Maria Lane isn’t trying to please anyone with Black and Blue. This isn’t a collection of hits or a desperate attempt to climb the charts—it’s a bomb thrown at pop mainstream. When you listen to Black and Blue, it’s as though she locked herself in a room, dissecting her soul without caring if anyone overheard. As dramatic as it sounds, she has literally laid her soul bare across 16 tracks. These are fragments, bound by melodies that keep you on edge, as if you’re holding something precious and fragile in your hands. And by the time you reach the end, you realize you’ve been handed an entire map of pain, hope, and inner conflict that Lane has finally pieced together to step into the light.

photo by Lucy Blumenfield

Sixteen tracks—yeah, that’s a lot. But here, every song serves a purpose, and that’s where the magic lies. It feels like Lane couldn’t stop until she had expressed every single thing that’s been building up inside her for years. As you listen, track by track, you can feel her slowly peeling away layers of emotional armor. And this revelation—it’s not convenient, and it doesn’t lend itself to easy playlisting. This music has no place at a party—it demands your full attention. Sit down, listen, and take in everything Lane has to say.

The album cover warns you: “It’s going to get deep, get ready to dive.” Lane uses water imagery in such a way that each song feels like submersion – sometimes you’re gently enveloped by melancholy, and other times the waves crash over you, leaving no room to remain indifferent. Her figure, small and fragile against this overwhelming force, makes you feel the cold as she does. This visual perfectly captures her state throughout the album: she’s alone, exposed before her fears, but she keeps looking ahead, refusing to turn away, even when the horizon feels terrifying.

Almost every track runs over four minutes, and some stretch to six. And you know what? She couldn’t care less. If it takes six minutes to finish a song, she’ll take those six minutes. That’s the very spirit of indie that’s always inspiring—a complete rejection of formats and time limits. Lane isn’t in a hurry, she lets her songs breathe, unfold, slowly revealing themselves. It’s pure freedom from the chains of commercialism—she’s just making art. True, unfiltered, and hauntingly honest art.

photo by Lucy Blumenfield

Tracks like “on the table” and “what were our vows for?” feel like a live broadcast of inner turmoil. It’s an unfiltered admission of how the actions of others can leave a permanent mark on our souls. In her piercing lyrics, you can almost hear the echo of her own experience, resonating painfully in every word.

And this is where the real emotional rollercoaster begins. The atmosphere of the album shifts with each song, as if the listener is being carried on a swing that takes them from hope to despair and back again. In the track “lost,” there’s a glimpse of light—soft percussion and swaying strings slowly lift you out of the darkness. Lane’s vocals feel like a whisper in your ear, wrapping the listener in a sense of calm. But just as you start to sink into that feeling, the track “merry go round (carousel)” brings down a heavy fog. The spatial, enveloping sound and Lane’s immersive vocals feel like a gentle yet inevitable grip, one you can’t escape from. The song’s structure breaks apart and rebuilds itself, showcasing the diversity of her approach to music.

One track that especially won me over is “fresh air,” where Lane’s sensitivity and introspection meet in a slow dance with a textured melody. It’s a true anthem of sadness.

Standing apart is “cool (feat. Taylor Pearlstein).” The gentle folk guitars, soft pulsing rhythm, and Lane’s magical vocals create an atmosphere of late-afternoon warmth. And while the album delves into heavy themes, it also offers moments of catharsis.

The track “my past” is almost a chamber piece, where the violin engages in a quiet conversation with her voice. As the album nears its end, the melancholy deepens, especially with “when will I stop crying?” It’s one of those tracks that lingers with you long after you’ve listened.

And with that hope, she closes the album with the track “painted a certain color.” Lane’s airy vocals float on a gentle melody, accompanied by a resonant bass and shimmering guitars. This track feels like the final act of healing, a moment of acknowledgment and acceptance of her past. This is an album about pain, but also about the light that emerges once you’ve learned to live with that pain.

When Black and Blue ends, you don’t feel relief—you’re left with the sensation that you’ve just experienced something immense, something that won’t release its grip on you right away. It’s like the calm after a storm: quiet, but the air is still thick with the power of what just passed. Maria Lane opens the door to a world she’s created, and as you leave, you can’t help but look back, trying to process everything you’ve just heard. But here’s where the most intriguing part begins—you realize you can’t go back. Unless, of course… it’s for her next album.

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