Nabihah Iqbal's sophomore album is a glittering amalgamation of ethereal C86-inspired jangle pop and dissociated '90s club experiments that comes off like a fusion of Saint Etienne, Slowdive and New Order.
'DREAMER' was never supposed to sound like this. In early 2020, Iqbal's studio was robbed and not only did she lose the equipment she'd been working with, but the album she'd been writing was gone too. Shortly afterwards she was called to Pakistan after a family emergency, and countered her feelings of loss and burnout by going back to basics and writing a suite of songs using just an acoustic guitar and a harmonium.
The result is an album of sentimental reflections on a life lived through music; Iqbal's complex spectrum of emotions are felt in songs like the fuzzy, narcotic title track, a whimsical look back at Sarah Records twee pop through gauzy reverb, and 'Sunflower', that splices spoken word nonchalance with THC-addled synths and basement club kicks. Romantic and memorable, it's an album that lives up to its name.
View more
Nabihah Iqbal's sophomore album is a glittering amalgamation of ethereal C86-inspired jangle pop and dissociated '90s club experiments that comes off like a fusion of Saint Etienne, Slowdive and New Order.
'DREAMER' was never supposed to sound like this. In early 2020, Iqbal's studio was robbed and not only did she lose the equipment she'd been working with, but the album she'd been writing was gone too. Shortly afterwards she was called to Pakistan after a family emergency, and countered her feelings of loss and burnout by going back to basics and writing a suite of songs using just an acoustic guitar and a harmonium.
The result is an album of sentimental reflections on a life lived through music; Iqbal's complex spectrum of emotions are felt in songs like the fuzzy, narcotic title track, a whimsical look back at Sarah Records twee pop through gauzy reverb, and 'Sunflower', that splices spoken word nonchalance with THC-addled synths and basement club kicks. Romantic and memorable, it's an album that lives up to its name.
Nabihah Iqbal's sophomore album is a glittering amalgamation of ethereal C86-inspired jangle pop and dissociated '90s club experiments that comes off like a fusion of Saint Etienne, Slowdive and New Order.
'DREAMER' was never supposed to sound like this. In early 2020, Iqbal's studio was robbed and not only did she lose the equipment she'd been working with, but the album she'd been writing was gone too. Shortly afterwards she was called to Pakistan after a family emergency, and countered her feelings of loss and burnout by going back to basics and writing a suite of songs using just an acoustic guitar and a harmonium.
The result is an album of sentimental reflections on a life lived through music; Iqbal's complex spectrum of emotions are felt in songs like the fuzzy, narcotic title track, a whimsical look back at Sarah Records twee pop through gauzy reverb, and 'Sunflower', that splices spoken word nonchalance with THC-addled synths and basement club kicks. Romantic and memorable, it's an album that lives up to its name.
Nabihah Iqbal's sophomore album is a glittering amalgamation of ethereal C86-inspired jangle pop and dissociated '90s club experiments that comes off like a fusion of Saint Etienne, Slowdive and New Order.
'DREAMER' was never supposed to sound like this. In early 2020, Iqbal's studio was robbed and not only did she lose the equipment she'd been working with, but the album she'd been writing was gone too. Shortly afterwards she was called to Pakistan after a family emergency, and countered her feelings of loss and burnout by going back to basics and writing a suite of songs using just an acoustic guitar and a harmonium.
The result is an album of sentimental reflections on a life lived through music; Iqbal's complex spectrum of emotions are felt in songs like the fuzzy, narcotic title track, a whimsical look back at Sarah Records twee pop through gauzy reverb, and 'Sunflower', that splices spoken word nonchalance with THC-addled synths and basement club kicks. Romantic and memorable, it's an album that lives up to its name.
140g Black vinyl in a gatefold sleeve with matte varnish.
Out of Stock
Nabihah Iqbal's sophomore album is a glittering amalgamation of ethereal C86-inspired jangle pop and dissociated '90s club experiments that comes off like a fusion of Saint Etienne, Slowdive and New Order.
'DREAMER' was never supposed to sound like this. In early 2020, Iqbal's studio was robbed and not only did she lose the equipment she'd been working with, but the album she'd been writing was gone too. Shortly afterwards she was called to Pakistan after a family emergency, and countered her feelings of loss and burnout by going back to basics and writing a suite of songs using just an acoustic guitar and a harmonium.
The result is an album of sentimental reflections on a life lived through music; Iqbal's complex spectrum of emotions are felt in songs like the fuzzy, narcotic title track, a whimsical look back at Sarah Records twee pop through gauzy reverb, and 'Sunflower', that splices spoken word nonchalance with THC-addled synths and basement club kicks. Romantic and memorable, it's an album that lives up to its name.
CD hosted in a card digisleeve.
Out of Stock
Nabihah Iqbal's sophomore album is a glittering amalgamation of ethereal C86-inspired jangle pop and dissociated '90s club experiments that comes off like a fusion of Saint Etienne, Slowdive and New Order.
'DREAMER' was never supposed to sound like this. In early 2020, Iqbal's studio was robbed and not only did she lose the equipment she'd been working with, but the album she'd been writing was gone too. Shortly afterwards she was called to Pakistan after a family emergency, and countered her feelings of loss and burnout by going back to basics and writing a suite of songs using just an acoustic guitar and a harmonium.
The result is an album of sentimental reflections on a life lived through music; Iqbal's complex spectrum of emotions are felt in songs like the fuzzy, narcotic title track, a whimsical look back at Sarah Records twee pop through gauzy reverb, and 'Sunflower', that splices spoken word nonchalance with THC-addled synths and basement club kicks. Romantic and memorable, it's an album that lives up to its name.