Ava Valianti’s Running on Empty feels like finding an old photograph that takes you all the way back to a memory where there’s a warmth. But also an ache that sits quietly in you. It begins with a simple folk guitar and her voice, light and calm, the kind that fills a room without trying. The chords carry a gentle pull, a bit like All I Want by Kodaline, though Ava makes it feel closer to home.
The songwriting is what holds it together. “I once knew a girl, her name’s Mariama / We’d have sleepovers in purple pajamas.” It’s such a small memory, but she turns it into something bigger; a meditation on time, on how people slip through your fingers before you realise they’re gone.
Then she asks, “How do the people we love / Become people we know / Become people we forget / And we let go.” Ava’s really talking about the quiet, inevitable distance that time creates. How love doesn’t always end with a bang, but with silence and forgetting. It’s a reflection on how growing up often means losing touch with the people who once defined you.
The second verse mirrors it. The story of Jonny, the boy who taught her to skateboard. There’s innocence there, but also loss. Every image feels like something you’ve lived, even if you haven’t.
The production keeps it all simple. A clean guitar line, a quiet rhythm underneath, and faint synths that never overpower her voice. It’s arranged with care. Her tone is clear and almost angelic, carrying all the weight without ever breaking.
When she sings, “I hope you don’t regret me, I’m running on empty,” it lands softly but stays with you long after.
Running On Empty doesn’t try to fix the feeling. It just names it, and somehow that’s enough.
