Leopard~Sukha
When we last wrote about Emilie Reid, "House of the Silent" looked back at destruction without pretending its intensity had lost all its attraction. Her debut album "Leopard~Sukha" now places that tension inside something louder, stranger and considerably more colourful. Reid pulls from the oversized pop-rock language of the late 70s and 80s, but there is nothing particularly obedient about the way she uses it. Guitars arrive with swagger, synths glow around the edges, psychedelia slips into otherwise direct songwriting and arrangements have a habit of changing shape just when you think you understand them. Some songs feel polished and cinematic, others loose enough to expose the musicians underneath, giving the album the sense that Reid would rather follow an interesting instinct than maintain a consistent surface. That works particularly well across material written years apart. Instead of disguising those distances, "Leopard~Sukha" turns them into part of its character: different desires, different mistakes, different versions of the same woman colliding on one record. Heartbreak is here, but so are appetite, humour, excess and the exhilaration of becoming more certain about what you want. Even Reid's nostalgia avoids becoming comfortable. The period references are seductive precisely because she understands how easily glamour and damage can occupy the same room. What we heard in "House of the Silent" was one side of that relationship; the album reveals how much bigger and messier the picture is. "Leopard~Sukha" doesn't sound like a debut designed to introduce Reid neatly. It sounds like someone emptying the entire wardrobe onto the floor and deciding there is no reason she has to choose one thing to wear.