ALBUM: Lizzie Reid – ‘Cubicle’

Glaswegian singer-songwriter Lizzie Reid pushes through post-breakup pangs and towards bold self-assurance on her debut EP, Cubicle. A mixture of new additions and pre-loved tracks, the record is a serene snapshot into a definitive healing process that enabled the singer to learn more about herself and her sexuality.

Lo-fi opener ‘Tribute’ starts with stripped back strums as Reid sings “I will try not to / laugh it off in solitude / but I don’t understand / quite why you left,” signifying the inescapable relationship post-mortem, questioning everything in order to rebuild oneself. Mesmerising melancholy continues in the equally beautiful ‘Seamless’, which showcases a Country twang to her vocals. Each hand-picked detail is painfully relatable as she admits, “I still have your clothes / I’ll be wearing your jumper,” marking the physical emblems we hold onto when we’re not ready to let go.

Reid recalls heartbreak with the same vivacity as Julia Jacklin on Crushing – each line so overtly honest and elevated with every note. ‘Always Lovely’ echoes melodies from Laura Marling that tail off throughout Once I Was An Eagle, enhancing a despondence to her tone which later forms into a choral crest that shows a determination of strength, despite exposing a palpable tenderness.

On ‘Been Thinking About You’ Reid’s vocals mirror Helena Deland, with the last lingering notes echoing those of Jeff Buckley. Cubicle‘s title track is the real clincher, the finale you can only hope for in an already stunning assortment of vignettes. “I can’t escape this night / I’m in the cubicle” Reid details feeling trapped while in a weird limbo between breaking up and moving on: “the sweet unbearable”. We’re left hearing a bittersweet surrender, signalling the acceptance of growing apart from someone.

Lizzie Reid’s debut album Cubicle is an aural elixir that illustrates storytelling in its truest form. The last notes lingering on for a long time to come.

Photo Credit: Chris Almeida

Charlotte Croft

EP: Miss Grit – ‘Impostor’

The phenomenon of impostor syndrome, something most of us have either heard about or experienced first hand, often refers to an internal and individual belief that you are not as qualified or capable as others perceive you to be. On her second EP Imposter, Miss Grit (aka Margaret Sohn) proves she is anything but her record’s namesake. This self-released offering depicts Sohn’s misplaced feelings of being fraudulent through her own lens, and addresses her life-long journey through racial impostor syndrome which she experienced as a half-Korean girl growing up in the white suburbs of Michigan.

‘Don’t Wander’ is a short and sweet-sounding start of strings and murmured vocals which sets the listener up for guttural gusto in later tracks when these sceptical thoughts begin to take a firmer hold. “If they think you’re somebody / You’ll have to prove you’ve got what they want,” sings Sohn in ‘Buy The Banter’ which is a more explicit narrative of power plays in our attempts to stay relevant and the incessant need to convince others of our abilities.

“I wish I was blonde”, Sohn coos in the ethereal intro to ‘Blonde’, its choral crescendo shows harmonies that echo Shoegaze veterans Ride, and aurally signifies how these thoughts can be overly intrusive. ‘Grow Up To’ acts as an audible wish-list as Sohn continually longs to achieve more, while musically, it demonstrates how the multi-instrumentalist can merge gnarly guitars and luscious melodies to create powerful soundscapes that boast a well-produced polish. ‘Dark Side of the Party’ is a perkier extension of these sounds and recalls those of fellow polymath St. Vincent.

Despite anxieties of impersonating musicians, Sohn has created a cathartic collection of tracks which sees her put a sonic stamp on her ever growing talents as a musician, singer and producer. If this is the soundtrack to self-doubt, what delights can we expect to hear from the eventual sounds of self-confidence?


Listen to Impostor on bandcamp or Spotify

Follow Miss Grit on Instagram & Facebook

Charlotte Croft

Photo Credit: Natasha Willson