The Swiss duo crafts an intimate EP from the quiet aftermath of rupture.
In the era of the algorithm, the music of Melting Reeds feels like a found secret.
Born on the shores of Lake Geneva from pandemic-era reflections, the project has distilled from a collective of five to a core duo: Kevin, who writes and produces, and Matthieu, who colours the spaces with textured keys.
Their story is one of intentional retreat, from industry chasing to handmade creation, valuing meaning over visibility.
Their process is likened to cooking at home: imperfect, kind, and always meant for sharing. This philosophy forms the soul of their new EP, Over My Head.
The EP is a document of quiet collapse. Emerging from personal rupture, its four tracks trace the fault lines that form beneath a composed surface. There’s no dramatic crescendo here; instead, Melting Reeds master the potency of restraint.
The soundscapes are intimate, a delicate balance of clarity and haze, where melodic lines from Kevin’s guitar and voice intertwine with Matthieu’s atmospheric keyboards.
The production feels organic, slightly frayed at the edges, reinforcing their ethos of honesty over polish.
Tracks like the titular ‘Over My Head’ immerse the listener in a somber, yet beautiful, acceptance. The music unfolds patiently, embracing space and silence as essential elements.
It’s folk-tinged indie rock that prioritises emotional resonance over hook-driven immediacy, reminiscent of early Daughter or the subdued depth of Fleet Foxes.
Over My Head is not an album that shouts; it’s one that stays with you, a gentle companion for moments of quiet reckoning.
It reaffirms Melting Reeds’ vision: that music can be a grounding act of sense-making, a small, sincere piece of art shared from their world to ours.
