If music were a dreamscape, Beautiful Terrier by Burnt Log would be the kind of lucid dream you never want to wake up from—strange, moving, and filled with unexpected turns that leave you thinking about it long after it ends. This is Burnt Log’s third full-length album in just three years, and it feels like the most personal, most daring, and most complete vision yet from the mind of Scottish artist Andy Smith.
From the very first notes, Beautiful Terrier wraps you in its cinematic indie prog world—a sound that borrows the raw nerves of post-punk and the ambitious structures of 70s progressive rock, all stitched together with bedroom-recording vulnerability. It’s a unique cocktail, and it works because Smith leans fully into his strengths: vivid storytelling, bold arrangements, and that unmistakable voice of his—half wounded poet, half wide-eyed observer of a mad world.
Let’s talk about the title track, Beautiful Terrier, because it’s not just a highlight, it’s a mission statement. Inspired by the courage of Yulia Navalnaya and her relentless spirit in the face of political danger, this track is cinematic in every sense. The way the music builds—layer by careful layer—mirrors the emotional weight of its subject. It’s full of tension and release, sorrow and strength. Smith’s vocals tremble with quiet power, and the lyrics don’t just tell a story—they show you the heart of it.
Then there’s School, a sprawling, almost surreal journey back to the halls of a harsh 1980s high school. But this isn’t nostalgia—it’s reckoning. Through shifting musical movements and haunting refrains, Smith paints a picture of adolescence as a battleground. There’s fear, embarrassment, rebellion—all told with such intimate honesty you might find your own teenage ghosts stirred up by the chorus. It’s not a track; it’s a time machine.
Now, Look What I Made—this one hits different. There’s something beautifully fragile about it, like flipping through a handmade photo album filled with cracked smiles and half-finished projects. It feels like Smith speaking directly to the listener, proudly yet nervously showing off his creation, unsure if it will be understood. The instrumentation here is gorgeously understated, letting the lyrics and emotion shine. It’s like hearing someone whisper something important in a loud world.
And then… Sharks. This one bites. It’s darker, more jagged, and full of teeth. Sharks is one of the more direct tracks on the album, but no less layered. There’s anger here, and anxiety too, but it’s cleverly wrapped in a groove that pulls you in before you realize how sharp the edges are. It’s catchy but haunting, like a warning set to music.
Across Beautiful Terrier, what stands out most is the sheer ambition. These are not quick, easy listens. Smith demands your attention—not because he shouts, but because he whispers with meaning. The album never settles, never repeats, always pushing forward. Each track feels like a miniature world, thoughtfully built, with emotions and textures that bloom the more you listen.
It’s also worth mentioning the production—recorded in less-than-ideal conditions, this album somehow sounds huge. It’s a testament to care and creativity. And the artwork? Smith painted it himself. That kind of full-circle artistry—music, visuals, story—is rare and refreshing.
Beautiful Terrier isn’t background music. It’s a companion for long walks, late-night reflections, and deep listening. Burnt Log isn’t chasing fame here; he’s chasing truth—and sometimes, beauty, even if it’s messy or melancholy. That’s what makes this album so special.
Dive in. Let it rattle around your brain. Let it move you. Let it remind you that the most interesting art often comes from the edges—from one man in a room with a guitar, a microphone, and a head full of dreams.
