It was recorded live in the studio, which in 2026 is an act of near-heroic stubbornness. Rickenbackers chime, Vox amps glow, a Hammond organ swirls and AC15s do what AC15s have always done. Nobody has tidied the room. Ed Quigley and Huw Woodward lock into grooves that bounce rather than plod, Stuart Gray's organ drifts through the arrangements like incense, and Leon Jones's electric sitar curls around the melodies with a wink to 1966. Floating above it all is Alexandra Rose, whose clear, unforced voice has the poise of someone who knows exactly how much to give and when to hold back.

The opening title track sets the emotional terms: a song of endings that leaves a door ajar for new beginnings. From there the album rarely lets the tempo sag. *Tomorrow Starts Today* is Byrdsian to its marrow, all ringing twelve-string optimism, while *Times Are Gone* sways with the sun-dazed grace of the San Francisco ballrooms. *Outside Looking In* is a summery plea set to a melody that would make Roger McGuinn reach for his shades.

Then the temperature changes. *It's Too Late* is a proper slab of garage rock, snarling and unfussy, with a guitar solo that arrives like a brick through a window. It's easy to hear the band's time on the road with the Pandoras in its bones, and anyone who owns a *Girls in the Garage* compilation will feel a pang of recognition. *If I'm Right* nods to the studio-bound wonder of *Rubber Soul* and *Revolver*, and *Thoughts You're Thinking* is folk-rock at its sweetest, a love story with the windows wide open.

What keeps the album from sliding into mere homage is its mind. Beneath the pretty harmonies the lyrics wrestle with relationships, politics and the bigger questions. *What It Adds Up To* turns an unsparing eye on infidelity, and *The Eleventh Hour* folds 1966 into 2026 with a garage-rock edge that feels pointed rather than nostalgic. *Circumstances* spins a hazy, dreamlike encounter and quietly lets the consequences land. Love's first three albums are cited as a lodestar, and the ambition shows. This is a band that wants its songs to sound lovely and to mean something.

The Eastern colours are the real surprise. Tanpura and swarmandal enter the palette, and the raga-rock instincts that were hinted at before now bloom. *Room Without A View* pushes open the doors of perception and doubles as a showcase for the band's instrumental range, with each player getting room to stretch without a note of indulgence.

Then comes the finale. *Touch The Sun* is a deep psychedelic jam, a questing, rolling twelve minutes of existential enquiry in which the group finally unclenches and goes exploring. After eleven tightly drawn songs, the release is thrilling, and it proves these musicians can improvise as well as they can write a hook. It is the sound of a band who trust each other completely.

That trust is the album's secret weapon. Rose and Jones bring in their own material, yet the whole record carries the unmistakable fingerprint of five people who have spent a year playing together night after night. The performances breathe, the edges are a little rough, and the joy is unfaked.

*Love You More* is a gorgeous, confident, richly flavoured second album that honours its heroes without being trapped by them. Put it on, turn it up and let the sitar do its work.