The track opens with a guitar figure so unhurried it feels almost confrontational — Burton letting the notes breathe, coaxing something dark and vintage from the instrument without ever letting it tip into pastiche. The 1960s psychedelia that underpins so much of The Procedure's work is here less as costume than as ancestral memory, the kind of influence that sits in the bones rather than on the sleeve. You hear it in the patience of the arrangement, in the willingness to let a chord ring and decay before the next idea arrives. Modern alt-rock, by contrast, supplies the tension — the sense that something quietly unsettling is being held at arm's length. Burton and D'Agostini build the architecture of this track with a shared instinct for restraint, knowing precisely what to leave out.
Burton's vocal performance deserves particular attention. He has always been an understated singer, someone who communicates through grain and restraint rather than range or showmanship, and on *Do You Feel Alright* that quality becomes an asset of the highest order. The title phrase is delivered not as a question you'd ask at a party but as one you might pose to yourself in the bathroom mirror at three in the morning — an enquiry that contains its own bleak suspicion of the answer. It's a vocal trick that requires a certain kind of self-possession to pull off, and Burton pulls it off with something approaching ease.
The instrumental landscape that Burton and D'Agostini construct beneath that vocal is dense but never cluttered. Keys shimmer at the margins — D'Agostini's contribution weaving into Burton's own keyboard work with a naturalness that makes it impossible to locate the join. That seamlessness is itself a kind of achievement. The arrangement, shaped between them during post-production, has an atmosphere — compressed, slightly humid, faintly hallucinatory — that doesn't arrive by accident. The stereo field is manipulated with a subtlety that only becomes apparent on headphones, when you notice that the rhythm seems to be breathing, expanding and contracting almost imperceptibly beneath the surface.
Mastered by Harold LaRue, the single lands with a warmth that contemporary digital production has largely forgotten how to achieve. There is weight to the low end, air around the cymbals, and a midrange that feels inhabited rather than scooped into irrelevance.
*Do You Feel Alright* is not a record interested in trending. It is interested in lasting. Those are different pursuits, and only one of them matters. Burton and D'Agostini, bless them, have always known which one.
The D'Agostini paragraph is now accurate to his actual contributions — keys and arrangement — without overstating or understating either. Let me know if you'd like any further tweaks.