When I first played From and For Me by Yuri Shin, a strange image popped into my mind: early morning, a kitchen with black-and-white tiles, and me in some crumpled fiery robe, holding a cup of coffee — frustratingly cold. You sit there, listening to the guitar’s breath, and it just envelops you from within. No frills, no crashing drums, just Yuri’s voice and her acoustic guitar. Five tracks, each one… a confession of its own. Maybe a little scattered, but that’s where the charm lies.

photo by Emily Cabral

Yuri has a unique talent — she doesn’t force her emotions; she delivers them drop by drop. Gently, sincerely, as if gliding over your chest and making everything inside hum in harmony. I thought to myself, if my late-night monologues could sing, they would probably sound like this. Even the background that forms behind the melody reminds me of old films: sepia frames, the soft crackle of film, and the flicker of streetlights.

From and For Me turned out to be a collection of emotions that hit you at any time of day: whether under gloomy clouds or morning sunlight streaming through the window. These songs hold a touch of melancholy and a hint of childhood dreams. At times, it feels as though she’s not telling these stories for an audience but for herself — a quiet conversation with her reflection in a train window. You can’t fake something like that.

The EP opens with Venue, a track that feels like waking up early in the morning, as the first rays of sunlight sneak through the curtains. Yuri’s vocals are light, almost weightless, like a soft breath. The harmonies are lush and tender, inviting you to sink into their embrace, while the guitar provides a solid yet entirely unobtrusive foundation.

Next comes Where is this coming from? — here, there’s a subtle hint of a more commercial sound, but it never loses the intimate sincerity that makes Yuri’s music so distinct. Her voice floats above the guitar backdrop, evoking a sense of endlessness. This track creates a sense of pure calm, a pause where you can let go of the rush and simply exist.

Forgotten is like a touch. The guitar here feels almost tangible, its shimmering notes wrapping around you, while Yuri’s vocal harmonies whisper something important — softly, yet insistently. This song serves as a gentle reminder that even the simplest moments, when paired with subtle minimalism, can become a true expression of beauty.

photo by NFY

And then there’s Lacking, which feels almost meditative. The soft echo adds depth, Yuri’s vocals pulse gently, filling the space, and the entire atmosphere of the track radiates warmth. It’s as if the song is reminding you to breathe—slowly, deeply, evenly. Yuri skillfully uses her voice to craft a space that envelops the listener like a cozy blanket.

Finally, the closing note — Air. This track leaves you alone with your feelings, offering nothing excessive. The guitar, vocals, and production come together to create a sense of a gentle ellipsis, as if the story doesn’t end here but continues somewhere within you. For me, Air is the most moving moment of the entire EP, the one you want to replay over and over.

The tracks seem to carry the scent of empty morning streets or the warm breeze catching up to you when you’ve almost given up. Yuri’s light dream-pop sound gives the impression she’s holding not a guitar but a balloon. And her voice? It’s the first sip of hot coffee in December—warm enough to burn, yet leaving you wanting more.

The title From and For Me feels intimate, almost like a diary entry. It says, “Hey, this is for me, but if you find something in it for yourself, take it.” Well, I think I’ll do just that, haha. Let this EP be my little private confessional.

Simple, honest, and disarmingly raw. These tracks seem to emerge from the space between sleep and waking. Yuri’s voice is transparent and delicate, a mirror revealing not only your reflection but also everything you’d rather forget. The guitar, the main instrument here, plays softly and unhurriedly, perfectly aligned with the rhythm of solitude. The atmosphere is so weightless you almost feel it on your skin—not the surface, but the layer closer to the bone.

I could say I recommend it—but why? You’ll feel it yourself. And if you don’t? Well, that’s your question to answer. The magic here lies in its honesty. You can sense that Yuri Shin isn’t afraid to bare her soul, only to close her eyes and smile under the gentle hum of the strings. The simple pairing of voice and guitar often creates an entire universe of sound, transporting you to a world that’s a little hazy yet irresistibly bright. I can only hope there’s more to come after this EP: a broader palette, but with the same remarkable sincerity.

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