Sometimes Strangers by Imogen Cygler

Science has yet to perfect the technology of recording our dreams and projecting them into the waking world. But when the time comes, I expect that the music of dreams may sound something like Sometimes Strangers, the debut record by Imogen Cygler. Existing somewhere between ambient pop, baroque pop, and art pop, this lush yet minimal album is a must-listen for fans of Kate Bush, Cocteau Twins, and Julee Cruise. 

Classically trained in violin, piano, and voice, Cygler’s talents in traditional instrumentation are intertwined with subtle melodic synth-scapes. Harpsichord-toned notes and string instruments dance between delicately-composed electronica, creating a shimmering web like dewdrops reflecting in the early morning sun. However, the true highlight of this record is Cygler’s vocal performance, effortlessly transitioning from a barely-spoken whisper to impressive whistle tones while conveying nostalgia, loneliness, and longing. At moments, her gossamer falsetto is the centerpiece, all other sounds washed away into the background. At others, her voice seems like just another instrument in the production, fading away into indistinguishable reverberations.

With impressionistic lyrics, Cygler writes about simple yet personal subject matter, often related to aging, childhood friendships, and lost romances. Like reading someone else’s diary, these themes lend Sometimes Strangers a vulnerable, voyeuristic quality. From the outside looking in, Cygler dissects relationships between herself and others with a sense of introverted detachment and alienation, understanding the temporary nature of these interactions. 

Combining the best of contemporary classical and bedroom pop, along with stream-of-consciousness lyrics and a captivating voice, Sometimes Strangers perfectly balances beauty with experimentation, earning it a spot as one of our favorite albums of the week.