Oblivion is an album built on restraint and tenderness. Alice Phoebe Lou’s quivering voice, accompanied by guitar and piano, has a fragile, trembling quality that feels closer to 1960s folk recordings than to anything modern, with a vulnerability that’s trying to connect.

The piano plays a crucial role across Oblivion, often functioning as a simple, gently repeating pulse that slowly shifts. Sparkle is simple enough for a beginner to play with each chord struck on each beat, but it’s so emotionally rich because of Alice Phoebe Lou’s control and timing, with a subtly shifting tempo that creates the feel of a slow dance. Old Shadows conveys enormous emotional information using remarkably minimal three-note chords and softness, feeling as if it could be played with one hand. The absence is deliberate and meaningful, and there’s a timelessness that runs deep. Darling sounds like a forgotten standard that could be discovered on an old vinyl in an attic. On The Surface the introduction of simple double-tracked vocals feels like extravagant ornamentation because the rest of the album has been so stark. Skyline introduces a honky-tonk, slightly out-of-tune that adds warmth and character through its imperfections. Oblivion has a warmth that comes from its refusal to use modern techniques as a crutch, with no studio trickery or electronics. It’s deeply romantic music that’s tender and timeless. Music written in solitude away from technology and noise, Oblivion is a deliberate retreat that belongs to a powerful turn away from excess and digital polish, trusting how much emotional weight stark simplicity can carry. The album isn’t grand or performative, instead finding real warmth in choosing comforting restraint over spectacle. Quiet music that’s very, very beautiful.