Twin brothers Jan and Josef Prasil, known as Amistat, have spent years chasing connection across continents. Born in Rosenheim, Germany, with Czech and Australian roots, they began busking on the streets of Melbourne before moving to Berlin—trading sidewalks for house shows and softly lit theatres. Their name, Amistat—the Catalan word for “friendship”—feels less like a brand than a statement of intent: to create from kinship, to sing from shared breath.

Their new release, What We Are EP (via Nettwerk), is a quiet act of return. Stripped of pretense, it’s built from guitar, mandolin, banjo, and the tender ache of two intertwined voices. It resists spectacle, chasing instead the soft gravity of truth. “We don’t feel that art should be created for the increased popularity of the artist,” they told Americana Highways. “It should serve the needs of audiences and fans, and help them form a connection with each other.”

That intention shapes every corner of the record. “Stranger” unfolds like a letter never sent—fragile harmonies reaching across distance. “Sweetheart” turns inward, tending to the self with gentle urgency. Each track feels unpolished in the best way: you can hear breath between lines, the small scrape of a string, the room itself becoming part of the song. Amistat record in short bursts—just a few songs at a time—to preserve immediacy, and it shows. Nothing here feels overthought; it feels felt.

Their influences—Ben Howard, Damien Rice, Simon & Garfunkel—hover at the edges but never overwhelm. What We Are isn’t nostalgia; it’s renewal. The production is lean and alive, allowing the brothers’ harmonies to do the heavy lifting. The EP asks quietly, Who are we when the noise fades? It doesn’t answer; it dwells.

And yet, the release lands in a moment when the music industry feels allergic to patience. Spotify’s pro-rata model funnels most revenue to the top fraction of artists, while the rest fight algorithmic indifference. Listeners are conditioned to swipe, not sit. Artists are forced to feed the machine—dropping singles every 90 days just to stay visible—while concept albums gather dust. It’s a kind of cultural long-COVID, a pause on depth until the system remembers how to breathe.

Amistat, to their credit, seem immune to the fever. What We Are feels like a refusal to chase virality; it’s an invitation back to human scale.

7.5 / 10 — a hushed, heartfelt stand against the noise.

Review by Lucan Koroš, Shrewsbury-based writer, producer, and former A&R for Central Europe's Adriatika Records. A college dropout turned tastemaker, he champions raw, authentic voices through MojoMic.