London’s own rock ‘n’ roll scribe, Tom Minor, is back with his new single, “Next Stop Brixton”. Released on August 29th via Overreaction Records, this is a complete burst of longing, resistance, and self-produced indie rock that’ll knock you sideways. We always love to tell how Minor ditched the ghost-writing gig to pour everything into his own sound. And honestly? Thank God for that.
“Next Stop Brixton” is an up-tempo banger meant to be played loud—it’s all about that triumphant homecoming vibe. The whole thing feels raw and cinematic. It’s as if you can perceive the diesel fumes and hear those train brakes squealing. Minor found The Clash in his parents’ record collection as a kid, and yeah, you can hear that inspiration. But here’s the thing—this isn’t some cheap knockoff. It’s his own spin on that rebellious spirit, and it works.
The track is powered by The Creatures Of Habit, who provide a backbone that just won’t stop wowing us. But oh, Johnny Dalston steals the show with his guitar work – it rips through everything else with this wild energy that’s somehow both catchy and completely unhinged. You know that feeling when a solo hits so hard you can’t help but play air guitar? That’s this. You’ll be hitting replay just to hear it again. Behind the boards, the production is handled by the aptly named Teaboy Palmer, dubbed “the Guy Stevens of Golders Green.” He nails the raw energy of the whole thing, keeping it dirty and real – none of that over-polished stuff that sucks the life out of rock these days. And Minor’s lyrics are on another level. He’s spinning this three-layered story that takes you from wild times to being locked up, then back out on those same streets, free again. It’s all about bouncing back and staying true to yourself. Smart street poetry that just pulls you right in.
“Next Stop Brixton” is Tom Minor throwing down the gauntlet. It’s a monster that shows why everyone’s been raving about him lately. This is what happens when an artist knows exactly what they’re doing – raw rock and roll that makes you think while you’re throwing your fist in the air.