The bewitching singer-songwriter’s third album takes her music in a wilder, more vulnerable direction
By NATALIE SALTER — arts@theaggie.org
The contemporary dating scene — one so emotionally barren that the term “situationship” has emerged to define almost every romance — tends to make true love look like a distant, almost illusory prospect. Is it really old fashioned to expect a lover who will show you utter affection and devotion? Does love from fairytales and romantic comedies even exist in reality?
These questions have eternally tormented the Icelandic-Chinese singer-songwriter Laufey, who waltzed onto the music scene in 2020 with hopeless romantic dreams and a hearty appreciation for the classics. With a sirenic voice and a catalogue of jazz standards at her disposal, she has staunchly refused to give up on her belief in “happily ever after,” no matter how hard the world tries to shake her faith.
Laufey’s third full-length album, “A Matter Of Time,” is undoubtedly her most daring. Those who found solace in her previous starry-eyed daydreaming, however, will still be satisfied with her latest project, where these feelings burn brighter than ever. “Lover Girl” infuses the infectious sparkle of breakout hit “From The Start” with a summery twist. On the other hand, “Snow White” picks up threads of past insecurities and lets them loose, Laufey’s voice cracking and aching over a quiet string melody.
Perhaps Laufey’s specialty is her ability to paint stories of love lost and found, so grand they feel like film scenes, only to remind the listener that she’s living in as much of a desperate reality as they are. On “Clockwork,” a magical tale of a first date set against a jazzy backdrop, she wonders if her lover is running late because, “like me, he probably had to regurgitate.”
The contrast between the album’s strikingly raw lyrics and swelling musical soundscape may be an echo of how its creator’s romanticism is out of place in our modern world. Though she wants her Prince Charming, she’s stuck with an insecure ex who spends his days “screaming at the TV / Cussing out opposing football teams” (“Tough Luck”). Her potential beaus waste time mansplaining Homer and Edgar Allan Poe: “You’re just a stoner patronizing me,” she eyerolls on “Mr. Eclectic.”
Laufey’s dissatisfaction soon finds itself sinking into agony, though the result of her despair is heart-wrenchingly beautiful. On “Forget-Me-Not,” a fluttering, ballet-esque flute swells into a powerful chorus, during which the singer dances between English and Icelandic to beg for her eternal remembrance. The bridge of “Too Little, Too Late” is one of her most memorable, capturing her crying out desperately for a lover who is engaged to another.
On tracks like “Carousel” and “Cuckoo Ballet (Interlude)” Laufey’s ability to craft melodies infused with pure enchantment is stunning. The faintest of instrumental details — a twinkling chime, a brief sound of accordion, a grand clock ringing — elevate the entire song with their delicate beauty, like golden engravings on an ornate music box. Her songs are pockets of exquisite magic, as if she has given melody to glowing stardust and childhood dreams.
What truly elevates “A Matter Of Time” beyond its predecessors, however, is Laufey’s willingness to let her own flaws crack open this enchanting world. As much as she wants it to be, her life is no tale of true love; she’s not even a perfect princess herself. The album’s closer, “Sabotage,” is the ultimate culmination of this admission. The track is torn apart by explosive moments of unadulterated cacophony — instruments screaming and grating in a picture of her anger, grief and self-doubt. It’s this portrayal of her hopes and fears, side by side, that makes “A Matter Of Time” feel like a more complete, authentic image of the singer’s psyche.
Laufey might have the answer for the old souls desperate for a seemingly impossible soulmate. This world is messy and complicated and will often leave you bleeding; nothing, and no one, is ever perfect. But that’s no reason to give up on love. Rather, to hold onto your romanticism with bruised hands, refusing to relent when it would be so easy to become jaded and hopeless, is the most courageous thing you can do. And, if Laufey won’t let pretentious posers or failed situationships ruin her lover-girl tendencies, you shouldn’t either.
Written by: Natalie Salter—arts@theaggie.org
