MARO has made an album that sits down across from you, folds its hands, and looks you calmly in the eye \u2014 which, after years of music that fidgeted and reached and sparkled in multiple languages, feels almost uncanny. Something has been set down, and you’re not sure if it’s luggage or a weapon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The whole record runs just over half an hour, which is either modest or ruthless depending on your relationship to closure. It opens with a lullaby to the self, which should feel indulgent but doesn’t. By the time “FEELING SO NICE” arrives \u2014 all synth warmth and quiet exhale \u2014 you realize you’ve been holding your breath since the first track. The album is doing something subtle: it’s teaching you how to let go by, demonstrating the act in real time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“DROWN” sits in the chest like a stone that has somehow learned to be comfortable there. And the closing track, “TO GRIEVE YOU,” asks what might be the strangest and most human question in recent pop memory: how do you mourn something you’re still inside of?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
MARO, or Mariana Brito da Cruz Forjaz Secca, is Portuguese, but she sings entirely in English on SO MUCH HAS CHANGED<\/em>, which gives the whole thing a slightly dreamlike remove \u2014 like watching your own memory through glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n