New songs with an 80s retro pop sound is a guilty pleasure of mine, and Top Down by Geowulf scratches that itch. It reminds me of Go-Go Jane Wiedlin’s solo hit Rush Hour. It’s got that summer feel, the kind of song that makes you wanna roll down the windows and fall in love with someone. But as is often the case in pop music, vibes can deceive.
It floats like summer—jangle-pop guitars, soft pads, a hook you could wrap yourself in—but there’s a weight pulling underneath. Geowulf’s vocalist Star Kendrick said it best: “This song began as a bit of a devo (Australian for devastating) moment. Written mostly about my struggle to recover from postnatal anxiety, its lyrics reflect an unraveling and a quiet cry for help. But then my producer and friend, Duncan Mills, breathed new life into it, turning it into this unexpected upbeat banger. I love how it’s taken on a new energy—it’s a deeply sad song, but you wouldn’t know that unless you really dug into the lyrics.”
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And if you do dig, you’ll feel it. “Tapped out / I’m all worn down / I need you to save me.” That’s exhaustion stretched across three lines that sound like she’s barely hanging on. I’ve been there—mid-breakdown, smiling through it, waiting for someone to notice. “I wait for morning to come / Some things you can outrun”—but some you can’t. That’s what makes the upbeat sheen sting a little sharper. It’s sadness dressed in daylight—quiet, controlled, and still aching underneath the gloss.
Star and Toma Banjanin started the band in 2016 on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland. Saltwater was their first big one, soft and nostalgic and it set the tone for everything that followed – two full albums, a bunch of dreamy singles and a whole vibe wrapped in wistful feelings. By 2022 Banjanin had stepped back. And now, it’s all Star—just her voice, her lyrics, her stories—solo, but still calling it Geowulf.
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And it works. Top Down is still so unmistakably her. She’s always been good at burying grief in sparkle. That’s her thing—slipping heartbreak into the prettiest clothes and making you dance in your feelings. This track lives in that space. “Top down / Leaving town / I feel our luck is changing”—I’ve whispered that kind of line to myself on the highway more times than I can count. Half-affirmation, half-lie. Like if I just keep moving, maybe I’ll stop hurting.
The production brings in little bits of shoegaze and dream-pop, but keeps it clean and everything glides, like she didn’t want to leave sharp edges. It’s textured but never too heavy, giving her voice the space to stay soft even when the lyrics aren’t. And when “Hair out / Window down / Try to lose this feeling” hits, it only sounds carefree, but it’s survival, making it the anti-Rush Hour by Wiedlin. It’s what you do when you’re spiraling—you try to move the feeling somewhere else.
I can feel how personal this one is. There’s nothing performative here. It’s not about being strong or sexy or untouched by pain. She’s not selling resilience but she’s letting it seep through the cracks. I love that kind of vulnerability, the way she keeps her cool while she’s falling apart. I fucking love that. Women are always expected to break quietly, to keep it cute, to smile through hell. But this is how you take the wheel, even when your hands are shaking.
