It was forty-two thousand short of the label’s ‘requirement’ for their artists to maintain a minimum online presence of fifty thousand Instagram or TikTok followers.

This left me with a number of questions, such as: when did making music also require a marketing team? Do you need a shoutout from Nigel Farage to make a band take off? Will we ever return to a supposedly bygone era where artists are paid just for making music?

While current artists like Joanna Newsom and Skee Mask attempt to address the latter trend by platforming their music exclusively through direct MP3 and physical purchases, the saturated music landscape often requires its participants to rely on streaming services to make a start while simultaneously churning out social media content that shortfalls the time a band could spend crafting its sound and image.

‘So when did passion go out of fashion?’ ask mary in the junkyard in response. Tentatively dipping their feet into the world of commercial success with a production job by the head of XL Recordings, Richard Russel, the band seems to prefer to spend time diligently hand-drawing lyric zines rather than generating an online following.

I would argue the band has perhaps unknowingly offered a counterexample to bands who are unfortunately migrating to become social influencers before musicians; by letting artistic enthusiasm speak for itself rather than the reels.

Harbouring a DIY aesthetic and self-described as ‘scrappy’, they have been working across the festival circuit to gain quality recognition from the likes of NME, So Young, and Dazed magazine, respectively: the band has proven that authenticity and ‘scrappiness’ still goes a long way in the face of social media’s grasp on an aspiring band’s relevance. Having a follow from King Krule on Instagram is also, in my opinion, perhaps worth more than any number of followers could ever be.

And fittingly, their music is as stunning as you would expect from a King Krule endorsement. It’s charmingly tender. Producing a cocoon of washy instruments, the music leads the listener down a meandering path, mysteriously aimless in lyricism and comforting in sonic warmth.

I myself don’t blame aspiring musicians for focussing on online relevance; after all, it’s not the fault of the artist, but there is something about mary in the junkyard that denotes a refreshing sincerity and casualness. Their music is confident and inspiring by virtue of its gentleness rather than defiantly outspoken, which isn’t to say that the band hasn’t found a voice yet.

I suspect the somewhat hushed voice they have begun to find will only continue to grow in volume as they put the hours into more live touring. There’s also the feeling that, regardless of the outcome, the band is going to keep going for hopefully a very long time.