8/10

Across four interconnected songs, London-based New Zealand songwriter Suze Harper traces the emotional distance between wanting, remembering and finally accepting what cannot be recovered. Jazz, blues, soul and acoustic songwriting provide the framework, but the EP’s real strength lies in the way she gives each song its own emotional temperature. One feels warm and expectant; another unsettled and searching. And by the closing moments, that earlier warmth has cooled into the stillness left behind when somebody has gone.

‘Not That Hard’ opens the collection with romantic directness. Its gentle beginnings gradually broaden into something more fluid and sophisticated, as piano, guitar and lightly swinging rhythms gather around her vocal. But beneath its inviting surface sits a thread of uncertainty as it asks for emotional clarity, yet never fully trusts that clarity will arrive. Her voice captures that contradiction particularly well, moving from composure towards a fuller, more exposed delivery without losing its precision.

Where the opener reaches outward, ‘Anthony’ turns the search inward. Its bluesier pulse gives the EP a welcome change in movement, while the writing transforms everyday acts of misplacement into questions about identity and direction. The reference to the patron saint associated with lost possessions adds wit to the premise, but the deeper concern is harder to resolve: what happens when the missing thing is not an object but a sense of self? It's one of the release's most conceptually interesting moments, supported by guitar work that adds character without drawing attention away from the narrative.

‘Little One’s Lullaby’ brings us closer to her origins. Images of rural life and family history give the song a strong sense of geography, but this is not a simple exercise in pastoral nostalgia. Comfort is accompanied by distance, and tenderness is sharpened by the knowledge that childhood landscapes cannot be entered again in quite the same way. The restrained arrangement allows those details to remain vivid, with the music offering reassurance while the words acknowledge change.

The title-track closes the EP in the aftermath of separation. ‘Lovers’ Lament’ avoids the obvious dramatic peak, choosing instead to dwell in the strange domestic silence that follows departure. Empty spaces, stale surroundings and traces of another person become more revealing than direct explanation. The song’s country and blues undertones suit that emotional weariness, while her stunning performance carries a controlled ache that never tips into excess.

But what unites these four songs is Harper’s instinct for proportion. She knows when to let a melody rise, when to leave a phrase exposed and when an arrangement should remain deliberately spare. Her classical background can be heard in the control of her vocals, yet the performances rarely feel formal. There's enough grain and personality in her delivery to keep the songs close to the experiences that inspired them.

Throughout, 'Lovers’ Lament's impact is cumulative, emerging through recurring ideas of home, emotional absence and the fear of losing either another person or oneself. By the end, Suze Harper has shaped a compact, carefully sequenced introduction to an artist who understands that heartbreak is rarely one clean event. It's a series of echoes, each returning in a slightly different form.