Over the last 18 months, Riley and fellow musician Jack Dunn have been forming quite the close friendship. Mere acquaintances or friendly faces tend to be as far as things usually go in the showbiz world - someone to have a little laugh with when you bump into them at an awards show or who'll give you the odd like on an Instagram post. It seldom runs deeper than that. The world of entertainment is a fickle one but also extremely time consuming. Not everyone is able to form the relationships they may yearn for nor bask in the human connection that they need. Despite his insanely hectic schedule and lifestyle for the past 13 years, Riley has always managed to carve out the time and space for friends. His ethos is all about maintaining some sense of normality as well as providing a sounding board for the other small percentage of the world who know what it's like to be in the public eye. In an industry with no safeguards and the way in which Weekend were practically thrown to the wolves when they debuted, Riley takes it upon himself to be the friend and confidant that he never had.

He sees a lot of himself in Jack, albeit believing his friend is far more talented than he could ever aspire to be. A fellow working class Northern lad seemingly plucked from obscurity overnight. Going to the pub with your mates on a Sunday and finishing the night off with a chippy only to wake up on the Monday and have the #1 song in the world isn't a pipeline many others have travelled down. Aside from caring about his mate's mental health, Riley has also been truly invested in Jack's talent and artistry. Being invited down to Brighton to hear this anticipated debut album played back is an honour and part of his duty as a good pal, but he also can't help feel a little smug and giddy as a fan, knowing he has this exclusive first listen ahead.

After making a relatively undisturbed train commute from London to Brighton, Riley made his way to Head South Recording Studios. No security or assistance. There's no airs and graces around Riley. This is a social call and about Jack. In Riley's mind, turning up with an entourage just comes across as, well, dick-ish. He knocks on the door of the studio where Jack said he would be and pops his head in. "This where the magic happens?". Riley chuckles and enters the room, bringing some of the Brighton in November cold in with him. He places a generic white plastic carrier bag down on the table as he approaches Jack and opens his arms out. "Bring it in, lad! How you doing?"

"Ah, is that the noise I heard coming down the corridor? Thought someone had run over a cat out in the car park." Riley laughs and embraces Jack, who can probably feel the biting cold clinging to Riley and the speckles of rain that still linger on his coat. "Bleak, lad. Brighton's all well and good when the sun's out but walking along that seafront just there? Oof!" Riley chuckles and takes his coat off, hanging it over the back of a chair. "Though I had Billy on the phone for most of the journey over so that killed some time." Riley gives Jack a knowing look. Despite him having only properly met Billy the once, it's common knowledge that he loves the sound of his own voice and a lot of time can pass as he prattles on.

"I brought us some sustenance, by the way." Riley pulls the sides of his plastic bag downward, revealing some cans of beer and snacks. "Who needs a fridge when you're trailing around Brighton, eh?". The bracing air has helped ensure the crisp temperature of the beverages. Riley takes out an already half eaten bar of Diary Milk Caramel and proceeds to snap off a section with his teeth, the November chill also solidifying the chocolate. "So..." he begins, with a mouthful of less than compliant caramel. "When did you last sleep?" he asks with a chuckle, taking a seat. He's all too familiar with the finalisation process of an album and knowing that this is Jack's first experience with it, he can imagine the flurry of emotions he's going through.

"Yeah, get that down you." He cracks a can open himself as he relaxes into the chair. Riley quickly realised after first getting to know Jack that he's someone who takes his artistry seriously. After being signed and his first track immediately experiencing immense success out of the gate, there's usually an immense pressure and hyper fixating that follows it in regards to getting an album out the door. Jack and those around him have taken their time to craft and finetune this record as opposed to just chucking it out to capitalise on success. Although he won't outwardly say it in as many words, Riley knows his pal could benefit from a lot of reassurance which is a big reason why he's here. This album is evidently of high importance and you only get one shot at a debut album.

Riley nods along, just letting Jack speak and air his thoughts and grievances surrounding the whole process. "Hmmm, yeah, no I totally get it, mate. You know, it's a daunting thing. That never fully goes away. You want to make the best impression, please the fans and feel good about the product that your name is slapped on. It's understandable if you give two shits, you know? Over time, you learn to trust your gut a little more." Riley gives a soft, reassuring smile as someone who has been in the industry for well over a decade now. "Anyway, no fear. Ri's here...with his musical ear." Riley playfully taps on his own earlobes. "See, that rhymed without any effort. So musically inclined and attuned, me!" Riley chuckles and takes a sip of his beer, not wanting to rush Jack to press the play button. He can tell that he has his doubts and if he was that eager, he would've slapped the album on already. "What is it you're not feeling about it, lad? Certain songs, the sequencing, vocal takes?" Riley wants to know what it is he's listening out for so that he can help but Jack's mind at ease when it comes time for feedback.

Riley, secretly working away on his own material, realises what a privileged position he is in. A solo record for him is pretty much a guaranteed success taking into account the name he has built for himself over the years. Even if it does actually flop? Well, it's not as if he's going to fade into obscurity. He's one fifth of Weekend. For Jack, however, there's a lot more riding on his first musical statement that's being issued out into the world. There's always a playful ribbing going on where these two are concerned but for now, Riley makes it his point to be truly composed and professional. "Well, what I would like to remind you of is that I don't think anyone is going into a Jack Dunn album expecting light and fluffy. No offence." Riley gives a soft little laugh, hoping Jack doesn't misinterpret him. "You've established an audience doing raw and gritty. That's what the people have bought and streamed. That's what they were singing back to you when you killed Wembley." Riley smiles at Jack as he recalls the time he opened up for them earlier in the year.

