Luluc's latest album, Sweet Thief, is a captivating journey into the realm of dream-folk, where every note is carefully crafted to transport listeners to a different dimension. The album's concise structure, with songs averaging just a couple of minutes, is a refreshing change from the epic lengths often associated with modern music. This is not just a stylistic choice, but a deliberate statement about the value of brevity in an age of information overload.
Zoë Randell and Steve Hassett, the duo behind Luluc, have always been known for their minimalist approach, but Sweet Thief takes this to a new level. Each song is a delicate masterpiece, like a ship in a bottle, with intricate details that leave a lasting impression. The opener, 'Honeyeater', sets the tone with its archaic inversion and Ren Faire imagery, reminiscent of early Leonard Cohen. Hassett's acoustic guitar figure is stark and dusky, oozing a low, dark energy that permeates the entire album.
What makes Sweet Thief truly fascinating is the way it rescales our perspective. The average song length of a couple of minutes feels like an extravagant jam, and the album as a whole packs a satisfying breadth of experience and emotional heft in just 26 minutes. This is a testament to the power of brevity, where less truly becomes more.
Luluc's music is part of a twee rainbow that touches down in many places, from England in the '60s to California in the '70s and Glasgow around Y2K. Randell's singing style is often compared to Nico's deadpan murmur, but I hear more of Karen Carpenter's dreamy virtuosity, the wafting Georgia side of Yo La Tengo, and the countrypolitan cuddliness of Camera Obscura. These references are not just stylistic nods, but a reflection of the band's ability to blend diverse influences into a cohesive whole.
The lyrics on Sweet Thief occasionally take on a didactic quality, but they are balanced by gushers of sunshine and a power clash of the overdone and the understated. The stuff about preachers and pharmaceutical prophets on 'Wanna Get Free' is as po-faced as it gets, but it is juxtaposed with lines like 'You were made to smile and shake that thing', creating a compelling tension. In my opinion, Luluc's music is better the less of it there is, and Sweet Thief is a testament to this philosophy.
Sweet Thief is not just an album; it's an experience. It's a journey through a speculative demi-world where everything is half its size, and every song is a compressed yet complete transmission from Luluc's dream-folk realm. It's a reminder that in an age of information overload, brevity can be a powerful tool, and that sometimes less truly is more.
