Fantastic Cat capture camaraderie, conviction, and the messy beauty of being alive on their hilariously titled third album ‘Cat Out of Hell,’ a radiant, achingly human folk rock record that wrestles with doubt, faith, and connection while tracing the fragile push and pull between holding on and letting go.

Stream: ‘Cat Out of Hell’ – Fantastic Cat

Like a Cat Out of Hell, they’ll be… purrrfectly in sync, using every one of those nine lives (and hopefully not sued in the near future).

Fantastic Cat tear into their third studio album with a ragged, radiant, full-hearted folk rock spirit that aches, soars, swells, and stirs. The four-piece from New York City charge forward with endearing warmth, wit, and wild-eyed charm, turning every chorus into a communal shout and every verse into a story worth holding onto – all delivered with the kind of conviction that only comes from years of shared chemistry and hard-earned clarity.

I was drunk. I was screaming in the street
Saying, “How can this be me?”
Well, I don’t know
There was a time
when I felt like I was strong
Everyone but me was wrong
Now, where’d that go?

And if I act my age
And I’m a grown man full of rage
What a tragic thing to be
So proud of my misery
And all the time
There’s a thought inside my mind
It’s stubborn and unwise
But, so am I

– “Don’t Let Go,” Fantastic Cat

Released April 10 via Missing Piece Records, Fantastic Cat’s third studio album captures more of this band’s beautiful lightning in a bottle – bigger, looser, and more alive than anything they’ve made before, while still holding tight to the warmth and wit that’s defined them from the start. Their brand of folk rock remains swaggering and spirited, hearty and human – endearing to the bone – whether they’re charging forward on “Donnie Takes the Bus,” digging in deep on “Nobody Better,” or letting their voices collide in gloriously rich harmony across the record’s 12-song run.

Guitars, pianos, strings, and even organ flourishes add color to their world without ever crowding the core four-piece chemistry. There’s a sense of motion baked into every track, a charming ease that makes the whole thing feel less like a studio record and more like a band playing shoulder to shoulder, chasing something just out of reach and loving every second of it.

“Don’t Let Go” is the beating heart of Cat Out of Hell – a defiant, full-throated refusal to give in, even when everything in you says it might be easier to walk away. Built on rosy, ringing guitars and a driving, road-worn pulse, the song turns perseverance into a visceral anthem, less a quiet affirmation than a shouted mantra. Piano accents flicker beneath the surface and the band’s stacked vocals push the chorus into full, shout-along release. When they sing, “Don’t look down, baby, don’t let go / Grab onto anything you think you can hold / And hold on tight when the light gets low,” it doesn’t feel like advice – it feels like survival, like digging your heels into the ground and choosing to stay, no matter the cost.

What makes this song land so deeply is its refusal to resolve cleanly. There’s doubt here, and contradiction, and a self-awareness that cuts just as sharply as the conviction pushing it forward. Lines like “If I act my age and I’m a grown man full of rage / What a tragic thing to be / So proud of my misery” don’t undercut the message – they complicate it, grounding the song in real, earnest, and lived-in emotions. It’s the stubborn, sometimes irrational act of holding on anyway. And in that tension – between knowing better and choosing not to let go – Fantastic Cat find something far more powerful: A reason to keep going.

She said it’s time you reassess your life
Are you sure that’s what you’re like
Or do you not know?
And while I swore that I was in control
There were lies I might’ve told
Why I don’t know

Is a dream just a drawn out fantasy?
A game of make believe
A liminal state of being
‘Cause in my head there’s a band that plays at ten
And I am young again
It’s quite a scene
And they sing

Don’t look down baby don’t let go
Grab onto anything you think you can hold
And hold on tight when the light gets low
And don’t look down baby don’t let go

That energy takes on fresh dimensions across the album’s deeper cuts. “Mona Be Still” leans cinematic, its sweltering harmonies and orchestral-backed swells – strings rising and falling in tandem with the band’s voices, giving the song a graceful, tidal lift – adding dramatic weight that elevates it into a breathtaking slow-burn, where longing stretches across distance and devotion holds firm against time and doubt. When they sing “Time zones might take us apart / As silence gets harder to fill / But don’t you go doubting my heart / It beats for you still,” the song steadies itself in commitment, turning vulnerability into strength. The song’s sweltering guitar solo – a roaring, feverish eruption full of heart, soul, and heavy weight – makes it another instant standout on the record.

