In “Pisces Pie,” Odelet weaves a sonic tapestry that shimmers like moonlight on celestial waters, each note a silver thread pulled taut over a bassline abyss. This album is an alchemical cauldron where the spirit of golden-age Hip-Hop melds with the ethereal voices of sirens—beckoning you closer even as they threaten to pull you under.
With tracks born from drum machines and keyboards, yet breathing life into metallic sinews, she summons ghosts of ’90s R&B in technicolor revival. Her vocals crest and crash like wine-dark waves against shores dusted in stardust, evoking Erykah Badu serenading android poets at the edge of time.
“Pisces Pie” sings sweetly until its nectar reveals an undertone: bittersweet but complex—a labyrinthine Venus flytrap flecked with dew that glistens deceptively under neon reviews. From the visceral rawness of “Experiment” to the divine soft whispers echoing through “The Angels Album,” Odelet transmutes her stylistic mosaic into something transcendental.
Each song unfurls petals woven together by mysticism and Mechanism; it’s Vantablack velvet soaked in mermaid tears—the profane tangoing dangerously near the sacred shorelines she’s meticulously constructed. In short bursts reminiscent of synesthetic fever dreams fused with haunting reality checks, this album promises schizophrenic ecstasy punctuated by heartbreak’s hollow echoes. An astral beacon for those willing to be consumed whole.
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