by Eliana Fermi
When Lucius returned to the studio, just the four of them, something rare and resonant happened. Their self-titled and self-recorded fourth studio album, released May 2, 2025, is a document of transitions, of tenderness, of lives being built even as others fade away. “We got dogs,” they write, “you can hear them in the background.” This is not metaphor. It’s music with the leash still on the floor, the paint still wet on the nursery wall. And that intimacy? It glows through every track.
Recorded at Altamira Sound in Alhambra and Sounds Like a Fire in Pasadena, the album was produced and mixed by Dan Molad (with Robert Shelton) and mastered by Emily Lazar, resulting in a polished-yet-personal sound. But it’s the band’s emotional clarity that makes this record pulse: Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig’s vocal blend continues to be one of indie pop’s most elegant instruments, while Molad’s rhythmic feel and Peter Lalish’s thoughtful guitar voicings give each track its skeleton and soul.
“Final Days” is Wolfe and Laessig opening the record with breathy, catchy tune that gradually widen into delicate harmonies. The lyrics trace emotional exhaustion with melodic phrasing that pushes and retreats, mirroring the tension between surrender and resilience. The vocal delivery is more conversational than theatrical, making each word land with honesty.
“Gold Rush” is Lucius showing their use of dynamics. Gritty guitars and syncopated backbeats provide a foundation for layered vocals. Wolfe and Laessig sing in harmony, as they phrase in stereo, weaving through the groove with the precision of rhythmic swagger. It’s a bold, vocally driven cut that showcases their duality: soft yet fierce, refined yet instinctive.
“Do It All For You” moves to a romantic slow-burn. The production leaves space for air and silence between phrases, something vocalists will appreciate. The blend is warm and vulnerable, with Wolfe and Laessig trading lead moments that bleed into each other like watercolor. The chorus feels like a vow, emotionally transparent and restrained.
“Mad Love” brings back the syncopated energy. The lead lines fall just behind the beat, giving the song a ambiance that balances its bittersweet lyric. The background vocals serve less as harmony and more as response, almost percussive in their attack. This is a solid vocal arrangement: strategic, layered, and emotionally taut.
“Stranger Danger” features guest Taylor Goldsmith (of Dawes), and the band explores harmonic counterpoint in logical ways. His voice brings a dusky warmth, contrasting beautifully with the crystalline upper register of Wolfe and Laessig. The song’s structure mimics conversation, and the call-and-response vocal choices feel like both question and answer, perfect for illustrating how collaboration can enrich vocal narrative.
“Hallways” is built on repetition, lyrically and rhythmically, but that’s precisely what gives it emotional weight. The echoing background harmonies float like memory itself, and the phrasing is loose, almost improvisational. It’s a song about what’s left unsaid, sung with poise and restraint.
“Old Tape” (feat. Adam Granduciel) has a nostalgic overtone. The vocal lines are understated, even spoken at moments, evoking the intimacy of a voice memo. Granduciel’s guitar work brings inflections of Americana flavor, but the vocals remain central. This track exemplifies how dynamics—singing less, not more—can draw a listener closer.
“Impressions” (feat. Madison Cunningham) highlights the three vocalists. Three timbres, Wolfe’s, Laessig’s, Cunningham’s, braid together with sublime grace. The mix allows each voice its own space, but the intersections are where the magic happens. Their tone and blend in the choruses are attention-grabbing.
“Borderline” flows with Wolfe and Laessig, shifting effortlessly from airy head voice to chest-driven resolve. This song has intimate storytelling, dynamic build, and phrasing that dances over changing rhythmic textures.
Lyrically painterly, vocally rich, “Orange Blossoms.” The harmonies rise like steam from the mix as the song’s emotional arc moves from stillness to shimmer. This is Lucius building songwriting with vocal layering and arrangement choices. “At the End of the Day” is a farewell that doesn’t shout. It whispers, then leaves you in quiet reflection.
Lucius have always been about the blend, and on Lucius, they give each member room to breathe like a conversation between selves: between partners, pasts, futures. Songwriters will find much to admire in the album’s restraint and clarity. They will note the strength of this era’s narrative arc: a band returning to its foundational shape to tell its most personal story yet. This is not an album that needs to be explained. It simply needs to be heard. That’s the short of it!
