Maybe, Perhaps is the upcoming EP by Brooklyn-based artist Midnight Granger, and after spending some time with it, it’s hard not to feel quietly pulled into its world. Built on DIY production and bedroom/indie pop instincts, the project drifts along on gentle synths, hazy guitars, and simple, unassuming beats. If you’re drawn to artists like Mac DeMarco, Her’s, or Men I Trust, this one feels like an easy recommendation.
The six-track mini album is deeply and unapologetically lo-fi, with every sound crafted alone in the artist’s bedroom, and you can feel that solitude in the way the songs breathe. Little imperfections are left intact, like soft breaths and faint room noise, adding to the sense that nothing here is trying too hard to be perfect. Guitars shimmer and blur at the edges, soaked in reverb and gentle modulation, looping in a hypnotic way. The drums stick to simple, repetitive patterns, more companion than driving force, while the bass grooves casually beneath it all, wandering without urgency.
Nothing ever fully locks into place, and that’s part of the charm. The rhythms stay loose and floating, as if the songs could drift off at any moment. The EP leans more toward atmosphere than structure, and that choice makes the listening experience feel personal, almost private. There’s a soft analog warmth throughout, a subtle hiss around the edges that feels intentional, like these songs were recorded to tape and lovingly left alone. It immediately brought to mind early Mac DeMarco, when everything sounded sun-faded, loose, and casually sincere.
“Written over two years and finished after moving to New York City, this six-song album explores repetition, impermanence, and the feeling of never fully arriving,” explains Nick Levenson, the mind behind Midnight Granger. “It reflects on responsibility, bad habits, and the slow self-awareness that comes from noticing the same patterns return—even after everything changes.” That sentiment quietly seeps into every track, giving the EP a reflective weight beneath its easygoing surface.
Emotionally, Maybe, Perhaps lives in that liminal space between comfort and isolation. It’s introspective without being heavy, distant but never cold. This is the kind of record that works best late at night, when everything else has gone quiet, and you’re left alone with your thoughts. Knowing it was written, recorded, and produced entirely alone only deepens that feeling; you’re not just hearing the songs, you’re hearing the room they were born in.
By the time the EP fades out, it doesn’t feel like it ends; it simply dissolves. What’s left behind is a soft afterimage, a lingering mood that sticks with you longer than expected. Understated, dreamy, and quietly absorbing, Maybe, Perhaps is proof that some of the most compelling music still comes from one person, alone, figuring things out in the dark. The EP is set for release on March 3.
Written by Joshua Cotrim
