“Hula Girl” sets the tone brilliantly for The Neighbourhood’s comeback. Opening track on (((((ultraSOUND))))), the band’s first original studio album in five years, this mid-tempo gem weaves a narrative about car crashes, lost dreams, and finding salvation in unexpected places.
The song centres on a fatal car accident told through fragmented memories. Jesse recalls seeing a dashboard hula girl figurine dancing just before impact, his last memory before the crash.
Saw you dancin’ on my dash / Last memory that I have (Oh, yeah)
What follows explores themes of rescue and mortality, with the hula girl transformed into an angelic figure who somehow saves him from a road nobody typically survives.
The crash becomes a metaphor for losing everything at once, with repeated imagery of dreams and hopes going out the window.
There’s an intimacy in the pre-chorus to how Jesse addresses the figurine, asking it softly to treat him like a crash-test dummy.
Dashboard hula girl, honey / Come and treat me like a crash-test dummy
It’s self-sabotage wrapped in sweetness, which feels distinctly like The Neighbourhood’s emotional territory.
The second verse shifts focus to broader generational despair, questioning who’s reaching out and who’s letting go.
Generation in a hole / Who’s reaching? Who’s letting go? (Oh, oh)
There’s resignation here, an acknowledgment that blame feels pointless. The track captures that millennial sense of drifting towards disaster while being too emotionally exhausted to do anything about it.
Director Ramez Silyan, who previously worked with the band on “Pretty Boy” and “Stargazing,” delivers a cinematic visual that rewards longtime fans.
The video weaves together references to past Neighbourhood works. The dancefloor sequences recall “Lost in Translation,” the opening mirrors “Stargazing,” and the car crash imagery links back to “Private.”
This universe-building approach shows a band confident in their mythology.
Musically, the track radiates warmth and nostalgia despite its dark subject matter.
Producer Jono Dorr helps craft something hypnotic and chill, with a melancholy undertone that recalls Oasis at their most reflective.
The album blends ’90s alt-rock energy with modern introspection, drawing from Brit-pop while keeping their signature California indie sound intact.
What makes “Hula Girl” work so well as an opener is its maturity. Jesse Rutherford’s vocals balance delicate vulnerability with gritty confidence.
The production layers create a slow-burning atmosphere that pulls you deeper. There’s no desperate plea for attention, just assured songwriting that suggests The Neighbourhood have figured out exactly who they are after their hiatus.
This isn’t just a comeback. It’s a homecoming that proves the wait was worth it.
For more reviews of The Neighbourhood’s new era, visit Neon Music.
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