Alaska Reid glimmers with a rose-tinted LA pop sheen on Disenchanter

Throughout Disenchanter, Reid fluctuates between wisdom and naivety, coming of age in the same breath as she reflects on a lifetime. She slips in and out of dreamy pop, sprawling grunge, and folky subtlety with ease, picking elements from her musical palette with which to tell her stories. She drifts from pacey, urban cityscapes to an empty sky full of stars or a hushed natural world, seeking the narrative in each sonic location and crafting characters to inhabit them. The album opener “French Fries”, is a microcosm of all of the above, tiptoeing from intimate guitar and tales of youthful friendship into a shimmering expanse of production, propelling Reid’s evocations of youth onto the world stage of growing up.

A.G. Cook’s production shines for the first time of many in this introductory number, expertly building the stage on which Disenchanter is set. “Ain’t this just like a movie set?”, Reid murmurs on “She Wonders”, a punkier cut, but the riffs still ring out from underneath the sheen that Cook has drawn over the whole album. There’s something misty about Disenchanter’s sonics, whether it’s on ballads that catch in your throat like “Leftover”, sparkly classic pop like “Back To This”, fast-paced, denser bops like “Always” complete with keening, moody guitar solos. It feels like we’re looking at the album through a snow globe, made the willing audience to Reid’s world in a way that feels magical, nostalgic, and somehow distant.

Of course, a gorgeous backdrop is only of any value when it’s there to frame something equally enthralling, and Reid’s raw songwriting power more than warrants the magic. On “Palomino”, Reid crackles with uncertainty and guilt against a restrained instrumental, balancing the line of metaphor and kitchen-sink reflection flawlessly. “I’m not the secret to his West Coast dream / Someday soon, I’m gonna leave him here / Won’t be able to touch me / Catch me, tell me that i’m what he fears / The diner at 3, he studies me like a bug” she laments, wrestling with herself vs someone else’s perceived manic pixie dream girl. Every drop of emotion is blinding, and Alaska’s characterisation is uncannily sharp.

The line between herself and her characters is another one that Reid balances carefully, but the quality of her lyricism is such that you feel it really doesn’t matter. Whether it’s true to hers or not, Disenchanter is certainly true to someone’s – many people’s – experiences. Reid has written a narrative you can root around and find yourself in, and cloak yourself in its rose-tinted LA pop sheen like a comfort blanket.