Moth Traps’ Memory Shapes feels like stepping into a fog-drenched dream, where nostalgia collides with haunting melodies and the past refuses to stay buried. Robyn McIntosh’s third album is a deeply introspective journey, crafted in the stillness of rural Scotland, yet echoing with the restless energy of a life once lived in the city. Each track unfolds like a faded photograph, worn at the edges but rich with meaning, as McIntosh confronts personal and imagined histories with a mix of tenderness and raw intensity.
The album opens with “The Dress Rehearsal,” a theatrical and eccentric piece that dances between playfulness and melancholy. Waves of piano ripple like lace, while the percussion clacks in the background, creating an offbeat rhythm that balances between chaotic and perfectly placed. McIntosh’s distinctive vocal delivery—dramatic, idiosyncratic, and brimming with emotion—pulls you deep into the world he’s constructing.
By “Bones (Tear Them Down),” the energy surges forward. The fluid rhythm builds, drums thumping like a heartbeat growing restless, and McIntosh’s voice burns with urgency. The chorus is electrifying—“Bones, Bones, Bones!”—yelled with a passion that makes it impossible to ignore. It’s a moment of catharsis, a desperate plea to break free from something unseen yet deeply felt.
Closing the album is “The Morbs,” a shimmering, introspective finale that pulses with sharp synths and rumbling drums. The harmonies hum and lull in the background, ghostly and mesmerizing, as if whispering secrets from another time. McIntosh sings with quiet intensity, his voice carrying the weight of everything left unsaid.
Moth Traps continues to carve out a space between urban grit and untamed nature, where memory lingers like mist on the hills. Memory Shapes is haunting, immersive, and impossible to shake.
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Review by: Naomi Joan