by Chris Polley (@qhrizpolley)
There’s something magical about coming across a new band who only has one release to their name and, more specifically, that release feels like an anachronism in the world of an already past-obsessed artform such as indie rock. The term, which has been referred to as a genre but has in actuality become more of an economic misnomer, traffics so often in manufactured nostalgia and aesthetic mimicry by musical artists of all social strata that it has essentially become meaningless. In the case of Low Healer (the nom de rock for Nicola Leel, formerly of London-based trio Doe), it’s neither reductive nor empty. Instead, the six tracks that comprise hold music are uniformly immaculate grunge-pop that far surpass the typically replicative tendencies of their peers on all levels. It’s familiar and refreshing—true indie rock, through and through.
Opener “Bad News” rumbles with garage rock fuzz, propulsive drums, and immaculate multi-tracked vocals, readying the listener for two-and-a-half solid minutes of smooth and steady—but ever simmering—aggression. Compared to the bassless trio Doe, this is thick and gooey stuff full of gauzy low end, which makes sense as Leel has found herself filling in on the instrument for a lot of NYC bands since she moved across the pond and started up Low Healer.
“That definitely changed my brain chemistry—since being in New York, my songwriting has been much more riff-centred, [which is] a freedom afforded by not having to hold down power chords to fill the space in a bassless three-piece,” Leel said in an interview with Post-Trash. “I often start with the bass part now then build up from there by recording demos and noodling on top until something cool comes out.”
Next, “Capable” is a slow-burning earworm that clearly has a similar origin story, beginning by caustically slamming down a discordant stop-start riff that reprises after a whizz-bang chorus that’s equally catchy and off-putting. The bass buzzes from beginning to end while the guitar ping-pongs and sputters like a rabid, menacing rodent trying desperately to escape a convoluted and malicious maze. It makes sense here more than any other song that Kim Deal is a touchstone artist for Leel, but don’t call her a 90s kid.
“The Breeders have been a constant through most of my projects, [though] I’d say there’s a playfulness to most of my influences that transcends era,” Leel said. “For the newer songs I’ve been more influenced by weird fast egg punk, but the more time goes on the closer I get to my final form of a boomer who just wants to write classic 70s rock.”
The EP’s arguable centerpiece, the short-and-sweet but magnanimous “Golden Light,” is a perfect example of this fluidity of influence across eras. Leel’s voice is lifted atop a chugging chord progression that’s just as memorable as the misleadingly sardonic lyrics, suggesting a kitchen-sink approach that also values concision and impact as much as size and scope. The pummeling percussion that helps the melody zip along is courtesy of Jake Popyura of Supermilk, whose deftness on the drums is now sorely missed in the UK scene as he’s since been diagnosed with ALS (all profits from hold music go toward the Motor Neuron Disease Association).
“Avoidance keeps me holding strong,” Leel wryly sings on “Home,” a smoldering gem kicking off the record’s second half. Considering how passionately she speaks about Popyura’s contributions to music, it’s clear that even as she wrestles with starting a new life in the States. Her heart remains in England with the community out of whom her dedication to the craft was borne. When a sneering, repetitive bridge pops out of nowhere, leading the track to a devastating outro so beefy it could be mistaken for a wall of quarter-pounders, it cements a new identity for Leel that is nevertheless still very much shaped by her life back home, as it is the new one she’s found stateside.
Never has a dirge sounded so searing as it does on the penultimate and curiously titled “KS Rip.” (“I started it by ripping off the opening drum beat of a band you’ve never heard of and I’ll never tell you,” she said when asked). And finally, ending the stacked short-player is the bubbly and (by comparison, anyway) downright calming closer “Of It’s Time,” which may be a typo or—more likely—a clever punctuation play on the idea of how to start a new chapter of one’s life while also feeling constantly connected to the past.
When asked about the EP’s ironic title (these bangers are anything but the innocuous and ignorable ditties typically referred to as “hold music”), Leel is quick to point out the plentiful reasons it makes sense:
“[The title] felt appropriate because I recorded all the songs myself at home over the course of 5 years and it felt like a holding period,” Leel said. “My old band wrapped up, I moved to the U.S., COVID happened and I was writing a mixture of songs for various projects [and] for no projects at all. In getting Low Healer off the ground, I felt I needed to purge these collected bits on an EP first, as like, some holding music.”
One more potential meaning to add to the pile is that these small-scale but big-hearted tunes also have that kind of embracive quality one always wants from an independently made rock record (literal translation only). Leel holds herself, the past holds her, and thereby the listener is held too—rapt, hitting repeat, and anxiously awaiting the follow-up.