As the music starts, despite the vow he took upon himself to remain professional not thirty seconds ago, he can't help but feel the urge to dick around rumbling inside of him. When he hears the first line sung from Jack, he screws up his face. "Dog shit. Turn it off." He laughs heartily and gives Jack a playful nudge. "I'm joking, I'm joking, lad." Riley takes another sip of his beer before adjusting the height of his chair, feeling a little too low down. "What would you prefer; my opinion after each track or just wait to the end?"

Riley tries his best to stay as silent and in the moment as possible as each track plays, not wanting to disrupt the flow with any chatter as the running order of the record is something that Jack is questioning. Instead, he reaches for his phone and begins to type up some notes whenever he has any sort of point or opinion. He makes sure to give Jack the odd smile and nod of approval, tapping away on his leg to some of the songs so that they're not sat in stony silence for the duration, also reassuring his friend that he's enjoying it in the process. Riley even finds himself quietly singing along to some of the tracks once he familiarises himself with the choruses and melody progression. After the final track plays, Riley leans back in his swivel chair and turns his head towards Jack. "This is your first stab at making an album? I hate you, lad." Riley laughs, his joke clearly focusing on his awe rather than any sort of jealousy or envy.

He takes a final swig of his can of beer and sits up slightly, composing himself before getting into the nitty gritty of the feedback. "Seriously, mate. That was fucking brilliant. I've been making notes throughout but it's really just compliments about each song. Basically just blowing smoke up your hairy arse." Riley laughs and places his empty can down on the board in front and turns in his chair to properly face his mate. "Not just saying this. Hand on heart..." Riley proceeds to do said action. "There's honestly nowt wrong with it. You've absolutely blown my mind with that, lad. Fucking hell!" Riley audibly exhales, placing his hands behind his head as if the journey of the album has really knocked him sideways.

"You said earlier that you wanted a little more lightness and variation. Don't get me wrong, I can totally understand why you think that. It's quite a heavy album but Christ, it works in its favour. You've created a really vivid picture with this record. It's like its own little world, sonically and thematically. I feel like if you do something cheerier just for the sake of some obligated lightness, it could upset the balance. That's just my personal opinion. It's brilliant, lad. I'd be chuffed if I were you. Nowt to worry about." Riley wants to drive home the fact that Jack is more than likely just overthinking and feeling the jitters of handing in an album. Even more than that; a debut. He truly believes that the material is strong and any further tampering could cause more problems than solutions. "Although there's one flaw. I'm not bastard on it." Riley chuckles and leans over to give Jack a reassuring pat on the forearm.

Cracking open another can, Riley brings one foot up to his opposite knee, sitting half cross-legged on the chair. "I know it's already out and I've been rinsing it over and over all week but "Chip Off the Old Block"...fucking hell, lad." From his glowing review that he posted publicly to the sheer restraint he showed trying his best not to belt along with it during the playthrough, it's evident that this is a firm favourite of Riley's. "You nearly get me bloody going with that one. You've seen a few sides of me away from the public eye. You've slept in my house. You've used my toilet. You've seen my knob...but I'm not going to bastard cry in front of you!" Riley chuckles, speaking as if he doesn't always get misty-eyed when he's incredibly pissed and telling everyone how much he loves them and what good souls they are.

"Well, if you don't want me holding back on owt then aye, it were absolute dog shit." Riley laughs, joking with Jack about proving all of his qualms and insecurities right in regards to the quality of the record. He nods along in agreement as Jack confesses his apprehension about possibly falling into a well-known formula, something that Weekend pushed back against after their first couple of records. "No, I understand that completely, mate. Again, you might be overthinking it a bit too much. Every single artist out there has the potential to fall into a sound or expectation regardless of genre or writing style. If a first record does well and someone earns a bunch of fans and acclaim for that, chances are people are going to want more of it for the next release. That doesn't mean you have to do so. There's no written rule. People who fall into that trap usually chase it because they want the bloody sales or that's all they can really do well. The fact that you're worrying about that right now already shows me that you've got a lot more to offer and that you yourself are aware of that and you're open to the possibilities of branching out. That's a good sign that you won't be falling into any traps, lad."

Riley takes a sip of beer and sways his chair a little. "We've done everything from love songs, to party numbers to bleak outlooks on life. Pop, dance, stadium rock, synth, even doing some darkwave stuff on this new record. I think what's resonated with fans over the years through our teens, twenties and now thirties is that regardless of sonic, it's still quintessentially us. It's our writing, it's our stories. Regardless of how it's dressed up, it has always been a Weekend record that's delivered at the end of the day. You've got a really strong artistic identity already, lad. There's no mistaking your voice, your pen. If you want to up the tempo or sing about something more upbeat in the future, I can hand on heart say that it'll still sound like a Jack Dunn record." When Jack jokes about the fee that comes with getting Riley on a track, he goes along with it despite knowing that he would absolutely do it for free. "Hey, I do some cracking mates rates!"

"I had a very different relationship with my dad but fucking hell, it still got me, lad!" Riley makes a swift point before turning it back around on Jack, not wanting to seem like he's boasting about having had a closer, breezier relationship with his father. "My dad's been gone...fuck...11 years now? So it's still a right kick in the plums when I listen to it." Riley forces out a soft little chuckle, pivoting away from becoming too emotional. "The part where it just fucking ascends from "I’m still your boy, can’t you tell?" and then WALLOP, "I’m a chip off the old block, through and through!" Chills, mate. Can't quite sell it like you do though." Riley chuckles and downs some more beer. Even though he's not singing with all the gusto of being behind a microphone, he still has an incredibly powerful and vastly underrated voice. He can certainly hold his own up there against Billy and Dustyn, who are often the names in the conversation surrounding Weekend's best vocalist.