Goodbye is on the rise

Not just in their sound, which shifts from tender to unsettling and back, but in the way they speak about each other. Spend five minutes with them and it becomes clear that this is a band powered by affection far more than ambition.

Formed through Brighton’s flourishing DIY ecosystem, Goodbye is a product of proximity: shared shifts behind the bar at the Green Door Store; lingering after club nights. It’s a scene where collaboration is less a strategy and more a reflex, which explains a lot about the character of the group. Four members worked at the venue, orbiting one another for years before the idea of a band ever felt possible. When it finally happened, it was tentative and earnest. Almost shy.

“I think we’ve spoken about it being almost like asking someone out on a date,” says Sarah Ryan (guitar, vocals, keys), laughing. “‘You want to do music together? I think you’re really cool.’”

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That sense of admiration still lingers, only now it has hardened into something deeper. The band members talk like they’re fans – of each other’s voices, instincts, personalities. Alfie Beer, guitarist, recalls the first time he heard Megan Wheeler, vocalist, sing – a talent that had been quietly hiding behind bar shifts. “It was like, ‘Oh my God. Where does this come from?’” he says. “To have this amazing talent that hadn’t been said or shared before was just like, ohh!”

Wheeler is quick to return the compliment, describing her first practice with Beer in his living room. “He started playing guitar, and I was like, whoa,” she says. “I didn’t even know he was a guitarist, and he’s so virtuosic in the way he plays, but it’s really interesting as well.”

This reverence extends to every corner of the group, which is completed by Jake Smith on bass and Elik Eddy on drums. When Eddy joined, it felt immediate, they tell me, almost as if it were fated. “It truly was just like hand-in-glove,” Beer says. “He really has his own language behind the drum kit.” Wheeler agrees, praising his dynamic approach and his love of Zach Hill, the accomplished visual artist and Death Grips drummer/producer. “For a drummer to love Zach Hill, you’re like, okay, that’s pretty cool.”

Goodbye’s language is always collective, and their music mirrors that dynamic. It’s careful without being precious. Considerate without losing edge. Songs are built slowly, often beginning in what the band calls “bedroom sessions,” sketching ideas on guitar before opening them up to the full group. “Once we have a full song, we focus a lot on playing with instruments dropping out in different sections,” Wheeler explains, “or cutting sections a bit shorter and playing around with the pre-production.”

Ryan describes it as presenting the bones before the real work begins. “When we’re all together, it’s really [about] polishing that and fine tuning structure,” she says. “What’s actually the catchy bit of the track?”

It’s interesting the ways this indie outfit plays with space, deliberately leaving room for each other, writing parts with other players in mind. A lot of trust has to be embedded in a songwriting process of this kind. “We know each other so well,” Ryan says, “that me and Alfie will always make sure we leave room for vocals, or that we’re anticipating what Alex or Jake might add to it.” Sometimes, that anticipation leads to surprise. And you can hear it across their upcoming EP, These Things Take Time, as a song tilts unexpectedly when a new rhythm or texture is introduced. “We’ll add a bass line or a drum beat and we’re like, ‘Wait, this is a completely different vibe than we expected,’” Wheeler says. “But it’s always really exciting.”

The result is a sound that feels slightly off-centre, but never alienating. The band jokes about their clashing tastes and their inability to agree on a favourite band, yet those differences are what give the songs their shape – whether they’re marrying the rainy jangle of The Smiths with gothic, Slowdivey sound walls, or leaning into the disorientating bliss of Cocteau Twins and other dream pop pioneers. “We’re always pulling each other in different directions,” Ryan says. “But we manage to meet somewhere in the middle. When we reach that, it’s kind of magical.”

That magic is captured on their debut single, “Meat”. A track that feels intentionally disordered without sounding overworked. Mysterious in its opening moments, the track then moves forwards with a powerful gothic pulse. Ryan describes it as the most complete introduction to who they are. “It’s got all aspects of us,” she says. “The dreamy sonic side, the driving rhythm, the gentle vocals. The way we all interact with each other.”

As their discography expands, so does their live world. From their first hometown shows around a year ago to festival stages and major support slots, that same care that grounds their songwriting and personal ties remains intact. The scale has changed, but the excitement has only grown. “If we have something booked in, we’re like, imagine playing this there,” Wheeler says.

“It just makes us more excited.” Ryan recalls a turning point supporting beabadoobee at Brighton’s Old Market. “It was a mindset shift,” she says. “From a 100-cap venue to a 500-cap. Thinking about how it felt, how we wanted it to sound.” With bigger stages comes bigger moments of connection. Talking about that Brighton gig, they remember a moment where they ended up turning towards each other mid-song. “Afterwards we were like, that bit was sick,” shares Wheeler, the fondness for the memory palpable.

That instinct to face inward is telling. Goodbye is not chasing spectacle for its own sake. Even now, with a tour alongside Lime Garden on the horizon and ambitions stretching towards Europe, the focus remains fixed on connection. “It feels like such a privilege to play in a band where it feels like a little homemade family,” Wheeler says. “And then to go on tour with people we get on with. It’s really nice.”

Perhaps this is why Goodbye is such a compelling band to watch. There’s no posturing, no grand roadmap leading them down a narrow, one-way street. They are simply exploring and paying attention. To each other. To the spaces in their music. And the spaces they play. This is a band visibly delighted by its own existence, and generous enough to invite everyone else in on it too.