Rosa Walton gets plaintively authentic on Tell Me It's a Dream

The pair were likely overdue for a solo foray, considering that they have been making music together since they were 13, capping off a brilliant and adventurous run of albums with 2022’s Two Ribbons.

Since then, Walton has released a handful of singles, most notably “I Really Want To Stay At Your House”, which anime fans will forever remember for its heartbreaking needle drop in Cyberpunk: Edgerunners. Let’s Eat Grandma’s parallel solo efforts truly kicked into high gear this year, however, first with the January release of Hollingworth’s synthy, 80s-tinged record, Quicksand Heart, and now with Walton’s full-length solo debut, Tell Me It’s A Dream.

Within its first run of tracks, Tell Me It’s A Dream leans into a punchy immediacy that both sets it apart from and complements Walton’s work with Let’s Eat Grandma. Where Two Ribbons ended on a reflective, hesitantly hopeful note, opener “Heartbreak to Heartbreak” shifts from uncertainty to excitement, with Walton declaring that she’s “done with playing dead”. The track comes soaked in bouncy guitars and processed earworm hooks, while “Sorry Anyway” rockets along with the record’s most infectious chorus. Both tracks are finely-tuned dopamine rushes, steeped in infectious songcraft and giddy pop playfulness.

Walton approaches the record with the ease of somebody indulging in breezy artistic wanderlust. She dances between the synth pop and guitar-forward indie influences that always ran beneath the surface of Let’s Eat Grandma’s music, but she does so with an intention that feels less studied and more easy and intuitive. Both lyrically and musically, Walton and her collaborators reach skyward, stretching into euphoric, hopeful sprawls. Bells ring out amidst the guitars and synths of “Taking The Roof Down”, fitting with the Christmastime setting of the lyrics. Later, the band contributes a bouncy bassline and cheerful keys to “Prettier Things”, alongside a warm-hearted vocal feature from Hollinsworth.

Most often, Walton and her collaborators seem content to evoke treasured pop and indie touchstones. “Halfway Round The World” feels wistful and jangly in the same vein as The Sundays and The Cranberries, while “Wave Machine” hits on an emotive current that both recalls The Cure and throws out lyrical references to the band: “On Thursday I was really out of line / It’s Friday, I guess I’m in love”.

Even when navigating through thorny emotional territory, Walton sounds invariably hopeful, as if she’s peering ahead into a dazzling future full of possibility. The album’s most downbeat moment, the watery off-kilter dream of “July”, also serves as a gentle respite and a moment of self-actualization: “This is the best I’ve felt in a while / I don’t need to earn your affection / It’s been there all this time”. Earlier, “Sorry Anyway” acts as a defiant celebration of imperfection: “But if you want the lightning / There's gonna be thunderbolts and rain / You're missing all the scenery / Will you put down the map / And stop trying to be perfect? / Baby, I thrive when we mess it up”.

In a similar vein, Walton’s vocal approach feels more unguarded and unvarnished than ever before. She often reaches into a higher register, giving her vocals a free-floating, buoyant quality. Although this can occasionally leave some notes sounding rather thin, Walton’s blemishes feel like markers of unabashed sincerity rather than a lack of polish. There are moments on the glittering closer, “Romance Is Dead On”, where her intonation ricochets between her head and her chest, occasionally dropping into a flat, almost spoken affect. It feels as if Walton is freely exploring the corners of her voice, using it in surprising new ways that are completely and joyously authentic.

That same plaintive authenticity is what makes Tell Me It’s A Dream so effective. The lyrics never feel so starry-eyed or blithely optimistic as to come off as patronizing. Instead, while uncertainty and heartache loom in the background, Walton chooses to focus on feelings of light, connection, and possibility. She sings of chasing after a future you want to see, accepting failure, and bringing all of the lessons learned into a new self: “Sometimes baby, we live and we learn / And sometimes we just live / And I’d say there’s no point dancing in someone’s shoes / When you’ve got all that to give”. Walton’s dreams have their own gravitational pull, and it is easy to get swept along by the big sing-along moments. However, the album doesn’t just offer a rush of shimmering, sugary indie pop confections, but also a charming invitation to brush off your inner cynic and celebrate all you have to offer the world.