Tarmac Lyrics – Joji | from “Piss In The Wind”

Joji’s Piss In The Wind drifts in like a late-night fog on February 6, 2026, via Palace Creek, his fourth studio full-length since the gut-punch of 2022’s SMITHEREENS—and “Tarmac” is the hazy closer that lingers like rain-slicked asphalt after a goodbye you didn’t see coming.

This two-minute sprawl is Joji at his most unhurried: vaporous synths bleeding into ambient swells, his falsetto threading through like a half-remembered dream, all wrapped in that signature lo-fi R&B haze with subtle trap undercurrents that nod to his 88rising roots. It’s a sonic exhale—part ballad, part fever—evoking endless drives down empty highways, where the hum of tires becomes a mantra for moving on.

Thematically, it’s pure Joji alchemy: unraveling the quiet violence of departure, those “what if” fractures in love’s rearview, laced with fleeting hope amid the blur. Co-produced with his inner circle (think early Filthy Frank collaborators like Ricegum on the edges), it’s got that bedroom-recorded intimacy, teased in a grainy Insta clip last week where Joji murmured about “paving over the cracks,” sending fans into a frenzy of speculation on X.

Piss In The Wind? It’s a 21-track odyssey of futile chases and fragile sparks, clocking around 50 minutes of eclectic heart-bleeds—opener “PIXELATED KISSES” kicks off with glitchy romance, “Cigarette” simmers in smoky regret, while features from Yeat on the trap-tinged “Rose Colored,” Don Toliver’s silk on “Fragments,” GIVĒON’s baritone depth in “Piece of You,” and 4batz’s whisper-rap on a yet-untitled cut add layers without stealing the soul. Interludes like “YUKON” strip it bare, and closers like “Hotel California” and this gem twist Eagles nods into modern malaise. No grand concept, just Joji’s evolution: ditching the viral stuntman sheen for painterly portraits of longing, recorded piecemeal between Tokyo hideouts and LA haze. Official rollout hit his socials yesterday with the full tracklist, hyping vinyl variants and a potential Tension II tour tie-in.

Joji—George Miller to the die-hards—is in quiet command at 35, post-Smithereens’ therapy-fueled confessions and that surprise Coachella sunrise set last April, where he flipped “Slow Dancing in the Dark” into a crowd catharsis. He’s traded YouTube chaos for auteur status, stacking Grammys and billions streamed, but this feels like the pivot: less about the void, more about filling it with fleeting light, proving the wind might piss back if you lean in just right.