world, but the prettiness of the music often hides a deep-seated insecurity, a regret, an anxiety. Her lyrics read like avant garde novels or poems scrawled on napkin backs: on “Blades”, she sings of her fear of approaching an old, lost friend at a party: “We grew apart when you were fighting with your sister/ I don’t think I realised how horribly I missed you/ Now regret is flowering inside me while I’m scooping ice.
Brushed cymbals, jazz tempos and a lolloping sort of pace abound, and when longing sounds like love which sounds like anxiety which sounds like fear, it’s difficult to fully feel much at all.
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