Paris Paloma's second album turns love into a subject worthy of sustained scrutiny. Each track takes a different angle: love filtered through art history, love compromised by power imbalances, love as defiance. The references in the titles, Miyazaki, Rothko, Pre-Raphaelite, signal an interest in how feeling gets encoded in images, and that carries into the writing. She's working in the lineage of confessional indie pop, but there's a conceptual frame holding it together rather than just a batch of songs.
The production stays out of the way. Acoustic guitar, piano, minimal percussion. Paloma's voice does most of the work, and it's direct without tipping into melodrama. Tracks like "get her the fucking flowers" and "The Bleeding Part of Me" name their frustrations plainly. Others, like "Pyrrhus (you go where I cannot)", are more oblique but still emotionally legible. The sequencing moves between anger and tenderness without trying to resolve the tension.
This will appeal to listeners drawn to artists like Fiona Apple or Phoebe Bridgers, people who want pop structures but expect the lyrics to carry weight. It's thoughtful without being precious, and it doesn't mistake seriousness for complexity.
