There’s nothing tentative about “LESSONS OF CHIRON”. bridget mariie’s voice carries the weight of lived experience, and the songs don’t soften the blows. They sit with them.
From the first track, you feel the rawness. Piano ballads like “I Am” push against silence with repetition that feels less like artifice and more like ritual. The lyrics hit hard without being dramatic. They’re deliberate. Words feel chosen in the way someone who’s lived through the wreckage might speak. No time for decoration, just truth.
The production leans analog, literally. Recorded to tape at the Bok building in Philly, there’s a texture to the sound that suits the material. Hazy guitars, slow-burn drums, and breathing room for every tremble in the voice. Think 90s alt and shoegaze, but stripped of nostalgia.
If you’ve ever lived through something that tried to erase you, this album won’t feel distant. It’ll feel necessary, and if “LESSONS OF CHIRON” lands for you like it did for me, go follow bridget mariie. You’ll want to be there for what’s next.
