waterbaby shines sweetly on Memory Be A Blade

Water signs tend to be nostalgic and naked in their emotions. As a Cancer, I have been known to cry easily in public, to be unable to muster up a poker face in even the most necessary of situations. So it should come as no surprise that an artist monikered waterbaby would deliver one of the more vulnerable offerings of 2026 so far in her debut album. Memory Be a Blade is a short, mellifluous line of inquiry into a doomed relationship, an extension of a nostalgic tendency that waterbaby—who keeps her given name close to her chest—views as both blessing and curse. In writing her new album, waterbaby reflects on a past relationship from the safe vantage-point of a new one, attempting to make sense of the patterns of love. 

Thus arose Memory Be A Blade, a twenty-eight-minute ride through the annals of waterbaby’s psyche. Much of the album is improvised: the musician found herself go stiff in the studio, so producer Marcus White encouraged her to eschew pre-written lyrics for what she felt in the moment. Alongside these off-the-cuff musings, the duo assembled a dreamscape out of a menagerie of classical instruments: violin, trombone, flute, cello, and piano drift like whispers throughout the runtime. The arrangements, which speak to waterbaby’s classical background, are both lush and soft, a buzzing plane of floaty arpeggios and suspended solos. 

Take, for example, the album’s title track. “Memory Be a Blade” makes quite the impression. waterbaby’s ethereal soprano has a soporific effect, lulling the listener into a trance that leaves them extra susceptible to the gut-punch of her lyrics. A comparison to Clairo’s vocals on Sling wouldn’t be misplaced; waterbaby possesses the same breathy ability to float inches above the instrumentals, limpid and soft without leaning saccharine. “My favorite part is still the one only you could see / my favorite me is still the girl I used to be in your eyes,” she purrs over a suspended violin, a dear, gentle drumbeat. Minimalistic and searching, the song cuts you open and remakes you in its image. 

A deep-voiced collaborator on two of Memory Be a Blade’s tracks turns out to be waterbaby’s brother. Under the pseudonym ttoh, he adds a smooth depth to “Clay” and “Beck n Call,” the former of which heavily employs autotune to phonically simulate the self-alienation waterbaby remembers. The siblings’ harmonies are so soft and so natural as to be almost imperceptible.

There are really no misses on Memory Be a Blade, which is a relief, given the album’s brevity. On “Minnie,” a guitar riff curls against a violin like mist on water. The song is pure bedroom pop, a short, quiet little fairytale that is whisked away as quickly as it arrives. “Tuck me in and leave / you go on and live your life / and I’ll go back to sleep,” she sings, the fear of living the wrong life preventing her from living any life at all. On “Amiss,” a distorted vocal makes up the chorus, unfurling into a lush arrangement that dips and climbs unexpectedly, dissolving into a lone acoustic before it bursts back into existence. These bite-size nods to musical theory make the record one to listen to over and over again; each time, you’ll find something new to appreciate.  

“Srs Ice,” a homophone for “serious eyes,” closes out waterbaby’s debut on an R&B note with moody, descending pianos and layered horns. As the album closes in on itself, waterbaby adopts a deeper tone, self-assured and accepting. It’s a lovely finale in her emotional bildungsroman, one that assures listeners that all will work out in due time. Though melancholic, Memory Be A Blade never slips into despair, paddling lightly on the surface of waterbaby’s hurt without dipping so far down that it cannot easily return. Shimmery and self-contained, it’s a thirty-minute world in miniature, fleet-footed and confessional. waterbaby is finding her voice. [Sub Pop]

Miranda Wollen is a staff writer at Paste and is based in New York City. Follow her @mirandakwollen or email her.

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