Some things are best left unsaid. But for Molly Lewis, they might be better whistled. In her wonderfully quirky world, lyrics are omitted and replaced with high-pitched chirps and trills. Across her debut album On the Lips, Lewis invites you to sit back and relax in her so-called Café Molly universe, where the music is as glittering and enticing as the romantic world it conjures up.
Lewis’ idiosyncratic gift makes it easy to picture her as the lounge act hidden in a Guillermo del Toro film or at the Roadhouse in Twin Peaks. She knows how weird her career path is, dialing up the humor in the opening track: “Good evening,” she whispers. “Tonight I’ll be”—pause for dramatic effect—“whistling.”
Once you get past the initial eccentricity, Lewis’ whistling eventually becomes so familiar and immersive that her vocalizations feel as mundane as the soft crooning of a jazz singer. Song after song, her abilities are astounding—how she quivers the final note of “Cocosette” or sustains such a clear and steady tone on “Slinky” is impressive, even after multiple listens. She maintains your attention with wistful production flourishes, courtesy of her backing band. That might be a brief saxophone solo on the swaying “Lounge Lizard,” a distant choir on the tragic, Nancy Sinatra-like “Crushed Velvet,” or the gentle plinks of a piano on “Moon Tan.”
On the Lips is the kind of inviting ambient record that neither distracts entirely nor melts into monotony. Take “Slinky”: The opening synths and steady percussion resemble underwater submersion, but Lewis’ whistling persuades you to come up for air, beckoning you to her like a siren. Rather than dissolving into tedium, Lewis molds the accompanying background melodies to enhance and be enhanced by her vocalizations, a balance that makes On the Lips a singular joy.
Lewis’ cover of Jeanette’s 1974 track “Porqué Te Vas” keeps the same funkiness as the original, but she adapts it to her own loungey sound. It might be one of the more compelling tracks on On the Lips; driven by the slightly faster tempo, Lewis playfully chases after the track’s rolling guitars and percussion. On the Lips delights in taking things slow. Her songs feel romantic, full of longing—a fact only amplified by the listening instructions she offers in the album insert, which recommend ambient lighting and being dressed in ornate silk fabric.
The charming “Sonny”—which is dedicated to Kenneth “Sonny” Donato, former MC for Lewis’ Café Molly show series and Charles Bukowski associate—contains the same fantastical, expanding wonder as an Alexandre Desplat score and the vintage nostalgia of Jon Brion. Lewis’ music feels this way for a reason; she referred to her work as “soundtracks” back in 2021 and has been featured across film and TV, including last year’s Barbie. On the Lips succeeds as an introduction to her mystifying world: Its whimsicality leaves you spellbound, hoping to hear just one more faint whistle even after the final track fades out.
