The changing of the seasons is a magical characteristic of life in the Midwest. Each of those four liminal periods contains its own intoxicating blend of charm and anxiety, and most folks have a favorite — my partner loves spring-to-summer and the rejuvenation that wells up from warm mornings and newly-thriving greenery. I prefer summer-to-autumn. Summer exuberance is tempered by wistfulness, the sound of wind through the leaves begins to take on a dry rustling timbre, and mornings come later — and bluer.

The release date of Ruth Radelet’s subtle and special debut EP, The Other Side, necessitates that I listen in this transitional context. While I don’t think she planned it that way, the spirit and intention of the 5-track EP  seem to align with the state of mind that this time of year evokes. 

“Most of the songs were written just before I was caught up in a storm of big changes, and they were all finished just as life started to feel sweet again,” she says. “It feels right to share some of the last chapter before moving into the next, and though it’s a melancholy record, for me The Other Side is a step into a bigger and brighter future.”

Another major transition felt on the record is Radelet’s move from fronting Chromatics to releasing music as a solo artist. It’s a daunting move that requires her to leap from a tower of synecdoches; Ruth is the voice of Chromatics but also is Chromatics. Chromatics are label artists of Italians Do It Better, but have established a winning and obsessively uniform template for each labelmate since and are, effectively, the label themselves. And the aesthetic perfected by said label has helped define a whole subgenre of neon-drenched film and art, even reaching backward through time via Radelet’s mesmerizing musical performance at the Roadhouse in everyone’s favorite-small-town-with-a-secret. Radelet’s image and voice are quietly, massively iconic, and the “before” is so clearly defined that it’s difficult to imagine the “after.” No fear. The Other Side shows a side of Radelet that deserves an audience far beyond the IDIB cult, and demonstrates a powerful stylistic and emotive range across its 20-minute runtime.     

“Stranger” begins with the faint hiss of a record–a lush and comforting sound that works as a prelude to an equally gorgeous track. “Baby I’m so far away from home/baby you could bury me in stone/I could never hold you in my hands/I know I’m a stranger in your land,” sings Radelet, amidst a sunlit forest of sounds; soaring strings, gently loping country guitar, and drums with enough reverb to make it sound like they’re whispering to you. The track ends with an exhalation, a no-sound that is both lonely and communal, like walking with someone you love in silence. “Stranger” provides immediate proof that Radelet’s voice is just as well suited to warm musical climes as it is to the deep chill of Chromatics.

“Sometimes” is a lovely, lilting tune that radiates 1960s positivity, complete with unsettling accidental chords that winkingly point to cracks in the facade–a la The Hollies’ “The Air That I Breathe.” The blend of synth and strings on the entire EP is inspired, transmuting Radelet’s straightforward poetry into deeply emotional language. The production and mastering of this EP is quietly Filip Nikolic’s most nuanced work to date, and he effortlessly steers the record from the nostalgic revivalism of “Sometimes”, to intellectual and borderline-anthemic synth pop, to the low-fi quietude that defines the album’s final tracks.          

“Crimes” shares the most DNA with Radelet’s work with Chromatics, a mid-tempo night driving anthem that sparkles with cymbals and bright arpeggios, all underpinned by rich and warm bass notes. These result in a soaring chorus where Radelet’s duality is thrown into sharp focus; she plaintively asks “Is it easy to start over/is it easy to play the game/is it easy to forget your own name?” On paper, these and the rest of the lyrics from “Crimes” read like despair. On record, the questions don’t feel rhetorical or tinged with regret, but speak to a hopeful eagerness for a new season that feels entirely within reach. This isn’t a “sad lyrics, happy tune” bait-and-switch; both emotions exist, spiraling upward around one another into a clear sky, and the effect is magical.  

Portland and Northern Michigan both sit on the 45th parallel, and it’s very likely that I’ve seen trees start changing color at almost the same time as Ruth Radelet. I can’t put my finger on what exactly that means, but as I sit and listen to The Other Side, watching deer gently step over fallen leaves, I get the feeling that it means something. Sometimes that’s enough.        

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