Time has a curious way of expanding when we are pulled, or we pull ourselves, from structured routines. For Bristol-born, Manchester-based songwriter Rachel Cawley, the catalyst for her latest musical exploration was a summer of complete freedom following her departure from the typical 9-5.
Recording as Creepy Crawly, Rachel channeled this unusual period of transition into her sophomore album, “I Feel It On My Skin.” The record serves as a highly atmospheric follow-up to her 2025 debut, “Like a Real Thing,” expanding her signature dream-folk sound into something lusher, more ambitious, and harder to pin down.
Written during that transitional period, the album mirrors the hazy, endless feel of teenage summers, when a few short weeks could seem full of limitless possibilities, and the midsummer heat blurred the line between reality and half-remembered dream.
The LP was recorded entirely in Manchester, engineered and produced by Joel Harries, and mastered by Stephen Kerrison. To achieve richer textures, Rachel embraces a broader instrumental palette, incorporating synths and fuzzy, overdriven electric guitars that introduce subtle shoegaze influences while complementing her warm acoustic foundations. Liverpool-based folk songwriter Grace Elizabeth Harvey also contributes vital cello on two tracks.
Throughout the record, Cawley explores the space between reality and perception. Much of the album’s appeal lies in the contrast between its songs. “Buttercup” arrives with a sun-drenched energy that captures the rush of a summer romance. The mood shifts dramatically on “Dead Cat Song,” which pairs a tale of discovering a cat skeleton with an upbeat indie-rock arrangement driven by jangly guitars.
Elsewhere, “Infinite Capacity” takes a gentler approach, wrapping its reflections on falling in love too easily in a lullaby-like atmosphere that feels both tender and uneasy. Meanwhile, “Letting Go” ranks among the album’s most ambitious compositions, exploring the painful experience of watching loved ones drift into the conspiratorial thinking of the post-truth era.
One of the album’s strongest moments arrives with the closing track “The Photograph.” The song captures the quiet, awkward grief of a friendship slowly fading away through a beautifully restrained arrangement. The song relies on minimalist banjo plucks paired with dreamy synth layers underneath. The understated production allows the lyrics to take center stage, making the track feel intimate and deeply human, like paging through an old photograph of a life that no longer exists. If anything, it could be described as a form of digital dream-folk.
“I Feel It On My Skin” succeeds through its balance of immediate melodies with a richly detailed arrangement that reveals new layers with each listen. The record is comforting and dreamlike, rekindling a youthful sense of wonder and longing that lingers long after it ends. It is a remarkable achievement from Creepy Crawly.
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