Lucinda Chua sounded so accomplished on the EP collection
Antidotes that it felt like an album, but
Yian shows how much more she can do with a set of songs designed to complement each other. A song cycle reconciling
Chua's sense of identity and the rootlessness she felt as a woman of Chinese-Malaysian ancestry growing up in England, the album is named after Siew Yian, the moniker
Chua's parents gave her to connect her with her Chinese heritage, as well as the Chinese word for "swallow," the migratory songbird that travels between places without belonging to any of them.
Yian addresses
Chua's feelings of incompleteness fully and eloquently, with a singular vision and a sustained but nuanced mood. Since her days with the experimental chamber pop duo
Felix,
Chua has been well-versed in the power of softness, and
Yian is even subtler and more delicate than
Antidotes.
Chua's decision to forego beats lets these songs float gently, but also sink in deeply. On "Do You Know You Know," ambient washes and distant, rippling keyboards cast a spell that rivals
Grouper when it comes to sacred intimacy. As she unites the different strands of her heritage on her own terms,
Chua also blends the ambient, R&B, and classical elements of her music in her own distinct way. She fuses all three on the artfully deconstructed interlude "Grief Piece," and harnesses the sweep of an orchestra on "Meditations on a Place," a collaboration with
Stars of the Lid's
Adam Wiltzie that resounds with a generous warmth. Similarly, artful repetition creates equal amounts of calm and movement on "An Ocean," where
Chua's use of luxuriously draped strings and melting Rhodes piano is at once minimalist and cinematic.
Yian's sublime beauty only heightens the vulnerability and resolve of songs such as "Golden"'s tremulous but determined statement of intent or the cautiously optimistic "Something Other Than Years," which closes the album with
Chua and
yeule's magical vocal interplay. Throughout
Yian,
Chua deftly balances hope soul-searching, imbuing the album with honesty that's as solid as the music is airy. The realization that it's impossible to connect with anyone without having a full sense of self is one she returns to on songs as varied as "Autumn Leaves Don't Come," the world-weary tipping point where
Chua admits she's "been living in the sky too long," or "Echo," where she emanates luminous confidence as she declares independence from familial, cultural, and societal expectations. While reclaiming and redefining her own roots,
Chua also connects with her label's origins; her dreamy, artful, powerfully emotional music feels more akin to projects like
This Mortal Coil than some of her other
4AD labelmates. A remarkable debut album,
Yian's reflections on growth cement
Chua's identity as an artist capable of deeply personal, honest, and beautiful music. ~ Heather Phares