a collection of stories about love, loss, friendship, and the long walk back to yourself

before there were lullabies by rosa newis feels like the calm after a storm. when the rain slows and your reflection starts to make sense again. it’s an stunning album about healing and remembering, about finding independence and warmth after long shadows.

written in a series of small rooms and rainy attics, the record carries the intimacy of a handwritten letter and the weight of a life rebuilt. we love it, so decided to do a little run down of the tracks.

it opens with i’m the most fun you’ll ever have, a song that refuses nostalgia’s sadness – looking back with grace instead of regret. newis writes with rare generosity, proud of the past but not bound by it, and her voice carries that same soft strength.

country leans into yearning, a cinematic piece where you can almost hear the weather itself. it’s a slow, driving song, recorded in a little attic in wales, the sound of rain becomes part of the story, an accidental instrument that builds the song’s ache.

feel fluorescent picks up the pace again, and is the record’s bright pulse, a dreamy alternative rock anthem about survival and self-worth. the refrain – you can’t love anything you can’t outgrow – feels like the heart of the whole album. it glows with hard-won clarity, electric and human. a real highlight for us.

good to you moves into the middle section of the album, keeping that tenderness alive, and written like an old-fashioned love ballad, harmonica sighing like breath between the words. fires i start smoulders with reflection, starting slow before easing gently into its folk-rock roots, while flickering under a melody that sounds like forgiveness.

on to raise a man, newis faces the slow work of self-understanding – confronting the ways old versions of ourselves echo through the people we love. another of our favourites on the albun, it’s raw, reflective, and quietly brave.

the lover you need softens the tone again, drifting through alt-country air in a haze of pedal steel and memory. it’s the kind of song that doesn’t reach for an answer, only truth.

as the album deepens, the light also seems to grows warmer. control and violence explore the edges of power and pain with restraint, while paradise feels like a deep breath between them – a short, shining exhale. old enough and it’s a tough time to be young move with bittersweet patience, tracing the passage of time with the weary grace of someone who’s finally stopped running.

then comes when they turn out the lights, the closing song and maybe her finest moment. it features a beautifully long, glowing outro that feels like friendship, love, and the ache of growing up all at once. it’s the sound of the night ending, the bar closing, the laughter still ringing in your chest.

made with friends, family, and patience, before there were lullabies is a deeply personal document of resilience. it’s one of our recent favourites, and you can hear the rain in its corners, the care in every note, and the quiet strength of someone finding her way back to herself. we love it.

thank u for making this rosa newis 🌙