Worry Club is the Chicago-based project of singer/songwriter Chase Walsh, whose diaristic songwriting and unfiltered emotional candor have earned the band a devoted, rapidly growing fan base since forming in 2020. Blending raw bedroom-pop vulnerability with sharp-edged alt-rock, Worry Club crafts songs that feel like late-night confessions — honest, self-effacing, darkly funny, and painfully self-aware. Over a steady run of singles and EPs, the band has amassed more than 20 million streams, connecting deeply with listeners through music that navigates anxiety, identity, mental health, and the absurdity of simply trying to stay afloat.

Their debut full-length, I’m Freaking Out, expands Worry Club’s world into a bigger, louder, and more emotionally volatile universe. Across its twelve tracks, Walsh writes with a cinematic sense of chaos — stories of drinking problems you’re not ready to admit (DRNKNG PRBLM), feeling too young and reckless to know better (Too Dumb To Die), spiraling inside your own house or someone else’s (I’m (Freaking Out)), and the surreal humor of imagining your own disappearance (I’m Ded!). The album moves between detached disassociation (Anything Else), aching intimacy (Fade Away, Gentle), existential exhaustion (Come And Get It), and the fragile hope that love — romantic or platonic — might be enough to keep you steady (My Girl).

Across the album, Walsh treats catastrophe and comedy as siblings, often singing about emotional collapse through a lens of self-deprecating wit and vivid, almost cartoonish imagery — giving your knees to someone else who can dance, selling your favorite guitar because it’s “covered in blood,” or arguing with major corporations who want their money “when I die.” It’s a record obsessed with the push-pull between wanting to disappear and wanting to be held, between spiraling alone and desperately trying to stay connected, between the hell inside your head and the strange comfort of the people who stick around anyway.

With I’m Freaking Out, Worry Club sharpens their identity into something unmistakable: music that confronts the mess head-on — bruised, honest, funny, and tender — and finds catharsis in naming the things we’re scared to say out loud. It’s an album about falling apart, piecing yourself back together, and realizing that even in the worst moments, you’re not alone.