Meanwhile, “L U C Y” finds the band locked in cathartic reverie, roaring, stomping, and hollering in stunning tandem as the song surges forward with communal fire. Drums hit with driving insistence while the band’s voices stack and collide, unraveling a love that’s as overwhelming as it is unsustainable, tracing the moment you realize you’re no longer the person you thought you were inside it. Lines like “I thought that I was tough enough / But I’m not the man I thought I was” land with striking force, capturing the disorientation of losing yourself inside a feeling you can’t outrun.

Mona be still
Or the light might stop shining upon you
Temper your steel
Remember the ways that I want you

Time zones might take us apart
As silence gets harder to fill
But don’t you go doubting my heart
It beats for you still

Elsewhere, “No Goddamn Way” kicks the door back open – an emphatic, Brian Dunne-led rocker full of grit and drive, powered by a fervent energy that refuses to sit still. A colorful, warbling lead guitar snakes its way through the track as Dunne digs in deep, delivering lines like “There ain’t no goddamn way I’m going home without you now / There ain’t no time to waste, there’s nothing left to talk about…” with a conviction that feels equal parts reckless and resolute. That defiance sharpens as the song unfolds, with lyrics that confront disappointment and resilience head-on: “People disappoint you, take your joy and they exploit you for your crown… but there ain’t no goddamn way I’ll let you down.” It’s messy, loud, and completely alive – exactly the kind of moment Fantastic Cat have built their name on.

You can be callous
You can be hurt
Or you can be pissed
You can put meaning to meaninglessness
And have a quick lunch
‘Cause you got a job
You got a car
You pay your taxes and there you are
Life is a joke, and you are the punch

That introspection cuts even deeper on “I Spoke to God a Lot Last Year,” one of the album’s most intimate and timely moments. Stripped back and steeped in uncertainty, the song wrestles with faith, disillusionment, and the uneasy feeling of waiting for answers that may never come. Lyrics like “I spoke to God but he never spoke back” and “All the prayers that didn’t take have me questioning my faith” don’t reach for resolution, but rather sit in the tension, tracing the weight of belief when it starts to fracture. There’s a rawness here that feels especially pointed and poignant, a reflection of a world that often feels stuck in place, searching for clarity and coming up short.Still a stain on the pillow where his head used to sleep

Hair still littered like the pines of a tree
He wasn’t home when she decided to leave
It took a whole day to master that plan
Packed up the kid and crammed in the van
He was so nice to everyone but them
Froze in the driveway, keys in her hand

We’re still waiting, still waiting on the news
We’re still waiting, still waiting on reviews
Oh but I don’t think they’re coming dear
‘Cause I spoke to God a lot last year

That same sense of searching ripples outward across the record. “Turn Off the Lights” carries a charming, full-hearted warmth, its swaggering guitars and breathtaking vocal harmonies giving the song a communal lift even as it grapples with endings and uncertainty. Beneath its singalong ease lies a brutal, yet relatable reckoning – “This place ain’t working for us anymore / The wheels ain’t turning and they’re closing the doors” – a recognition that not everything is built to last, and that sometimes moving forward means knowing when to let go.

That push and pull between acceptance and resistance runs alongside “Back to the Beginning,” which aches with a longing to return to a version of the past that no longer exists. And then there’s “Nobody Better,” a closing statement that lands with disarming clarity and finality – “There ain’t nobody better than nobody else” – grounding the album in a shared humanity that cuts through all the noise. It’s a simple truth, but in Fantastic Cat’s hands, it feels hard-won, earned through every moment of doubt, reflection, and resilience that comes before it.

Remember the last one out
better turn off the lights
Lock up the door
and say your goodbyes
Yeah it’s a long way down
but it’s well worth the ride
If you’re the last one out
you better turn off the lights

Right now, it’s “The Waiting Room” that’s emerging as one of the album’s defining moments – another Dunne-driven standout that swells and stirs with a kind of restless grace. Warm guitars churn beneath radiant, singalong-ready choruses, gradually building heat without ever quite releasing it, mirroring the song’s central unease. “How long do you want me to wait for you / I’m gonna die in the waiting room” isn’t just a hook – it’s a statement of exhaustion, a portrait of stalled momentum and unanswered questions that linger far longer than they should.

