The comparison to *London Calling* was always going to be a dangerous one to invite. Reach for The Clash and you'd better bring the goods, because nothing exposes a pretender faster than a title that promises Strummer-and-Jones urgency and delivers only pastiche. Slow Life, mercifully, aren't pretending. "Last Train" doesn't cosplay 1979; it borrows the nerve of that record — the sense that a song can be a barroom brawl and a heartbreak at once — and drags it somewhere unmistakably its own.

What makes the track land is the tension running underneath it. This is, on paper, a song about a long relationship reaching its terminus, the kind of subject that could easily curdle into mope-rock or over-egged melodrama. Instead the band play it like a getaway car with a dodgy clutch: melodic hooks that snag immediately, jagged guitar figures that keep threatening to derail the whole thing, and a rhythm section that refuses to let the song sit still long enough to feel sorry for itself. Call it power pop with its knuckles skinned.

You can hear the family tree without the song ever feeling like homework. Sonic Youth's love of controlled noise, the melodic cheek of Super Furry Animals, Blur's knack for a chorus that turns a private moment into a communal one, the Velvet Underground's willingness to let a song wobble on its axis — all of it is audible, none of it dominates. The trick, and it's a real one, is folding those influences into something that sounds like a document of right now rather than a tribute act to yesterday.

Momentum, of course, only means something if the song underneath it holds up, and this one does. The band's run through 2026 — a first international tour looping through London, Cardiff and Wrexham, a Focus Wales showcase, a session taped at Goldsmiths that reportedly has the loose-live crackle of the best radio sets — reads like a group figuring out their live muscle in real time, and that muscle shows up on tape here. "Last Train" doesn't sound studio-scrubbed. It sounds like five people in a room deciding, collectively, how loud is too loud, and then ignoring the answer.

Adam Walton and Bethan Elfyn backing the track isn't a surprise so much as a confirmation. Anyone who caught "Fever" already knew this band could write a chorus with teeth; "Last Train" simply proves it wasn't a fluke. If anything, it tightens the formula — less sprawl, more snap, a song that knows exactly when to get out of its own way.

As a first taste of the coming EP, it does precisely what a lead single should: it makes a promise without giving the whole game away. There's still plenty left to wonder about — how the record's other songs will sit next to this one, whether the humour that seems to run through the band's DNA gets more room to breathe elsewhere — but "Last Train" is a genuinely confident opening move. Slow Life sound like a band who know exactly what they're building toward, and for now, that's more than enough reason to stay on the platform and wait for the next one.