British tones. Angeles tempos. That’s the point. That you can come to the light amidst darkness, create an echo in the silence. Basilisk beats, She wanders. Homeward-bound, London found in lost Angeles.
Visceral. The vocals emerge from serpent strings, Valkyries returned on ravens wings, crooning tales to be told of once-lived dreams. Jess sings the blues of a sapient soul found in barren canyons of scarred star-trails. The lyrical lens navigates mood and melody, the narrative unfolds within spliced vignettes – into the Pacific Channel on angels we arrive, through the lostlands and Sunset, emerged from neon aquatic.
Tone and timbre, tears and tempos; bricks and mortar for the rhythms we inhabit as our own. Letting go of what you didn’t know you had, that is what this finds with home.
Indie pop female Brits of late hurt harmonies like no other… That claimed consonance relies on perceptual fusion of two absolutes – the depths and the heights, the peaks and valleys of life: inside, left out. Here, it’s the wisdom of the python bassline, guiding from the belly, the terrestrial echo of true percussion, the vocals alone and yet – so layered, so distant, so aligned.
These songs speak to lives lived somewhere, layer upon layer upon layer of a single voice accompanying its very own self – the lost find life in this. The harmony relies on the hurt, the Heaven in retrospective darkness: that you made it across the desert, that you crossed the channel, that you cleared the Atlantic to taste the pacific and emerge baptized in that neon aquatic. To travel with no shoes on … is to leave a footprint of your own, for future lost to find: in home at last.
#watchthisspace
This record speaks volumes. #staytuned
(The) Epochauserie 