Album Review: Lucius – Lucius
3 min read
After over a decade of touring, collaborations, and sonic reinventions, Lucius have released what might be their most personal and grounded record to date. Their self-titled album, Lucius isn’t just a return – it’s a reset. It’s as if Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig stepped back from the noise, took a deep breath, and made an album that simply reflects where they are now: honest, reflective, and confidently understated.
Opening track Final Days is a slow, patient introduction—textured and brooding, yet never heavy-handed. The harmonies, as always, are pristine, but there’s a weight to them here that feels lived-in, less about vocal gymnastics and more about genuine connection. Lucius have always been exceptional vocalists, but this time they’re not hiding behind production gloss or disco sheen—they’re letting the silence speak just as loudly.
The album’s lead single, Gold Rush, brings a burst of vitality. It’s got grit—fuzzy guitars, a touch of soul—and a hook that sticks after just one listen. But beneath its groove lies a bittersweet undercurrent, reflecting on the chaos and beauty of starting over. That tension between joy and uncertainty is something Lucius handle remarkably well throughout this album.
There’s a striking sense of intimacy that runs through the record, especially on tracks like Old Tape and Do It All For You. The former is soaked in nostalgia, with Americana-leaning instrumentation that wouldn’t feel out of place in a Laurel Canyon living room. Do It All For You, meanwhile, is heartbreakingly sincere—a love song in the most selfless, human sense. No theatrics, no cynicism—just raw emotion, beautifully arranged.
One of the standout moments comes in Impressions, featuring Madison Cunningham. Co-written with Ethan Gruska, it’s a swirling, mid-tempo gem that showcases Lucius’ talent for crafting melody around complex emotions. The strings glide beneath the vocal lines, and the arrangement never oversteps, allowing space for every breath to count.
The production, handled by drummer Dan Molad and recorded partly in his home studio, gives the whole album a tactile, home-grown warmth. There are moments where ambient sounds—dogs barking, subtle room noise—are left in the mix, adding to the album’s sense of realness. It’s a small detail, but one that speaks volumes about where Lucius are creatively.
The closing track, At the End of the Day, is a quietly devastating finish. It strips everything back to bare essentials and leaves you with the sense that, even after all the harmonies and arrangements, what really matters is the sentiment underneath it all. It’s a perfect closer for an album that’s more interested in depth than dazzle.
With Lucius, the band haven’t reinvented themselves—they’ve reconnected. The result is their most cohesive, heartfelt, and mature work to date. No frills, no fuss—just beautifully crafted songs, sung by two voices that still know exactly how to move you.
