New Zealand songwriter Nadia Reid's debut album begins with the kind of Zen-like certainty that only comes after taking stock. "When I hit the ground in all my glory/ I will know where I have come from," she sings on "Runway", its opening track. Listen to Formation, Look for the Signs finds the 24-year-old Aucklander dissecting a relationship whose end illuminates new layers of failure and hidden motives with each re-examination. Reid's outlook on love may be hopeless, but her blunt words are cocooned by the warmth and unusual hookiness of the varied arrangements.
Listen is a soothing, folky Americana album that recalls the work of Laura Marling, Gillian Welch, Hope Sandoval, and Nina Nastasia. Reid isn't reinventing anything, in other words, though Listen is itself more inventive than many records of its ilk. Its main mode is a kind of glowering hush made up of gentle acoustic guitar, glints of pedal steel from Sam Taylor, and Richie Pickard's glacial double bass, very occasionally chased by Joe McCallum's spindly drums. The band changes the pace with waltzing rhythms that evoke rural dance halls ("Just to Feel Alive"), or pare back the already-ghostly instrumentation to let Reid's nimble voice come to the fore ("Ruby").
There are a few electric moments that evoke the leap Sharon Van Etten took between Because I Was in Love and Tramp. The stormy weather of "Reaching Through" is broken up with sparkling, ascendent layers of Reid's voice and strings; the bowed guitars and clanking metallic chords of "Seasons Change" bring to mind the National. The gorgeous "Call the Days" marries the poppier sensibility of Reid's heavy songs with the grave palette of her more candlelit numbers. Throughout, she shapes her words into characterful, sticky hooks, which feels rare for this genre of music.
Not to underestimate the experiences behind Reid's lyrics, but the loss of faith that unravels throughout the record comes off a little grave, reminiscent of those fogged post-heartbreak moments where it's impossible to believe you'll ever be happy again—the kind you look back on and laugh. And some of these songs are seven years old, written in her teens, which may explain why love is a "fiery black disease" and delusion, marriage is a convenience, and she can't even believe other people's happiness. "Bittersweet I am when it comes to young love," Reid sings on "Ruby", exposing her occasional tendency for Folk Yoda-style inversions.
But there are also beautiful, revealing turns of phrase: on "Reaching Through" Reid admits, "If I am bound for something, honey won't you know, that I always take the shortest fucking road." "Seasons Change" sneaks a crushing truth into the lifespan of a relationship: "It's good to love a heart who surely understands/ The coming of the day/ The beauty of the land/ The act of being sorry/ The breaking of a man." "Call the Days" feels like the resolution to all the heartache and anger, Reid declaring, "I threw out my winter coat/ I cut the sleeves off all I'd known." Although by no means the finished article, Reid's acute understanding of where she's been sets her up nicely for what happens next.
