Setting off on your own can be a scary and uncertain thing, but former TEEN member Lizzie Lieberson makes it look effortless. Now going by the moniker Lizzie Loveless, she has released her debut solo album, You Don’t Know, a poignant collection of dreamy ponderings that serves as an exhale of the past.
Solo, however, doesn’t necessarily mean alone. Though much of the album’s subject matter has Loveless sifting through the emotional wreckage of past hardships, she does so in the safety of trusted company. Much of the project was pieced together in the Greenwich Village-based studio of her partner, Miles Francis. The album also has roots in Loveless’s hometown of Halifax, Nova Scotia, where her mother contributed mandolin to several tracks.
“I’ve never made music with someone I’m in love with and it’s been one of the more special experiences in my life,” she says of working with Francis. “His musical voice, contribution, and support is enormous on this record and in my life.”
With this support system, Loveless comes equipped to reflect on the tough stuff. Her voice wanders across a lot of distorted and hazy synth, searching for answers and closure but never quite feeling like she’s reached it. The album itself supports that—it’s a slow burn, simmering emotions, and melody that never come to a full boil.
Some songs, like “Loveless”, however, manage to dance right up to the line. The song was inspired by a fever dream, of that loss of control that comes with being in love. The bridge bursts into an infectious chant that carries through the remainder of the song.
Loveless plays with layers like this a lot. A similar effect is seen on the album’s closer, “Again”. “You say you wanna touch me, I just want you to love me,” she repeats under swelling synth and the final echoes of the last chorus. It goes on for the duration of the song, leaving the album on a chilling note. The careful softness of her voice results in a sort of ghostly feeling seen across many of the tracks, like a specter roaming across her own past and present.
It’s that same softness that sets her apart from any comparisons that may be made. The bassy synth and gritty guitar of songs like “Eyes of a Man” and “Loveless” are reminiscent of some of St. Vincent’s more electronic tracks, albeit a bit more muted.
Though, for the most part, things remain understated. Loveless is assured in her delivery, but the moments she chooses to share make us feel hesitant to linger. “New York, Yesterday” is an uneasy dive into jealousy and uncertainty in a relationship, with an understated, ominous backing (Loveless’s mother on the mandolin is to thank for this effect). Meanwhile, “Window” perfectly captures the grief of knowing something’s ending as it happens—based on a moment where Loveless waited by the window for her partner to return from a walk.
“I could feel a shift,” she says of the moment. “I knew what was coming. I knew when I looked at him, he had already left. It was as if in a single moment his face had changed and I no longer knew him. So, I was thinking, then what? What comes next? Essentially all you can do is wait, wait for the heartache to pass.”
This album lives in all facets of that realization. It’s equal parts mourning and acceptance—the painful stewing and all the healing that comes after. Loveless takes us on that journey, leaving us all to wonder where she’ll take us next.