Mastria

The piano entry is warm, but it's a little unexpected to begin the song at such an early stage. Slowly, the gated snare and synth pads join her, but they don't push. They wait. That's what makes ‘Echoes of Paradise' different from other songs constructed like this, that's the patience. The strings are behind her and her voice remains soft and intimate in the verse. Then the chorus asks, “Can anyone hear me? Can anyone see me?” Behind the two questions, the orchestra opens up. It's an unusual moment. The verses are careful and understated, the bigger parts are large because of that. As the song begins to become louder, I begin to notice how the space around the song seems to shift. She's playing alone for a moment and the acoustic guitar is close enough for you to hear the texture of her breathing between the lines. Then it expands outwards to something broad and almost film-like, more at home on a screen than a speaker. However, it does not sound like it...

A guitar plays single notes at a slow and measured pace as if to test the depth before stepping in. “The opening of ‘Mariana Trench’ is like that – and it doesn’t hurry up from there. Paul Garside's vocals have a placid quality that draws you in initially: one that's resigned to the fact that he will eventually go under. The key is low, the song is dark, and everything is heavy in the best way, but nothing in the worst way. The underlying beat is strong, steady, patient and calm. The second verse makes it clear that this song isn't asking for sympathy. It is a place that Garside is familiar with, but ordinary, curious images that don't explain themselves and don't need to. What interests me is that the chorus doesn't go so loud that it makes a point. Paul's attitude is very direct and straightforward – almost like a fact – and that's what makes it land. He does not want attention from you. He's just saying what's up and that's more convincing...

The synth line in THROES NYC's new EP, The Wires Out, doesn't just appear out of nowhere, but gradually makes its way into the track. The same mood carries into the darker of the two songs, “Something Chemical.” A bass that circles before the chorus, along with a sparse piano, sits under Courtney Leo's voice. Courtney's delivery remains low and somewhat distant, as if she is telling herself something that she knows may not be right for her. The bass has a funky feel and keeps moving underneath her, giving the song a tight and slightly off balance feeling. It makes you feel as if you're in a situation that keeps repeating itself. “Always, Baby” is quite a different story. It starts with just piano and voice, a much softer and more open sound than “Something Chemical.” Then the buzzing synths appear, followed by the guitars, and the song gradually becomes heavier and fuller. At the end, it's no longer the same tone as at the beginning, but rather more rugged and r...

A sustained note on electric piano – quiet, slow, before anything else comes in. Noah James Mass begins “I Am the One” with a breath of fresh air. For a bit, just keys and a light beat under Mass' vocals, but when the guitar finally leans in, it truly changes the atmosphere. His guitar is offset, with a rough edge that is befitting of the blues undertow throughout. I like this build for being patient. When bass comes in, the background vocals fill in, and the drums move from loose to locked. Nothing rushes. Every new part is earned and not added for effect. The words dance around a reiterated line, one that continually points at someone else, an outward-pointing ache. Then near the end it comes back to the same phrase, but it sounds different when you're aware of the change. It's a minor adjustment in the name of the song, but it's a huge shift in the meaning. Noah sings as if not yet finished, not yet thought out. He is low to the mic in quieter moments, but once the m...

Noah James Mass' debut single Misery Winter is quiet for a tale that is pressing so much, but that's what makes you listen first. The guitars are clean and bright, but there's something deeper underneath them. That's the secret behind the song. Even though the words are about going round and round the block, wanting to leave and never getting there, Mass sings smoothly and steadily. His voice stays clear and calm. It just continues on, and the hurt feels even more intense when it is silent and calm. The drums don't let up either. From the beginning, they have a steady tempo, and that tempo remains firm even though the lyrics get darker. I kept expecting the song to get slower and sadder, but it never does. It simply continues to walk, like the beat is the one thing that keeps him moving. It's also a little raw in the recording, not too clean and shiny. The instruments have a natural room character, with an analogue feel. That is the choice that adds authenticity...

The voice that comes in is very low, more like a conversation than a song, and you are instantly drawn to it. From the beginning, “Inside Out” does just that. No big opening or anything dramatic. It just gradually draws you in and captures your interest before you realize what is going on. It does not appear as though Sean MacLeod is trying to get your attention. He already has it. The music keeps playing without being too loud and the drums provide a steady pulse to the song. It's more of a person sharing their thoughts and you're there to listen. There isn't really a distinct message to the lyrics. They involve us in who we are, in reality, in showing what we want people to see. These are large concepts, but the song doesn't make them seem too grand or complicated. MacLeod will make you think about your life, without telling you how to feel. I was struck by the waiting in the song. It does not hurry anywhere or rush through its time. When it's needed he's ther...

A guitar line slowly comes in, there is no rush. That's how you feel from the moment you step onto the premises of Traces of the World. It's soothing, like the warmth of a room on a sunny day. The music creates a relaxed mood. Gianfranco GFN isn't going for high-octane entertainment or quick moves. Rather, it appears the instruments are talking to each other. The guitar and keys play against each other with the percussion playing a loose swaying beat below. The playing is spontaneous and natural, not over-rehearsed. The song is like a good trip, taking a break here, taking a break there. Parts increase and then decrease. A definite sense of passing places and people being met and left behind. The most noticeable aspect is the harmony of the styles. Jazz elements, soulful warmth and funky bounce. They are all in place but not overpowering the song. It still has plenty of life left and no one else is vying for attention. The second half is a tighter groove with increased ener...

That feeling on the neck, that pocket where everything locks in. You can't think of anything else. All you hear is the music, and it draws you in. Richard Green built "Holey Shoes" around a groove that wouldn't let go. All three instruments are breathing together, the guitar, bass and drums. It's natural and not something that had to be practiced until it was flawless. Some kind of looseness here, like Richard trusted in the moment more than he trusted the plan. The title "Holey Shoes" conveys a deeper meaning than initially understood. It's not really about the shoes. It is a reference to something more difficult, to people who go unnoticed and to difficulties that many of us pass by. I think that part was more memorable than I expected and added more meaning to the song. I like what the song doesn't do, it does not preach. It just leaves you with the idea and you feel the idea, you don't have to explain everything. This is something that...

Though all around appears to be against them, a small flame continues to burn in a dark corner. It doesn't need to be noticed, nor does it need to be seen. This is the image at the center of “Invisible Light” by AMARAH, and it remains present throughout the song. Her voice is quiet and calm, and she doesn't demand anything from you. She just shares what she is carrying, and you choose what it means to you. I was fascinated by the idea of calm confidence. From the get-go, it did something to me, before I knew what. The song is about releasing old patterns and how we self-protect without being aware of it. It got me thinking about how I do things, the little things I've developed to make me feel safe, and how some of them can feel tiring when you finally start to see them for what they are. There is a repeated idea about carrying something that can't be seen. I liked the fact that it doesn't really explain it. It's just like a person reminding themselves of someth...

The lights on the street are yellowish and red, they're together like it's one beam instead of two. “Sea of Light” is the sound that Naoko Hiranuma weaves into the song before you even know what it's about. She is upfront, with a close, accessible voice, and she's not trying to impress you. It just tells the story straight, and somehow makes it hit harder than if she'd made too much of it. The song is about two people who are traveling from a quiet space into an urban area at night, and as the journey unfolds, the characters' memories begin to merge. I really enjoyed that the song doesn't impose sadness. It allows the image to be clear and lets one trust their feeling. There is a part about the ocean, waiting for the right time to catch a wave, and patience and timing are something that can be heard throughout the whole song. It's not about surfing, of course. It's waiting for something good to come, and it's not always coming. The song then chan...