The way plays the guitar, with a hollow picking, it’s like she’s scratching an incessant itch. It’s an intimate feeling to be let in on as a listener, but it’s also given her songs an occasional harried edge. The British indie musician’s first album, 2019’s , was raucous and bold, but when she sang of “lying in a pool of someone else’s blood,” you didn’t get the feeling she was exactly relaxed.
Her second album, 2022’s (a misdirection of a title if I ever heard one), throbbed with Yanya’s honeyed vocals wrapped around her serpentine guitar melodies. The music was tantalizing but it was anxious, sometimes showy. Not a bad thing, but it felt self-conscious, like she had something to prove.
On her third and best album, , she’s matured, found herself, chilled out—whatever you want to call it, it’s made her music more triumphant, less nervous. It’s an album that has the feel of everyday luxury, a collection of songs so assured that they feel like they always existed, and Yanya simply plucked them out of the air to give to you. She’s not without her problems (the thorniness of romance is a lyrical theme), but instead of shredding out her frustrations out with a gnarly riff or a honking saxophone solo, she owns them poetically, giving a torch singer’s graceful performance across the album’s 11 songs.
Yanya’s signature guitar sound is still present, but the itch has been scratched. Some of that newfound ease may be thanks to songwriter Wilma Ar.