INES HALL - "Next To Me"
- Adam Jones - MusicFarmer5
- Apr 10
- 3 min read
MUSIC FARMER 5 - Review by Adam Jones
When Grunge Gets Tender: Inés Hall’s “Next to Me” Feels Like a Favorite Memory
Right from the beginning Inés Hall's “Next to Me” wraps around you like a familiar feeling you can’t quite name—but know by heart. An intimately urgent guitar riff and crisp, no-nonsense drums set the stage with a warm swagger that feels pulled straight from a 90s record store, but dusted with a soft country breeze. It’s the kind of song that sneaks up on you, and before you know it, you’re smiling, swaying, and hitting play again.
Inés Hall, the NYC-based singer-songwriter quietly turning heads and stealing hearts, is in her element here. With over 20,000 monthly listeners and a growing TikTok following, she brings her signature blend of indie folk and alternative rock into even sharper focus—adding just the right splash of twang for good measure. Produced by Myles Rodenhouse (of Earthquake Lights) and initially demoed with Josh Liebman (John Batiste, Josh Groban), the song carries the polish of seasoned collaborators while keeping its soul wonderfully, freshly intact.
Inés Hall’s voice is the star of the show: gentle yet sure, with a sweet smokiness that recalls Jill Sobule at her most charming—except there’s a sly confidence here that’s all her own. She sings like someone with a secret, and it makes you want to lean in closer. Every line dances with a hint of a smile, a dash of ache, and just enough mischief to keep things interesting.
The lyrics are tender without tipping into melodrama, capturing the dizzy high of new love—the kind that makes minutes feel like hours, and glances feel like gravitational shifts. “Does it count as long distance / Cuz her lips aren’t on mine” feels like a passing thought, but it lingers like a line from a love letter you never sent. Inés Hall doesn’t over-explain—she just lets the emotions breathe.
Instrumentally, the song is tight and effortlessly cool. A shaker adds a little shimmer, and here and there the guitar and vocals lean into a twang that grounds the track in something earthy and real.
The choruses bloom and retract with precise rhythm, leaving space for the hook—“you don’t know what you do when you’re next to me”—to land like the final beat of a skipped heart. The bridge dips briefly, like catching your breath mid-conversation, then climbs back into a chorus that feels even sweeter the second time around.
