You’ve got to admire the audacity of someone who kicks off their album with a f**king gong. That’s the kind of energy Helder Rock brings to Neon Dragon – a homegrown, DIY odyssey from the neon-soaked depths of Stockport’s bedroom scene. It’s weird, unapologetically niche, and somehow manages to bridge retro rock heroism with glitchy, Eastern-tinged rock experimentalism. There’s no singing. No lyrics. Just a one-man army letting his fingers do all the talking while his mind runs wild through Tokyo alleyways and dusty VHS cassettes of ‘70s guitar gods.
The opening track Far From Here sets the tone immediately. That gong crash? It’s a funny way to start, why not? A line in the sand that says: “we’re not in f**king Manchester anymore.” It unfolds like a cinematic overture – big, dramatic, a bit Blade Runner, a bit Led Zep at a tea ceremony. And from there, the trip begins.
Gemma Chan is pure cool. It’s oddly catchy, despite not having a single hook in the traditional sense. You start to realise Helder’s playing with feeling, not formulas. He’s not chasing a radio hit – he’s scoring a film that doesn’t exist yet.
By Eastern Wind, things take a more textured turn. This one’s a standout. You could almost picture it playing as a lone samurai walks into the final battle, but he’s wearing a leather jacket and probably rides a synth-powered motorbike.
Jasmine and May Long are both mood pieces – lighter, drifting, more ambient than structured. You can hear the home studio in them. They’ve got that lo-fi warmth that screams bedroom project, but also, occasionally, the drums feel like they were assembled from a half-knackered loop machine. Not necessarily a bad thing – it adds to the texture – but sometimes you wish Helder would just let rip with a proper live kit.
Liu Chuyu brings things back to the fretboard. It’s a solo-fuelled fever dream, a throwback to instrumental rock albums from the ‘70s where guitarists tried to outdo gods. But Helder doesn’t fall into that trap of ego-stroking shred. It’s expressive, not excessive. Think Gilmour meets Joe Satriani via a Casio keyboard from 1993.
Sunset Ride might be the album’s most accessible moment – a hazy, almost surf-rock vibe carried through a sunset-coloured synth palette. It reminds me out the theme from Out Run It’s nostalgic as hell, t’s darker, punchier, more urgent.
But Neon Dragon isn’t perfect. Sometimes the tracks bleed into each other a bit too much. Some transitions feel unsure, and the drum programming occasionally undercuts the emotional weight Helder’s clearly chasing. But all of that feels forgivable when you look at what this album is: a mad, soulful, solo journey by someone throwing genre rules in the bin and building something that feels genuinely personal.
Stockport’s got a synth samurai, it’s Helder Rock.
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