To encounter Lucy Kruger’s music is to witness a singular journey of constant reflection that is producing an ever-widening arc of creativity. Since first embarking on the very specific process of recording music - with an early album that she recorded soon after finishing her arts degree in the Eastern Cape town of Grahamstown - Kruger has approached her artistry with the care of an archaeologist seeking all the interwoven elements that make up the historical whole.Whether the now finite suite of albums with André Leo as Medicine Boy (More Knives, 2014; Kinda Like Electricity, 2016; Lower, 2018; Take Me With You When You Disappear, 2020), or her solo work, Kruger has engaged in a slow, steady exploration of what it takes to make music that’s universal, that endures, that draws listeners in, even after countless listens.“I think that what I am able to offer as an artist is a detailed expression of my experience, for although the situation may feel unique to me, the feelings are universal,” says Kruger. “Giving them a sound and shape validates and creates space for those feelings, allowing listeners to feel seen and less alone, even at a distance. Even in the isolation of a bedroom. Especially in the isolation of a bedroom.”Kruger references the bedroom because it was this most intimate of spaces that gave her the profound realisation that she now brings to all her work. “Albums capture a moment in time in the life of a band or musician. Listeners hopefully stumble upon those albums when they’re in need of stepping into that world, or having that world mirrored back at them.” In the end, says Kruger, “I do not know how to write without making it personal, and for now I do not wish to”. She does this as a gift, both to herself, and the listener who might need it on their own journey, filled with all the risks of what it means to be human.
““A Stranger’s Chest” is the poignant introspection of a woman seeking to be heard and seen. The trembling, stark soundscape recalls Chelsea Wolfe at her quietest and Nick Cave in meditative contemplation, while Kruger’s lush, unhurried voice echoes Elena Tonra’s soft but powerful delivery. Despite its melancholic pace, every note leaves one of the edge of her seat. Our attention is steered towards Kruger’s voice, which is that of a woman on the edge of breaking. She’s on the edge of the cliff that descends into the inescapable sea...The LP could very well be one of the year’s biggest surprises and most memorable.”
— The Revue
“The single guitar melody in the first verse is an intimate accompaniment to Kruger’s soft vocals, as she tiptoes around expressing personal fears before asking to be taught "how to shout".
"A Stranger's Chest" introduces other elements slowly, allowing the instrumentation to build into a giant swell before it crashes against the coast. The track reaches a peak through reverb-heavy guitars, which rumble like a fast-brewing thunderstorm, adding an unpredictable, yet beautiful palette to the otherwise hushed and intimate song that shows Kruger baring all while also contemplating if that could scare the other person away.”
— The Line of Best Fit
“Then the artist picks up her beloved Gibson guitar and starts playing. Her fingers marked by small tattoos move along the frets of the wooden instrument slowly and with the elegance of a ballet dancer. When she opens her mouth to sing, the words are but a mellow hush, the breeze in the night that I came to love on the records, as well. A Winter Coat, I believe, was the single she played for me within the intimacy of her bedroom. It was probably the most personal concert I have been to. Legs crossed, sitting on the floor of Lucy Kruger’s room, the tender vibrations of her guitar strings seem to resonate within my body as well. And the Sonic Witch sings in quiet magic spells.”
