Glasgow, Scotland’s Lizzie Reid made a minor splash just this past February with her debut Cubicle, a set of seven songs consisting of acoustic singer-songwriter material and more blues tinged efforts such as “Seamless” and “Been Thinking About You.” Her sophomore EP, Mooching, looks to build upon both approaches while occasionally drifting into the realm of more raucous garage rock.
Produced, recorded, and mixed by Oli Barton-Wood, the best way to describe the sound of Mooching is “close.” Reid’s vocals waft like smoke that only needs to travel centimeters to tickle the back of the neck. Every minute detail of every vocal phrase is discernable. Every creak and rumble of the guitar and punchy rhythmic strike is apparent. Every quiet, far-off chime in the background of “Bible” rings crystal clear. Reid’s style demands clarity of recording: her arrangements on a macro level are sparse, thriving in small moments of performance and other subtle flourishes as opposed to bold experimentation or high-energy momentum. Mooching brings the intimacy of a concert for one performed in a dimly lit room, magnifying the impact of those moments several times over.
Much of Mooching has to do with romance, either overtly or covertly. Opener “Love of Her Life” tries to accept that a relationship lost its spark (“She told me I’m the love of her life / She told me even when she changed her mind / I don’t mind”) to a shambling, somewhat defeated melody accompanied by whistling and few choice bursts of rolling guitar. It evokes the soundtrack of a Western, blowing out the drama into that of a gunfight in the middle of a vast desert: love is the water that’s all dried up. “How Do I Show My Love?” is an aching piano ballad that deals with the frustration of communicating one’s emotions: a complication that ultimately leads Reid to return her lover’s clothes “for one last goodbye.”
There’s something to be said about the immediacy of these tracks, but Reid’s pen is strongest on songs such as “Bible” and “Soda Pop Stream,” where compelling analogies and visual imagery aid in granting more specificity to her voice as a writer. “I feel like the Gods have got it wrong / I feel like they have me lined up / I can’t seem to undo my love,” she sings on “Bible,” her vocals lilting towards a higher register as if desperately seeking ascension from the earthly acoustic strums that lay underneath. Her feelings seem out of her hands, fated and divine, but perhaps a mistake. Yet as she croons, “I wrote in my Bible / I wanna be vital to your life,” she implies those feelings are more powerful than scripture.
“Soda Pop Stream” is an anxious rocker with an initially slinking, calculated melody that eventually gives way to the eruption of a distortion-heavy guitar solo. She compares herself to the stream, at risk of bubbling over if not for the filter. As she ends with “please don’t freak out on me,” it’s difficult to tell if she’s speaking to someone she’s hoping to comfort despite her internal turmoil or to herself. Perhaps it’s both.
As it closes with the spirited anthem of “Warpaint,” by far the most lively three minutes of its 17, Mooching hints towards a more optimistic future. It still deals in painful matters of the heart: talk of chest pain when seeing someone with a man and such a sight causing her to lose her way. But the reframing done on “Warpaint” is the message: the same difficulties regarding human relations may crop up time after time, but a shift in perspective can turn sorrow on its head and make it look like inspiration. “I’m sick of all this cruising / And I’m done with all my mooching,” she declares on “Love of Her Life.” As “Warpaint” concludes, that early promise is fulfilled.