Her name is Natalie Prass, and in her recordings you can visualise her lips against the microphone, and the eyes of every member of the succinct, vigilant orchestra accompanying her, following her every twitching like treadmills watch feet run on them.
Previously she was known for performing backing vocals for Jenny Lewis, and I see that lines connect things you wouldn't expect, but you like the two things the lines connect, and understand, perhaps there is a uniformity in my tastes which I am unable to identify expressly, but I am glad of that secret.
I'm spending more time on escalators and pathways between platforms and the suggestive violin arrangements recontextualise every commuter into a person with a destination, and I am the only one who knows, because I have the headphones, I have Prass.
Yet I do not tell them, because that would disrupt them.
Prass sings very simple lyrics, 'In a house filled with books that nobody reads, so many things will fill my life but only one will do - it is you. It is you, it is you.' And the music behind brings to mind Audrey Hepburn overdramatising a wander through her living room frequently pausing to sit on furniture and balance her head on two hands parallel to the soft, dull carpet...
I enjoy listening to plain lyrics like these, unsteeped in originality yet not steeped in unoriginality, just as one Taylor Swift lyric can capsize us.
My beleaguered “generation” and I may attempt to protect ourselves from emotional harm (and our grim inheritance) by stockpiling absurdities, but we will probably still go prostrate during a moment of disarming simplicity, pathetic mortality, or genuine romance.
I'm in love with noise and grain, reflections, and the mischief of accidents, and I learn more about the importance of that every day. I feel like Natalie Prass embraces a little of this amid the din of the careful orchestration that steps around her. And it's great to be guided by that idea.