Debut EP “Lost On Venus” Showcases Alicia Lov’s Clear Voice, Emotional Range, and Cultural Roots
Alicia Lov’s debut EP, “Lost On Venus,” reads like one of those constellations—glittering, aching, and stubbornly hopeful. Indeed, the title hints at misplacement, yet Lov turns displacement into choreography: commercial-pop architecture dusted with Afro-pop spark, a bilingual gleam that honors her Spanish roots, and a diarist’s candor that refuses euphemism. The sequence moves like a coming-of-age in fast-forward—friendships fraying, mental health negotiated, risks taken, worth reclaimed—while the production favors clarity over spectacle, letting her voice carry the voltage. Basically, the EP’s chronology is its spine: a girl cautions herself, stumbles through false havens, discovers first love, survives the gray hours, flirts with danger, locates her power, and finally names herself in two languages.
“On The Low” opens in velvet dusk. It’s the prologue and the pact. Lov addresses her younger self with protective pragmatism: guard the flame, keep cards close, move quietly through rooms that misunderstand you. Pads and piano glow like streetlights in rain as Lov’s lead—shiny yet steel-spined—“Hold your head / Protect the things unsaid / When it all turns red / Hear the sirens / They're echoing.” In fact, it establishes the EP’s ethic: intimacy first, spectacle second.
“Drink It Up” pivots to toxic glamour. A pumping kick and bass bloom into Afro-lilted drums, while English and Spanish trade places in a mirror of self-reckoning. Moreover, the topline is sticky without being saccharine, framing denial as choreography you can’t stop repeating—a pop banger that knows the price of the afterparty.
“Halo” bathes the room in heat-kissed light. Upbeat drums and aqueous pads cradle a melody that flickers like stained glass; the bilingual passages widen the song’s emotional bandwidth rather than functioning as ornament. It’s surrender, but on dignified terms.
“Sad Club” is the raw confessional. Lo-fi-leaning guitar and whisper-close delivery resist prettiness; however, the arrangement never wallows. Subtle textures and steady heartbeat drums keep it afloat even as the subject sinks, making despair feel named rather than glamorized. The song touches on struggles with depression and mental health.
“Keep Me Coming” flips melancholy into flirtation. A breezy summer pocket, chant-sharp hook, and fizzy ad-libs make it the record’s mischief engine. In addition, the lyric admits appetite without apology—exploring the risk and fun of young adulthood—painted in a pop landscape that often polices desire.
“How Could I Not” sprints forward on fast percussion and a chest-high topline. The self-mythologizing lands because the verses remember the bruises; stacked harmonies feel like scaffolding around a newly fortified self, while the drum programming snaps with club-clean precision. Lov describes the vision behind the song as “the start of realizing my worth and stepping into a new light”.
“La Luna” closes as celestial rite—pads, playful plucks, and an Afro rhythm that moves like tides. The Spanish sections feel sovereign, crowning the arc with cosmic self-possession and the certainty of arrival. Lyrically, the song is the final evolution of Alicia stepping into her Full feminine energy as a woman. In fact, the lunar imagery completes the arc: secrecy (new moon), danger (eclipse), love (glow), despair (waning), power (full).
Across seven tracks, Lov writes direct yet cinematic lines, choosing vivid nouns over cryptic veils and singing like she’s letting you read the text thread she never sent. Moreover, the mixes prize clarity, granting her silky timbre room to bloom while letting percussion sparkle. If there’s a limit, it’s a tendency toward uniform mid-tempo pacing and a couple of choruses that brush familiar pop tropes. Yet the bilingual weave, Afro-pop inflection, and steady narrative spine rescue the project from sameness. By the final fade, Lost On Venus doesn’t feel lost at all—it feels mapped, the kind of map you fold into your pocket for nights when the sky forgets your name.
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