Inquisitive and intuitive, this charming debut is the youthful epigraph of a promising career.

There is something warmly inquisitive about Southend-born 22-year-old Leo Walrus’ debut ‘I May Need Some Silence’. The collection is an epigraph, capturing a young man opening himself up to the ambivalence of the world for the first time.  Produced by Evil Tree No.3, the album shimmered into hazy life last week at the infamous Cavendish Arms, where Walrus sported a blue cravat, waistcoat, and guitar. The timeless effervescence of Walrus’ music twins visually to his unmistakably retro look, however, his influences do not reside exclusively in the 60s. Elements of neo-soul and Cuban jazz ooze from tracks such as ‘Angel Angel’ and ‘Move Me’, which sit comfortably alongside more nostalgic psych-rock tracks such as ‘Scrambled’.

Walrus’ track ‘Up Somewhere’, released as a single earlier this year, boded of further McCartney-esque vocals and Emmitt Rhodes-adjacent pop-rock balladry, coming on the heels of 2022 single ‘Creeper Star’. Prefaced by four singles, the debut album is a smooth deviation from the well-trodden route Walrus could have taken. He slides his hand into ours and guides us through an eclectic terrain. Met first by sunken bedroom grooves, he skips between upbeat, characterful textures that draw on Linda Perhacs and Latin syncopation, whilst never overlooking the chance to sit in bass heavy sticky soul and remind us why we are here. ‘Notice the Cold’ is a shining example of Walrus’ venture, which wears a velvet layering of sound like a dream-folk tiramisu. The track plateaus in the high above, precipitating a caramel ambience down upon the listener without sacrificing the resonant hooks typical of his earlier work.

The album is deeply reflective and candidly optimistic. It is a look in the mirror, a digestion of the self, which leaves a honey-sweet refrain in the mouth of the listener. Walrus has spoken of an appreciation for “honesty and exploration” which glazes the lyrical refrains of fear and insecurity with an ambitious sugar coating. This is felt in the music as much as in the thought behind it, which harbours nascent eccentricities which will assuredly develop in Walrus’ work yet to come. This is embraced by Walrus, who explains, “This is my first album… it feels like what should be my first expression.” This album feels like an action of being, of stepping into your skin and wearing yourself in. ‘Willsong’, the final track is the apex of this ideal, with rhythmic a cappella, isolated harmonies, midi piano twinkle and self-referential lyrics, telling of “my true will song, I’d love anyone like this”.

Lyrically, the 11 songs within the album circle around similar themes, often grounded in the very human tension between introspective truths and attempts at reading the emotions of another. “You are the one who knows who they love now” and “It’s only love that I’d ever lie to” are silky edicts of vulnerability rare in a debut album. Walrus argues that questions are more powerful that answers, a sentiment which this album venerates. ‘Can You Swim?’ and ‘Whose Been Well?’ pierce into ambiguity, like stars or buttons on a leather armchair. Despite Walrus’ affinity with inquisition, there is a voice offering an answer here, “I love what I’ve become, not who I am”, he declares, in something of a coming-of-age mantra. The message this album transmits does not demand attention, it seeps into the subconscious of the listener like the sound of a distant radio floating through a sunny afternoon.

Leo Walrus is a one session wonder, often finalising much of his material in single sittings with producer George Hawk. This is an exciting precedent, indicative of the talent and incensed inspiration found in what is and what is yet to come. Walrus has liquidised himself with this album, what mould will he choose to set in?