Leon Blanchard just gave birth to “Astronaut,” a dreamy, introspective track and universal longing to flee, not just from the noise of life as you know it, but from the heaviness of existing. With a soundscape that’s like floating in zero gravity and lyrics that look back at Earth from a distance, “Astronaut” is a personal song that feels expansive and quietly cathartic.
From the track's opening, “Astronaut” envelops you in a gentle, atmospheric cocoon. At once, you get a sense of stillness, the kind you only find in space, Blanchard’s voice at once floating somewhere between earthbound vulnerability and heavenly detachment. There’s a gravity to his voice, that of a man observing the world from afar, not running from it. Less about abandonment, and more about perspective.
Blanchard acknowledges that “Astronaut” took time to sort out. You can hear it in the music. You can feel patience in its construction, carefully piling synths and textures reflecting the song’s emotional ascent. The production floats, like the absence-seeking narrator of the song itself, allowing each melody to breathe rarely in a universe of sonic overload. “Astronaut” gets the paradox of wanting to escape to understand, of needing distance to see what’s happening below. It’s a concept especially ripe for this overstimulated moment in culture, and Blanchard’s execution is subtle and sincere. He isn’t doing it all to be cosmic just to be cosmic; he’s using space as a metaphor for clarity, and it works.
What sets “Astronaut” apart is how whole it feels. That instinct consistently pays off, in "Savior’s Hands, a song that reaches for the stars but floats among them, glancing back thoughtfully. Whether you’re looking to disappear or just need accompaniment for your own orbiting thoughts, “Astronaut” is one of those songs that daintily tugs at you and then sends you off feeling weightless.
Connect with Leon Blanchard: Instagram
