For more than a decade,
Islet seemed happy to be completely independent, releasing their free-flowing experimental pop on their own label whenever the mood struck them. On
Eyelet, however, the Welsh trio celebrate the power of connection. This is
Islet's first album for Fire Records, one of many significant changes for the band since 2016's Liquid Half Moon EP. During that time, Alex Williams lost his mother and moved in with
Emma and
Mark Daman Thomas, who were expecting their second child while making
Eyelet. This feeling of togetherness extends to the album's sound, which is more cohesive than any of
Islet's previous work. It still feels like anything is possible in their music, but this time the trio leave fewer loose ends in their songs. On "Treasure,"
Mark and
Emma Daman Thomas share vocals and meditations on freedom and commitment, swirling them together over meditative electronics and percussion that wrap around their listeners seamlessly.
Eyelet's songwriting also traces layers of belonging that radiate outward from the band in fascinating and moving ways.
Emma Daman Thomas' pregnancy was a major influence on the album, informing songs as varied as the buoyant, pulsing electro-pop of "Clouds" (which came to her in a dream) and the hypnotic album opener "Caterpillar," where softly gyrating synths and drums give the impression of building, and emerging from, a chrysalis. From there,
Islet touches on the generational strength of women with "Good Grief," an elegant showcase for
Emma Daman Thomas' commanding and alluring vocals. Later, they breathe new life into Welsh history with "Geese," an airy, exhilarating suite based on Raymond Williams' novel People of the Black Mountains.
Eyelet's political undercurrent -- and
Islet's concern for humankind -- comes to the fore on the highlight "Radel 10." Inspired in part by The Good Immigrant, an anthology of essays about race and immigration, the track's namesake tabla drum machine pushes
Emma Daman Thomas' questioning lyrics ("Should I be more grateful? Will it make you like me?") forward on a relentless groove. Similarly, when she sings "those bastards want to take our rights away" over "No Host"'s lulling drones, it's more unusual, and maybe more impactful, than a typically angry-sounding protest song. Though "Sgwylfa Rock"'s fluorescent outbursts and "Florist"'s loping psych-pop hark back to the band's earlier work, they share the direct, vibrant emotions that unite the rest of the album. Comforting but inspiring, lively yet contemplative,
Eyelet is easily
Islet's strongest and most accessible album, and being invited into their world like this is a delight.