Tavia Rhodes turns grief, love, and flight into motion on “HER SAY,” a live-band soul-folk-rock set.
Like a campfire story told to the tide, Tavia Rhodes releases HER SAY and the coast answers back. The Seattle singer-songwriter—whose gigs have matured into a full-band electricity—turns grief, love, and flight into a living document you can hear breathing. Indeed, recorded at Temple of the Trees with Grammy-winning producer Bradley Laina, the album feels carved from oak and sea-salt: tactile guitars, a trio of backing voices like lighthouses, and—most crucially—live drums that place every confession squarely in the body. What emerges is a soul-folk-rock hybrid that strolls into Adult-contemporary warmth, slides through Indie R&B pockets, and catches Indie Pop light without losing its weathered truth.
What’s striking first is the album’s architecture of presence. The arrangements privilege air and intention: kick drum felt before it’s heard, bass lines that carry rather than crowd, keys that glimmer like reflections off wet pavement. Moreover, the mixes trust dynamics; verses keep their shoulders down so choruses can rise without brute force. In fact, Rhodes writes like a determined witness—plainspoken, image-rich, and unseduced by ornament. The voice is the thesis: velvety when consoling, brassy when boundary-setting, occasionally straight-lined melodically (a limit worth noting), yet unfailingly humane.
A swift, lyric-minded circuit of the 11 songs:
“Belonging.” Mid-tempo Indie R&B sway—breezy riffs, laid-back kit—scores a liberation memo. “What’s it like to fly?” becomes a thesis question, answered by drums that loosen the spine.
“Woman of Wait.” Jazzy strum and brushed snares cradle a credo: patience as praxis, not passivity. Moreover, the do-do-do refrain lands like a communal exhale.
“Don’t Go Back.” Piano leads, soft-footed groove underneath; then electric guitars spark the hook, turning resolve into a small victory dance.
“Light as a Feather.” Tribal-tinted toms, violin filigree, and electric shimmer—a Celtic-meets-pop crossing where weightlessness feels earned.
“Pleasure Seeker.” A candid tug-of-war between appetite and agency; live drums keep the heartbeat honest while the lyric interrogates freedom: “Can I be me?” becomes both dare and door.
“Call the Shots.” Upbeat yet composed; piano stabs, riffing guitars, and a tom-driven march. In addition, the lyric holds boundaries without bitterness—grace as a verb.
“Salty Sea.” Protest hymn disguised as surf rock. The snare snaps like a picket sign; repetition (“you can’t catch me”) becomes undertow and anthem.
“Made of Stories.” Stripped to acoustic, a bit of violin, and the hush of risk. However, the plain language cuts deepest: choosing a future is the bravest plot twist.
“West Coast Days.” Mid-tempo mapmaking—piano and bass tracing childhood coordinates while the kit swings like porch light in wind. Nostalgia without perfume.
“Walls Comin’ Down.” Soft electrics over a forward-leaning pulse; the hook is locomotive, hope spelled in eighth notes.
“I Want More.” Rhodes keys, live drums, and a frank ledger of desire versus dignity. Indeed, the final refrain doesn’t resolve so much as stand upright.
Across the record, the drum performances are the spine—human tempo, tasteful fills, room mics breathing. Moreover, guitars occupy distinct roles (chordal warmth, melodic counter-hooks, grit for climaxes), while keys supply the weather: Rhodes pianos for candor, Rhodes electric for ache. Backing vocals arrive like friends in the doorway—supportive, never ornamental. The sequencing smartly alternates road songs with inner rooms, giving listeners both horizon and hearth.
Objectively, not everything soars. At times the topline sits a touch flat across verse-to-pre-chorus pivots, and a couple of mid-tempos blur their borders. However, the writing’s emotional accuracy—and the band’s lived-in chemistry—keep the compass steady. When Rhodes sings of choosing, leaving, waiting, or wanting, the verbs feel earned.
If HER SAY has a superpower, it’s kinesthetic empathy: you don’t just hear these songs—you move at their speed. In fact, by trusting live instruments and unvarnished lyrics, Tavia Rhodes builds a world where courage sounds like a drum hit in a good room and tenderness like a chord allowed to ring. The vibe lingers like bonfire smoke on your jacket—evidence you stayed long enough to feel warm, and brave enough to leave carrying the light.
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