Real Fruit Ice Cream

Slip on your headphones and stare at the ceiling. Slips by soft and unhurried, like something you catch out of the corner of your ear rather than sit down to face straight on. Falsetto floating over hushed, drifting arrangements, feels like bedroom pop that grew up a little without losing its shyness. Nothing here demands attention, it just kind of settles into the room around you. Fragile in a good way, a little repetitive in a way that could be intentional or could just be the vibe running thin by the back half. Quiet, comforting, easy to miss if you're not paying attention.