Underneath its tiled canopy of gambrel roofs and curved eaves, the cityscape of Rotterdam bares the fruit of one 20 year old whose artistry tessellates with prowess.
Mineral fuels, pharmaceuticals and electrical machinery. The Manhattan on the Meuse has many major exports, but Liza Weald might just be its most precious. Despite her majesty, the brunette visionary cuts a reserved figure, veiled by a refreshingly scalding coolness that lightly draws its breath like a summer zephyr.
Envisage the enamouring fragrance of Bear’s Den, piggybacked by a romantic bouquet of Fleet Foxes and First Aid Kit. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and Weald has truly conferred this sentiment with a beguilingly simplistic rune. A humble comparison to this esteemed trinity wouldn’t even come close to scratching at the surface of flattery.
In just over 3 minutes we’re treated to an embarrassment of riches. Syncopated flickers of fingerpicked strings interlaced between sweetly redolent anecdotes. Her feathery cadence that breathes with a stylishly facile grandeur. A warming key change that inflates the folk-driven chorus’ jubilant emphasis. Wealds methodology is one that blooms with a chromatic glow, all the while being clarified in a black and white print that spells out ‘virtuoso’.
In reference to Freud’s iceberg analogy, this record is just the tip of the young songstress’ scary potential, with the whole EP a polished opus that reveals more secrets with every play. Dunes are characterised by their reservoir-like curves, becoming taller and more magnificent the further away you get. Take two steps back, listen intently, and you’ll begin to appreciate this record in exactly the same way.