After Comes From Before

The trip-pop duo fold the sounds of yesterday into tomorrow, hovering in a shimmering space between memory and possibility.

By Cam Delisle

Photos by E. Martinez

Tired nods to the past have been on life support since the pandemic, as a global sense of disillusionment pushed the cultural zeitgeist into retreat. During this collective panic, music morphed into a feverish sprint to see who could summon the slickest ’80s synth, the trashiest indie-sleaze, and the most over-saturated, MTV-approved visual—all while pretending the world wasn’t burning outside. It didn’t take long to see what was fueled by genuine inspiration, and what was little more than hollow nostalgia, carefully engineered to cash in on a momentary cultural itch.

Cue After—comprised of Graham Epstein and Justine Dorsey, a duo whose musical paths overlapped long before they serendipitously matched on Hinge. Unlike their peers scavenging the cultural landfill of Y2K and the Myspace era, After seem to be excavating a neglected corner of memory—a subtler, more haunting strain of late-’90s and early-2000s melancholy. Think the faint VHS hiss of Portishead’s isolation, or the muted pulse of Air’s Moon Safari after too many nights without sleep. But what After make isn’t nostalgia—it’s adaptation. Their sound makes sentimentality feel aerodynamic—built to move through time, not stay in it.

With the release of their new EP—simply titled After EP 2—Epstein and Dorsey further navigate the edges of past and present, without ever looking back too hard. Cracked, candy-coloured synths shimmer against jittering, lo-fi drums, while Dorsey’s understated, almost conspiratorial vocals hover like a secret passed from one listener to another. “I remember Graham saying…after the pandemic we’ve been in this weird, almost foggy state,” Dorsey recalls, her tone carrying both wonder and disbelief. Epstein chimes in: “I want our music to convey that sort of, bittersweet yearning feeling.” Listening to the EP, you can feel both at once—the glimpses of uncertainty slowly giving way to moments of startling clarity. These songs pull you in, letting you step inside of the fog and the light at the same time.

 

On tracks like the swirling “Outbound,” warm, looping guitar collides with micro-patterned drums that flicker like distant city lights. There’s a careful, almost obsessive shaping through each layer, in Epstein’s words: “Every little sound we massage until it becomes something that clicks in our brain. It’s never a conscious decision to make our music sound like the 2000s, I think it just naturally carries a similar sense of optimism.” The track carries that optimism forward with a propulsive shimmer, Dorsey’s sly, teasing delivery landing cheeky vocal punches like “No time for running out on me like that, you drive me crazy,” with indisputable charm. “The way that our music is resonating is almost as if it was a long ago promise that wasn’t delivered upon. We’re kind of stepping into that a little bit,” Dorsey reflects.

Born on the same day of the same year (Aug. 23, 1995), Epstein and Dorsey move through ideas with a kind of preloaded deftness. “It was all pretty honed in before we even had a band name,” Epstein says, still coming off slightly surprised at how it all came together. Dorsey lets a small, amused smile slip: “Graham literally texted me, ‘We should start a Y2K pop-rock group.’ That was literally the first thing he said.” Epstein shrugs, shoving in a quick addendum: “I was like, ‘Can we do some trance?’ and [Justine] was like, ‘Okay.’”

When the idea of a full-length album comes up, the two both admit that it feels like uncharted territory. Their EPs were simple, eponymous exercises; this record will require more intention—a statement that extends beyond the music itself. They’ve even decided they’ll be on the cover this time, a way of placing themselves inside the world that they’re building. “We’re still trying to figure out the landscape and how the songs relate to each other,” Dorsey says.

“I always want our music to feel very packed with a visual,” Epstein adds, “Even if we don’t have a music video, I want people to imagine something.” Dorsey nods, reflecting on how their collaboration shapes that vision: “Graham is just such a true artist and studier of culture. That was really intimidating to me at first because my bank of references is much more limited. But he’s taught me to be more confident in my ideas—it almost feels like we’re kids building LEGO or something. ‘Do you like this?’ ‘Do you like that?’” This iterative, stack-and-click process makes the impending body of work feel less like a blueprint and more like a mutating biome, one they’re still settling into.

The duo’s fascination with physical and virtual landscapes bleeds directly into their music, turning each track into its own microcosm. Epstein cites Endless Ocean, a scuba-diving game with a hypnotic, meditative energy, as a touchstone. “It has this weird energy to it,” he says, his voice carrying the same wonder that frequently surfaces in the EP. Antarctica also looms large in their imagination. “Something about those landscapes and just pure nature is really sick to me,” Epstein says, while Dorsey can’t help but remind him: “He’s been to Antarctica!”

 

Then there’s “Baroque,” one of the EP’s more polarizing tracks, named after the equally enigmatic video game. “We were watching a lot of gameplay while writing it, it was pretty magical,” Epstein recalls. Dorsey adds, “Writing the lyrics was also really easy; there’s one or two lines in it that were literally lines that the characters say.” In this way, even the tracks that feel the most removed from the rest of the EP remain part of the same, ever-changing world—small pockets of curiosity and strangeness within the broader universe they’re building.

What began as a slightly ridiculous idea—Epstein laughing, “Originally, we wanted to sound like Hilary Duff with crazier aesthetics”—has somehow grown into a sound that is impossibly specific yet effortlessly expansive. It’s everything they like at once, filtered through a shared obsession with texture, place, and the strange little sparks that make music resonate. “Nostalgia for a time that didn’t exist,” Epstein calls it, and it’s hard to argue: they’re not simply navigating past or future—they’re inventing a kind of temporal fold where memory and pure imagination coalesce. Dust off the old Playstation, or just close your eyes—After will get you there either way.

Our Favourite Posts

Follow Us!