There’s something quietly defiant about Absentia. Longboat doesn’t romanticize loss, and he doesn’t dramatize it either. Instead, he studies it. The newly released album feels less like a breakup record or a protest record and more like a long look at what happens after something important disappears.

Longboat, the project led by Seattle songwriter Igor Keller, builds Absentia around one central idea: loss shows up everywhere. It’s not just the end of a relationship. It’s the collapse of a career, the erosion of culture, the loss of freedom, the fading of relevance, the unraveling of certainty. And across this record, he tackles all of it with sharp writing and a steady hand.

What stands out immediately is how intentional the album feels. Every song approaches absence from a different perspective. “A Hole in the Air” sets the emotional tone with its reflection on the loss of a longtime partner, capturing that hollow, almost physical quiet that follows. It’s understated, but that restraint makes it hit harder.

Then there’s “Captivity,” which imagines the loss of freedom through the lens of a wild predator. It could have leaned theatrical, but instead it feels tense and internal. “Down the Drain” shifts gears, following a man who loses a fortune and learns almost nothing from it. There’s a dry, almost sardonic tone there, and it works. Longboat isn’t interested in moralizing. He’s interested in observation.

“Everything to Offer, Everything to Lose” may be one of the album’s most relatable moments. The idea of being sacrificed to protect those above you feels painfully contemporary. It’s sharp without being preachy. That balance is one of the album’s strongest qualities.

And then there are the tracks that take risks. “Style Grenade” pokes fun at a hipster obsessed with staying cool for decades. It’s clever, maybe even a little biting. “What and WHAT?” imagines a metal fan losing his hearing. It’s darkly ironic but not cruel. “What They Tell Me” might be one of the most unsettling songs on the record, exploring cognitive decline with an almost eerie calm.

One of the most impactful moments comes with “Replaced with Nothing,” inspired by the teardown of culturally significant buildings in Seattle. It’s a local story, but it feels universal. The sense that a city can slowly erase its own character is something many listeners will recognize. This is where Absentia expands beyond personal loss into something communal.

The closing track, “Who Can Stop Me?”, addresses the loss of an American election and its consequences. Rather than leaning into outrage, the song feels reflective and measured. That might frustrate listeners who expect louder commentary, but in a way, that’s the point. Longboat doesn’t shout. He observes, and that makes the message land with more weight.

From a production standpoint, the album is cohesive and grounded. Longboat wrote, arranged, and produced the entire project himself, and that unity shows. The performances feel tight but never forced. There’s organic instrumentation throughout, and the inclusion of soprano sax on “Who Can Stop Me?” adds a distinctive edge that cuts through the record’s atmosphere.

If there’s a critique to be made, it’s that Absentia doesn’t offer easy hooks or immediate catharsis. It asks for attention. It asks for patience. But that’s also its strength. This isn’t an album built for background listening. It’s built for reflection.

In a landscape where so many releases chase immediacy, Absentia feels deliberate. It lingers. It lets discomfort exist without rushing to resolve it. And in doing so, Longboat delivers a record that feels thoughtful, cohesive, and quietly powerful.

Not every album needs to scream to be heard. Sometimes it just needs to say something real and let the silence do the rest.