Maria Somerville’s Luster arrives like a whisper in a world that’s been primed for it. In an era where TikTok has repackaged shoegaze aesthetics into a moody badge of identity and NTS has become the go-to hub for foggy alt-pop, Somerville doesn’t follow the trend—she deepens it. Her take on ambient, folk-laced shoegaze doesn’t clamor for attention. Instead, it lingers in the periphery—icy, intimate, and quietly seductive. Tracks like “Mayfly” and “Violet” sway with an off-kilter sensuality, the kind that slips past your defenses before you realize it.

Her lyrics are sparse but charged, sketching internal worlds with a few well-placed words. On “Trip,” she sings, “Sometimes the sky / Invites me to truly be / Myself more than it could actually be.” It’s a line that feels fragile and philosophical, a poetic tangle of uncertainty and resolve. Somerville’s voice barely rises above a murmur, yet her songs are rich with tactile detail. Twinkling harps glint like fragments of shattered glass, while distant, half-heard breakbeats echo like they’re leaking through a neighbor’s wall.

There’s a quiet thrill in how Luster stretches across genres without ever losing its core identity. You can catch glimmers of pop, liturgical melodies, trip-hop undertones, and ghostly electronica if you listen closely. It’s this fluidity that makes the album feel alive rather than referential. Inspired by her native Connemara, Somerville works field recordings into the mix with a documentarian’s touch—like the gentle tide on closing track “October Moon.” Yet beyond these moments, Luster isn’t about capturing a place so much as it is about capturing a feeling: the lonely sprawl of introspection, the chaotic peace of quiet spaces. It’s an album of delicate intentions rendered in vivid, unpredictable hues.