A child’s voice crackles through a lo-fi speaker. Not a greeting. Not a song. It’s a memory
being exhumed. That’s how Beautiful Terrier begins with “School,” a track that doesn’t ask
for your attention so much as it dares you to look away. It’s eerie, unflinching, and a warning
shot: this album won’t be content with background noise.
Burnt Log, the moniker of Scottish musician Andy Smith, has always danced on the fine edge
between nostalgic melancholy and progressive experimentation. But this third release feels
different—sharper in its introspection, more deliberate in its messiness. Beautiful Terrier may
be built from the quiet solitude of a bedroom studio, but its ideas are anything but small. This
is not an album trying to fit in. It is building its own corner and painting every inch with
emotion.
Each track is deceptively titled. “Ice Cream” is not a summer treat but a song pulsing with
subtle disquiet, carried forward by a bassline that feels like it’s tiptoeing around something
unsaid. “Look What I Made” swells with pride and discomfort at once—like someone
showing off a handmade creation that also exposes a vulnerable piece of themselves. By the
time you reach “Sticks” and “Sharks,” the themes are no longer just personal—they become
surreal meditations on survival, on the rituals we invent to hold ourselves together. There’s an
unshakable sense that Smith is composing not just with instruments, but with moments he’s
trying to understand in real time.
The title track “Beautiful Terrier,” inspired by Yulia Navalnaya’s political courage, is layered
and bold—not in a stadium-rock kind of way, but in its conviction. It refuses to be
ornamental. Instead, it bites gently, then doesn’t let go. And yet, the most quietly devastating
moment might be the final track, “Take A Bow.” Not a grand finale, but a slow exhale. It’s
the sound of someone acknowledging that while the show may go on, they’re still figuring
out what part they’re playing in it.
Beautiful Terrier is the kind of album that doesn’t need to yell to be heard. It listens first, then
responds thoughtfully, sometimes awkwardly, but always with sincerity. It’s not perfect. But
it’s the kind of imperfection that feels lived-in. Honest. Human. And worth returning to.