The Ting Tings Trade Chaos for Clarity on Their Most Honest Album Yet

After seven years of near silence and just as many detours, The Ting Tings have returned. But this isn’t a loud, brash comeback. It’s something bolder. 'Home' is not a grab for relevance. It’s a deliberate, soul-searching pivot into vulnerability, restraint, and the kind of musical maturity that only comes with time.

You remember them for the snarling energy of “That’s Not My Name” and the punked-out swagger of “Shut Up and Let Me Go.” But Katie White and Jules De Martino aren’t here to recycle the past. With 'Home,' the UK duo pulls back the curtain, trades attitude for atmosphere, and delivers a body of work that feels lived-in, not manufactured. And it hits, not with impact, but with depth. 'Home' is a quiet storm. A slow burn. A triumph.

The album’s mission is clear from the first note of “Good People Do Bad Things,” a buttery soft opener that invites compassion over condemnation. White’s vocals glide with empathy while De Martino holds it down with grooves that barely rise above a whisper. It’s disarmingly tender, and it sets the tone for everything that follows.

Where "We Started Nothing" shouted, 'Home' listens. On “Dreaming” and “Winning,” the lyrics explore the tension between ambition and emptiness. “What are you really winning when you’re winning?” Katie asks. There’s no irony, just a naked question that lands like a punch to the gut.

The record is also deeply personal. “Song For Meadow” and “In My Hand” are love letters to the couple’s daughter, aching with quiet devotion. This isn’t performative parenting. It’s real. It’s raw. And it’s beautiful.

Production-wise, 'Home' is a masterclass in analog subtlety. Synths hum like nostalgia. Guitars shimmer in soft focus. Pianos echo like late-night confessions. Everything is intentional, down to the silences.

The album’s midpoint is its strongest. “Goodbye Song” could pass for a forgotten TV theme from the early 80s, soaked in sax and sentiment. “Dance on the Wire” floats in with the poise of vintage Roxy Music. The closing track, “Down,” doesn’t end the record; it leaves it suspended in midair, unresolved but at peace.

'Home' isn’t here to trend. It’s here to mean something. It’s not an album you blast, but one you carry. The Ting Tings didn’t reinvent themselves. They remembered who they were and turned that into something honest, fragile, and maybe even timeless.

They didn’t come back to be loud. They came back to be real. And it worked.

"Home" feels like a complete sonic shift from the brash energy of your early work. What emotional or personal breakthrough gave you both the permission to slow down and lean into softness on this album?

There are a number of seismic emotional reasons why we shifted style on our new album.

COVID was one. Locked in writing and recording without mixing with other beings, little interaction or sharing had a massive effect on enjoying something new without much interference.

Disillusionment with the music industry and the current state of play meant we wanted to be truly independent and be our creative selves without management opinions, label qualms, doubters, or ego-driven trend followers.

Becoming parents for the first time is probably the biggest distraction in our lives to date. We were kinda done. There were many reasons why we didn't fancy being a band anymore, so we closed shop and just enjoyed writing while in this new cocooned life.

You've mentioned building studios in wild places, from LA with no plumbing to boats and trailers. How do these offbeat environments affect your songwriting, and did the isolation of Ibiza give "home" a different kind of clarity or warmth?

We've always preferred to be the underdog. Fame is a disease, a terrible hindrance and burden, so moving from one place to another felt like deconstruction, a new start every time. We had done LA, Berlin, the South of France, and London in the same manner. Building a new studio is part of the songwriting process for us.

We stumbled into Ibiza when we played Ibiza Rocks during the album tour and found ourselves drawn back sometime later to do some recording. The summer music scene isn't anything we were interested in, tbh. We found a winter scene that was mild weather with a sprinkling of artists who had risked isolation by distancing themselves from the cosmopolitan musical city lifestyles. We met Andy Taylor from Duran Duran, and we collectively moved into a small studio for a while, mostly because we shared the same view of the disastrous world of music and what it was becoming. We bought an old house on a hillside, then went back on tour. Years later, we returned, and that's when the Island really impacted us.

Completing the new album 'Home' on the Island made total sense. We were not coming here on holiday or to chill or party anymore. We were coming home. It felt like home. The mindset, sustainability, health consciousness, and freedom for our new family. More time to look at music from a new perspective, away from all the unwanted noise. Felt safe, something we had not felt for a bloody long time.

There's a deep undercurrent of parenting throughout this record. How has becoming a family changed the way you view vulnerability in your music, especially with songs like "Song for Meadow" and "In My Hand"?

Before having a child, there was no distraction. We just worked 24/7. We traveled, we moved around, and we performed and experimented on the flip of a coin. We thought it was ideal, paradise, and the way dedication was meant to be as artists. But having a family meant distraction.

A crying daughter, a sick or hungry or frightened baby that we attended to with love and care, we could be midway into a recording or writing session or meeting, and we would just stop. It's the only way. She comes first. From the moment she arrived, everything changed. We could never have stopped mid-session before. It was so refreshing. Records take time to write, record, and experience. We found we could do much more by legitimately moving away from the task, and in turn, it inspired us to dig deeper. Everything is moving way too fast to be any cop these days.

You once said you considered changing your band name entirely. In an era obsessed with reinvention, why did you ultimately choose to keep the Ting Tings, and how does "home" challenge people's expectations of what that name means now?

We named ourselves 'Demartino & white' to de-shackle from the Ting Tings. We pinned pictures of all our favorite artists whose songs we had been listening to forever, all on a mood board: Steely Dan, The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Bread, and Gerry Rafferty, to name but a few. We did what was natural while nurturing our new family without any touring or social media ties, just writing songs.

No tech, no tricks, no fads. Just playing our real instruments between parenting hours in lockdown. Then, when the songs were mostly written, we sensed excitement in the prospect of recording them properly and getting them heard. The Ting Tings is our DNA, our bloodline, something we are hugely proud of, so we took the step back into the limelight to finish the recordings and start announcing on socials that we had a new record in the making. The reinvention is in the music, not the band. It's still us two. Though we live, we are a nine-piece. We woke up in the eagles.

Tracks like "Good people do bad things" and "Winning" explore internal conflict with brutal honesty. Was there ever a moment during the making of this record where you had to rewrite or rethink a song because it felt "too real"?

No. Given there's always some finessing in songwriting, this album was in its own lane from the moment we decided to detach and just write. Whatever we wrote immediately spoke volumes in the lyrics, melodies, and music. There was never a need to re-evaluate. It took 3 years to write and 4 years to write and record. We were under no deadlines or expectations. We're writing again now. We want to get old doing it this way.