Every once in a while, an album drops that makes you feel like you’ve accidentally tripped into an alternate dimension; one where the rules of music as we know them don’t quite apply. That’s exactly what You Me & Kyle’s debut album, “They Promised Us There Would Be Flying Cars,” released in October 2024 accomplishes. This Columbus-based indie rock duo—Henry Hutton and Tony Sharpe are not your standard rock musicians. No, they met at a Star Trek convention, bonded over music and sci-fi, and went on to create a body of work that sounds like it was written somewhere between a distant galaxy and your next-door garage.
The album itself is a love letter to the future we were promised as kids; the one with flying cars, boundless possibilities, and maybe a little bit of heartache along the way. Hutton and Sharpe’s approach to music is refreshingly unconventional: they built this album through remote collaboration, sharing files over iCloud, proving that innovation doesn’t just belong in the tech world. And yet, despite being recorded apart, the chemistry between these two musicians crackles through every track.
The album kicks off with “The Side of the Road,” a track that instantly paints a cinematic scene: neon lights flashing against a deserted highway as you watch the world rush by. The guitars shimmer with reverb, and the vocals arrive like a hushed confession—wistful yet resolute. It’s a song about being left behind, about realizing that not everyone you start the journey with makes it to the finish line. The drums have a lazy but deliberate pace, mirroring the feeling of someone walking away in slow motion.
Here’s the title track, and it does not disappoint. “Flying Cars” is equal parts nostalgic and rebellious—a sonic reflection on childhood dreams that never quite materialized. The instrumentation is where this track shines: fuzzy guitars and a pulsating bassline give it an almost grunge-like rawness, while the vocals feel more urgent, more frustrated. “They promised us there would be flying cars,” Sharpe sings, his voice carrying a mix of sarcasm and disappointment. It’s a track that reminds us that not everything we were told as kids turned out to be true, but damn if we’re not still holding onto the dream.
A shift in tone arrives with “Missus Everywhere,” a dreamy, melancholic track that explores the feeling of seeing someone you love in every face, every place. The production here is soft and haunting—the guitars weave in and out of its strumming, while the vocals feel distant, like a memory just out of reach. There’s something deeply personal in the delivery, like an old voice message you play back just to remember how they sounded.
Some songs feel like diary entries, and “June 23” is exactly that. With minimalistic production—mostly an electric guitar and hushed vocals—this song is all about a specific moment in time that changed everything. Lyrically, it’s vague enough to make you wonder: Was it a breakup? A revelation? A loss? But the real beauty of this track is how it lets you fill in the blanks. The stripped-down approach makes every strum, every breathy note, feel painfully intimate.
This is where the album picks up again, shifting into anthemic indie rock territory. “Maeve (Make It Happen)” is a call to action, a song about taking control of your own story instead of waiting for fate to intervene. The chorus explodes with layered harmonies, a jangly electric guitar riff, and pounding drums that feel like a heartbeat speeding up. This song has a fire in its core, making it the kind of track that should be played while driving with the windows down, screaming the lyrics into the wind.
There’s a voyeuristic sadness to “Through A Window.” It feels like the sonic equivalent of sitting at your bedroom window, watching life happen outside, but never quite stepping into it. The instrumentation is moody, with a hypnotic bassline and delicate arpeggios on guitar, while the lyrics play with themes of isolation and longing. This track, more than any other, showcases Sharpe’s ability to inject raw emotion into his vocal delivery, making it impossible to not feel the weight of every word.
“Running Away” is a deceptive track. On the surface, it feels like a song about literal escape, but the deeper message is more about reinvention—the idea that sometimes, to move forward, you have to let go of everything that’s holding you back. The instrumentation is playful yet punchy, with a groovy bassline that makes you want to move. There’s even a screeching guitar solo in the bridge that feels like a burst of pent-up frustration finally let loose.
The album closes on its most emotionally heavy note. “Let You Down” is drenched in regret, with lyrics that feel like an apology left unsent. The production is sparse but effective, allowing the vocals to carry the weight of the song. The reverb-drenched guitars give the track a distant, almost otherworldly feel, like a voice echoing through time. It’s a devastatingly beautiful way to end the album—on a note of unresolved emotion, of unfinished business.
With this album, You Me & Kyle built an experience. “They Promised Us There Would Be Flying Cars” is an ode to the dreamers, the skeptics, and everyone caught in between. It’s a collection of songs that challenge expectations, proving that music doesn’t need big studios or glossy production to leave a lasting impact. Instead, it thrives on sincerity, innovation, and the magic that happens when two artists—whether light-years apart or sharing the same stage—believe in the power of their sound.
So no, we may not have flying cars. But we do have You Me & Kyle, and that’s a pretty damn good consolation prize.
Listen to the “They Promised Us There Would Be Flying Cars” on Spotify
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