We expect a lot from our singer-songwriters. To begin with, we expect a voice,
preferably one that’s singular and unmistakable. We expect songs; timeless,
undeniable songs with the singer-songwriter’s fingerprints visible across their every
surface. From a live performance we benignly expect something that borders the
other-worldly; a presentation so honest, so unflinching that we’re left wondering not
only how it was done, but exactly what it was that took place. The singer-songwriter
downstage centre; a spot-lit open wound. It’s not for the faint of heart. It takes an
awful lot to do it well.
Like her influences before her, Scottish singer-songwriter Lizzie Reid is not faint of
heart. Like PJ Harvey, Tori Amos, Laura Marling or Alanis Morrissette, Reid is not shy of
the ugliness of rage or the awkwardness of grief. She is not timid when it comes to
putting her life to music; indeed, for Reid, it is in the baring all, in the outpouring itself
that her work finds its true north. Without real vulnerability at its beating, bleeding
heart, to sing, to play, to write music is “like cooking without salt”.
Reid is fully aware of the pitfalls of her approach. “I have to access those places, and
that can be tiring,” she says, when asked about writing Undoing, her new EP. “In the
end, it’s a choice … how we want to view our suffering. I don’t think we should let it
make us small”. She is clear-headed, and resolute in her intentions for the release,
declaring: “I’ve spent time being soft. I’m taking that, and framing it differently.”
It’s true, for the past few years, Reid has been trading in the softer, subtler currencies.
Since the release of her seven-track debut Cubicle, which was nominated for the
Scottish Album of the Year Award in 2021, Reid has penned more than her fair share
of quiet, devastating songs, the likes of which many of her bedfellows would happily
risk life, limb and Glastonbury slot to have as part of their repertoires. There’s the
beautiful, elegiac Love of Her Life, released in 2022, which records the painful
disintegration of a relationship as death and ultimate rebirth. Its chorus is unequivocal,
and so utterly memorable the song carries every hallmark of a burgeoning cult classic.
The piano-led How Do I Show My Love? takes no prisoners, either; its vocal is so
sensitively delivered, and so tastefully produced by Oli Barton-Wood that one is
transported to Reid’s side as she sings, crumbling, “how do I show my love in these
times of dust that seem to be harbouring us?” One could just as easily point to
Fothering Day, a single taken from 2025’s Bodega EP, for hints at Reid’s lyrical talent,
compositional skill, and remarkable vocal control. It is also a glowing example of those
less tangible traits that underpin the richness and uniqueness of Reid’s output; her
warmth, her humour, her attention to detail, and her distaste for pretension are on full
display as she sings to the new love in her life: “My fog has cleared for you, you’re
wearing your smock, and I have my odd socks on – is that enough?”
The fact that such songs have not yet catapulted her to great heights of notoriety is
not all that surprising to Reid. Recent years have seen her focus shift somewhat from
singer-songwriter to band member, collaborator and session player for some of
Scotland’s most active up-and-coming acts, including Dead Pony, Jacob Alon, Hamish
Hawk, Lucia & The Best Boys and Katie Gregson-MacLeod. As a result, Reid has
successfully become what a fair few of her contemporaries would love to be
considered: a musician’s musician. She confirms the value of “meeting like-minded
people” in inspiring her own work, and favours an ability to code-switch between
singer-songwriter and session musician, remarking, with a knowing smile, “I’d like to
live in a world where those things can exist together.” She concedes, however, that
something has been lifted off the backburner with Undoing. “That other person hasn’t
had a chance,” she says. “I’m not going to lie in my bed with toast crumbs all around
me – I’m going to go out, storm the streets in the pissing rain and rip my clothes off.”
And so it was. Sweet Relief, the EP’s grand opener, is Reid truly unleashed for the first
time in her career. Loud, dark and uncompromising, its snarling guitar lines, thundering
drums and ghostly synths provide the ideal working atmosphere for Reid’s lyrics to
make their mark. Accented by unsettling sirens and screeches, Reid croons, more
proudly than ever: “I risk everything for more, to live in pain again, shame again, bigger
than ever before”. Sweet Relief too further excavates the EP’s title, Undoing; not
merely paying witness to a monumental emotional collapse, the listener is invited to
view the EP as Reid does herself, as an opportunity for unlearning now defunct
patterns of thinking and behaviour, a means to discover new life amongst the ashes.
On Sentimental, a satisfying, unashamedly slinky indie-pop bass groove accompanies
a lyric with a newfound confidence and self-awareness at its heart – “You said I’m
being sentimental, but is that going your way?” The fact that the chorus sets up camp
in one’s head on first listen confirms that a new artist has been unveiled and embodied
in Reid on Undoing. The EP’s delicate, ruminative closer, Burden proves the clincher.
Here, Reid explores her age-old softer side, yet this time, crucially, with new,
hard-earned self-knowledge in tow. She sings, “I am here, and I am real”, and we know
it to be true.
Lizzie Reid is a singer-songwriter with a singular, unmistakable voice. She is a writer of
timeless, undeniable songs. On Undoing, she stands spot-lit. She doesn’t flinch.
Underestimate her at your peril.
