One naturally closes their eyes, envisioning the airy ideal described in “Pictured It,” the opening track from Lizdelise’s much-anticipated album Holy Matrimony. The imagery of a futuristic fantasy shifts into drearier tone with the admission, “But I didn’t picture it right”. Confident guitar expertly intervenes, bobbing and weaving as the elegantly intimate vocals provide a soothing hypnotic counterpoint on “Tell Me”. It’s an alluring appeal toward personal connection, with a mythical, storytelling element that comes to a head with the gripping power of the questioning refrain.
A laidback, sitting-alone-in-a-room, peaceful ambiance is conveyed in “Wise,” as the smooth electro-percussive groove merges with acoustic guitar, creating a delicate harp-esque backdrop. Recalling a foreshadowing of apprehension, the song drifts between the past and the present. Amid the graceful composition, a guitar-fueled fire ignites. Reinforced by a backend bounce, “Boy” is led by another flame-throwing, infectious riff. Imagining the hypothetical and being caught at a stalemate between two difficult options. The track captures a sense of empathy within feelings of loneliness. The heartbeat gradually increases as the synth and bass unite in a climb that’s partially the calm of a head in the clouds, while revealing a sensitivity. Then, “Boy II” instrumentally punctuates explosively engulfing the aftermath.
With “Probably Die,” a looming internal struggle generates tension, preparing for the aftershocks of a breakup before it happens. An ethereal meditation works through a personal confession. What starts as a delicate daydream begins to turn into raw, emotive energy, which is stacked higher and higher. “Interlude” releases that tension with the striking beauty of sonic fireworks.
Percussion cracks open the shell of personality as “Sated” explores one’s ever-evolving character traits and how continuous fluctuation creates detours along the road of contentment. Within the electronic swirl, the unifying, universal acceptance that we’re all on a similar voyage is countered by an unresolved anxiousness. “Twilight Sleep” instantly slips into an enchanting trance. The electro pulse and guitar shreds enter, subsequently trapping one in a lonely dream state, before “Forever” lyrically ponders the narrator’s existential purpose, and whether a sense of temporary aimlessness will linger indefinitely. While contextually not appearing on solid ground, the song retains a graceful nature.
Holy Matrimony captures a vulnerable/volatile dynamic, eloquently exploring one’s current circumstances while remaining unabashedly exposed. The trio has created an album that engages at every turn. For fans of St. Vincent and Angel Olsen, you now have a new, emerging artist to swoon over. – Michael Colavita