NAME:
Lucienne
ABOUT
Lucienne writes the way some people keep intimate journals, except she's been doing it across different towns, seasons, and versions of herself. Years in remote landscapes have given her something cities can't: time to let songs settle into what they need to be. She calls it her lyrical harvest, a patient gathering of what only reveals itself when you stop forcing it.
Lucienne means light bearer; the light she's interested in is the kind that shows up after you've sat with difficult questions long enough.
Her lyrics don't arrive quickly; rather, there is a refusal to settle for the first feeling or the easiest phrase. Her debut single, 'The Same Death,' is a rich blend of enchanting indie-soul and warm retro edges and national radio, including Australia's triple j, has already taken notice. The song has urban sophistication in its bones, but it's grounded by something wide open spaces taught her: you can’t rush what needs time.
Moving to the city wasn't about reinvention. Lucienne had already done the work, the writing, the living. The city just gave her the audience that is ready to listen. She's not interested in performing transformation; she's interested in sharing what transformation leaves behind.
Her music feels like overhearing someone tell the truth to themselves. Not confessional for its own sake, not raw just to prove authenticity. Just clear. The kind of clarity that doesn't need to announce itself.
The harvest is finally ready to share.
ExpandLucienne means light bearer; the light she's interested in is the kind that shows up after you've sat with difficult questions long enough.
Her lyrics don't arrive quickly; rather, there is a refusal to settle for the first feeling or the easiest phrase. Her debut single, 'The Same Death,' is a rich blend of enchanting indie-soul and warm retro edges and national radio, including Australia's triple j, has already taken notice. The song has urban sophistication in its bones, but it's grounded by something wide open spaces taught her: you can’t rush what needs time.
Moving to the city wasn't about reinvention. Lucienne had already done the work, the writing, the living. The city just gave her the audience that is ready to listen. She's not interested in performing transformation; she's interested in sharing what transformation leaves behind.
Her music feels like overhearing someone tell the truth to themselves. Not confessional for its own sake, not raw just to prove authenticity. Just clear. The kind of clarity that doesn't need to announce itself.
The harvest is finally ready to share.