Second albums are supposed to wobble. They’re supposed to overreach, overthink, or collapse under the weight of expectation. Instead, Ten New Toe-Tappers for Shoplifting & Self-Mutilation does the opposite: it tightens the screws. If Minor’s debut introduced his self-described “existential indie,” this follow-up sharpens it into something more confident, more cohesive—and more daring. Despite the knowingly inaccurate title, the record delivers twelve tracks that balance melodic immediacy with lyrical unease. Minor continues to specialise in that particularly British alchemy: pairing bright, almost jangly indie-pop arrangements with themes that are anything but light. Climate dread, authoritarian nostalgia, mental health spirals, romantic implosions—nothing is off limits. The trick is that you’ll find yourself tapping your foot while the world quietly burns in the background.
Opening track “Future Is an F Word” sets the tone perfectly. On the surface, it’s a souring-love story; underneath, it hints at environmental and political fatalism. Minor never forces the metaphor. He lets it hover. The result is a song that feels both personal and planetary, catchy yet queasily prophetic. “Expanding Universe” continues the outward gaze, skewering the cyclical absurdity of modern politics—how we livestream the downfall and still vote for it again. Musically, it’s punchy and direct, with a muscular arrangement that underscores its urgency. This is Minor at his most outwardly confrontational, but he never sacrifices craft for commentary. Among the newer material, two tracks in particular stretch his palette. “Progressive or Punk” is a standout—not just for its playful title but for its perspective. Framed around overheard stories from his parents’ youth, it becomes a meditation on scenes, aspirations and the thin line between legend and self-mythology. The sound leans wirier than much of Minor’s earlier work, edging closer to post-punk angularity. There’s a restless energy here, as if the song itself can’t decide which camp it belongs to—and that’s precisely the point. “Washed-Up Buoy” drifts in from stranger waters. Built around a looser, harmonica-laced arrangement, it feels saltier and more exposed. The repeated insistence—“I don’t want to be nothing”—lands as both plea and protest. It’s one of the album’s most vulnerable moments, suggesting Minor is increasingly comfortable letting space and fragility sit alongside his usual lyrical density.
Elsewhere, the album plays cleverly with dualities. “Obsessive Compulsive” and “Excessive Impulsive” mirror each other in title and theme, blurring the line between diagnosis and identity. “The Manic Phase” paints a tragicomic portrait of a larger-than-life Soho character, treating its subject with both affection and unease. Meanwhile, “The Loneliest Person on Earth” captures the quiet implosion of domestic life with a sharp eye for how quickly love can turn brittle under modern pressures. Closing track “Change It!” serves as a call to arms—less naïve optimism than defiant insistence. After an album steeped in disillusionment, it feels earned. The gloves may be off, but the fight is still worth entering. Produced by Teaboy Palmer, the record sounds crisp without being sterile. The arrangements give Minor room to explore Britpop shimmer, indie grit and flashes of power pop without losing coherence. It’s a record that knows its lineage but refuses to be trapped by it. If the debut was about anger and disappointment, Ten New Toe-Tappers for Shoplifting & Self-Mutilation feels like their aftermath: sharper, funnier, more self-aware. Tom Minor hasn’t abandoned existential dread—he’s simply learned how to make it sing.