Review: Pip Blom & Willem Smit – Long Fling

Review By Ian Walker

When relationships stretch over a decade, they inevitably leave their mark on the people at the centre of them. For Pip Blom and Willem Smit, that mark isn’t just personal—it’s musical. Long Fling, the first and only record the pair have made together, is a document of ten years spent balancing romance, artistic drive, and the tricky logistics of life on the road. Out October 3rd, it is less an album and more a chronicle of what happens when patience, persistence, and love are allowed to bloom in the background of a creative life.

Blom, known for her inventive indie-rock flair, and Smit, the restless energy behind Personal Trainer, admit that their early songwriting sessions weren’t easy. Both fiercely attached to their own creative habits, collaboration initially brought arguments rather than breakthroughs. Yet across the years, those clashes softened into a shared language, a rhythm of give-and-take that allowed Long Fling to take shape. That slow, careful process is audible across these ten tracks, which combine warmth and intimacy with wiry edges, krautrock grooves, and quirky melodic touches that echo both their individual worlds while carving out something entirely new.

Opener “Pig” sets the tone, built on motorik drums and looping guitar patterns that pull the listener into their universe. It’s understated yet hypnotic, the kind of song that asks you to settle in rather than explode out of the gate. “Mouse House” sharpens that edge with jagged riffs and subtle tension, almost playful in its push and pull. By the time “Weird Peace” arrives, you hear two artists weaving together a language of half-smiles and sideways glances; the track is tangled but tender, noisy yet affectionate.

Title track “Flung” stands as the album’s centrepiece—a summation of what this project represents. Minimal yet emotionally charged, its wiry guitars and lo-fi drum machine beats support lyrics that feel less like declarations and more like private confessions between two people who know each other too well to hide behind metaphors. It’s understated, but powerful for precisely that reason.

The back half of Long Fling opens up into unexpected territory. “For Someone” brings a fragile, melodic touch that leans into wistful pop, while “Cool Bottle Water Park” stretches out into quirky rhythms and playful textures that feel like a love letter to spontaneity. It’s perhaps the clearest sign that Blom and Smit are at their best when they stop worrying about rules and simply let themselves wander.

Tracks like “Waste Line” and “Shoes” carry that same looseness, their minimalism never feeling empty but instead alive with the small details of guitars, keys, and loops bouncing off one another. “Tossed” shimmers with a late-night haze, one of the record’s most understated gems, before closer “Peter Dickens” ties everything together. It’s wry, strange, and heartfelt all at once—a fitting conclusion for an album that thrives in contradiction.

What makes Long Fling stand out is not just its sonic palette—though the krautrock pulses, wiry guitars, and drum machine loops are wonderfully textured—but its sense of honesty. It’s not polished to perfection, nor is it trying to be. Instead, it embraces the tangles, the disagreements, the compromises, and the laughter that come from making music as a couple. You can hear that history in every moment, whether in the slightly skewed melodies or the confidence to leave space in the arrangements.

Given their respective reputations—Blom’s sharp, indie-rock precision and Smit’s wry, restless experimentation—there was always a risk that their collaboration might collapse under the weight of expectation. Instead, Long Fling feels like the opposite: a release from expectation, an experiment that turned into something deeply personal. It’s both exactly what fans might hope for and something entirely unexpected.

Praise from outlets like Pitchfork, NME, Mojo, and Uncut has followed both artists in their solo paths, but this album doesn’t rest on that pedigree. It feels fresh and unpretentious, as if it exists simply because it had to. There’s an unshakable sense that this will be the duo’s only record together, not out of failure but because the story it tells is complete.

Ultimately, Long Fling is more than a love story—it’s a creative statement built on trust. Where once they clashed, now they converse. Where once they held onto their individual ideas, now they’ve let go enough to find common ground. That patience and persistence have paid off in a record that is as warm as it is wiry, as minimal as it is playful, as quirky as it is deeply moving.

For fans of indie-rock, kraut-leaning rhythms, and quietly daring songwriting, Long Fling is a record worth spending time with. It doesn’t scream for attention, but it lingers long after the final notes fade—a testament to the power of music made with both heart and history.