Listening to “Broke Boys” by Jony Shelby is like wandering into a sepia-tinted film strip, where melancholy sways with grove. It’s the sound equivalent of a well-loved thrift store leather jacket: vintage, effortlessly happening, but with the weight of past struggle. Shelby’s silken, velvet tone glides over the nostalgic guitar riffs like honey running over fresh-cut sourdough — luxurious, soothing, but with a hint of underlying bite.

The production shines in its unpretentious excellence. The neo-soul sensibilities, quilted impeccably with indie-R&B textures, enflesh a plush but uncluttered background. The glow of the guitar loops creates a hypnotic cocoon in which to bundle the listener and invite them into the artist’s close quarters of financial struggles and existential ruminations. The song has the same late-night introspective glamor of someone like Khalid or Cautious Clay, but Shelby manages to cut his own path with a performance that sounds like he’s not hiding behind any production.

Thematically, “Broke Boys” unravels poetically the weight of economics and the weight of the heart. Repeating “ 24 more bills left.” becomes a ticking clock, a countdown of financial frailty — with such lines as “swimming through a landslide” evoking a futile effort to resist inevitable hardship. There is an earnest charm to its storytelling, though at points, the phrasing gets a little bit redundant, circling back to ideas without offering any new depth.

Still, the song’s appeal is undeniable. In fact, “Broke Boys” is an admission, a sigh in the middle of the night, a tribute to those who see beauty in the ruins.

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