That feeling runs deeper with every verse, as frustration gives way to reflection and back again, tracing the emotional toll of feeling stuck in place. Reflections like “Somewhere’s a key that I cannot find / And it’s probably gonna bother me the rest of my life” tap into a specific, gnawing anxiety – the idea that clarity is always just out of reach, and that the things we don’t resolve have a way of staying with us. It’s patient but pulsing, reflective but resolute, capturing that suspended space between where you are and where you’re trying to go – and in doing so, it distills one of the album’s core tensions into a single, unforgettable moment.

So overthrow the republic
Do whatever you want – f*** it
I’m just trying to get from
here to there by noon
Well I used to get so sad
But now I don’t have time for that
So let me know if you
need me or need me to move

I’ve grown impatient with the way this works
I wish for once that they would use their words
They’ll never fix it but they will feel bad about it

How long do you want me to wait for you
I’m gonna die in the waiting room
Somewhere’s a key that I cannot find
And it’s probably gonna bother me
the rest of my life, alright

That sense of movement – of living inside the in-between – has always been part of Fantastic Cat’s DNA.

Comprised of Brian Dunne, Anthony D’Amato, Don DiLego, and Mike Montali, the New York–bred collective thrive on that balance between sincerity and smart-assery, between heartfelt reflection and wry, self-aware charm. Their songs feel communal, lived-in, and unmistakably human, rooted in storytelling that never loses sight of the bigger picture even as it zooms in on life’s smallest, most telling moments.

That evolution didn’t happen overnight. Fantastic Cat first introduced themselves with 2022’s The Very Best of Fantastic Cat, a loose, lightning-in-a-bottle debut born out of pure instinct and the simple joy of four seasoned songwriters getting in a room and seeing what might happen. It was fun, freewheeling, and rife with possibility – an energetic and deeply human record that proved this wasn’t just a one-off experiment, but a band with something real to say.

Two years later, Now That’s What I Call Fantastic Cat sharpened that identity into focus. Where their debut thrived on spontaneity, the band’s sophomore effort leaned into collaboration, with each member’s fingerprints all over every song – no longer four distinct voices sharing space, but one band speaking in unison. It was a step forward in every sense, deepening Fantastic Cat’s sense of purpose while holding onto the humor and heart that made them so compelling in the first place.

Now, on Cat Out of Hell, everything clicks. The looseness is still there, the camaraderie still intact, but it’s all channeled with a confidence and clarity earned through time, trust, and miles on the road together. It’s the sound of a band that knows exactly who they are – and exactly how to bring it to life.

And that’s what makes Cat Out of Hell land the way it does.

It’s not just a collection of great songs – though it is absolutely that – but a record that feels alive in motion, constantly shifting, searching, and stretching toward something just out of reach. It carries a spirit that’s hard to fake and even harder to replicate, turning camaraderie into a soundtrack of honest human expression. These songs wrestle with doubt, disillusionment, love, and the quiet, stubborn hope that keeps us moving anyway, finding meaning not in easy answers but in the act of holding on. From the spirited yearning of “The Waiting Room” to the hard-won resilience of “Don’t Let Go,” from the existential ache of “I Spoke to God a Lot Last Year” to the unifying, clear-eyed grace of “Nobody Better,” Fantastic Cat map out a world that feels messy, uncertain, and unmistakably real. And yet, through it all, they never lose sight of what matters most: Connection, compassion, and the simple, radical idea that none of us are above or beneath one another – we’re all just trying to find our way through.

In that sense, Cat Out of Hell doesn’t just capture a band at their peak – it captures a perspective. One rooted in empathy, carried by friendship and brotherhood, and delivered with a voice that feels both deeply personal and universally understood. In a year already full of standout releases, this one doesn’t just earn its place among the best – it reminds us why records like this matter in the first place.

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:: stream/purchase Don’t Let Go here ::

:: connect with Fantastic Cat here ::

:: stream/purchase Cat Out of Hell here ::

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 © Vivian Wang, Fikri Abdurakhman

Cat Out of Hell

an album by Fantastic Cat