My thoughts on “When a Thought Grows Wings”

What happens when the Asian-Canadian thought daughter of our generation goes through a breakup? Luna Li‘s latest and greatest LP When a Thought Grows Wings (2024) provides a lush, heart-shattering answer. Capturing the ending and fallout of her eight year long relationship, When a Thought Grows Wings manages to be both grippingly vulnerable and deeply empowered, as Li charges forward into a new era of her musicianship while simultaneously navigating this daunting, yet liberatory, chapter of life.

Opening the album is “Confusion Song,” the first single released from the record and an appropriate introduction to the conflicting emotions to be found within. In this track, Li (or rather, Hannah Bussiere Kim, the singer-songwriter behind the alliterative moniker) is racked by uncertainty about the present distance between her and her ex-partner. The radio silence is maddening, as she repeats the question “how do you see it?” over and over as the song’s hook. The second chorus transitions into a resplendent half-time bridge, forming the turning point in the story. “I thought we were taking space/get your life to regenerate,” she sings, but by now it is clear that realization has dawned on the singer—the undeniable ending of this relationship grows near.

“Confusion Song” epitomizes a major sonic shift that remains consistent through the album, as multi-instrumentalist Kim experiments with syncopated time signatures and generally more differentiated production styles from song to song. Immediately following “Confusion Song” in the track list “Fantasy,” which sports yet another complex drum progression. The smooth rim hits underpin floating vocals and synth riffs, transporting listeners into a fairytale realm. But this instrumental dreaminess is contrasted by the desperation of the lyrics: “fantasy is keeping me alive,” sings Kim, a nod towards the turmoil she is going through. Nevertheless, her unfaltering spirit allows for “fictional healing realized.”

Arriving at “Minnie Says (Would You Be My),” an OP-1 type beat has come to replace the drum kit as the underlying percussion of the song, perhaps a nod to the quantized, byte-sized jam tracks that heralded Luna Li’s rise during the pandemic. She once again serenades the audience towards serenity in the chorus, with the recurrent query “would you be my lullaby?”

The artist accounts for some of these brilliant developments to her already astounding craft in the caption of an Instagram post celebrating the albums release, stating that in the process of creating it “I tried to challenge myself to write more openly and vulnerably than I have before…while going through this transitional time I found myself connecting more deeply than ever with music.” At the same time, she maintains many musical through-lines pulled from the rest of her discography—though I was initially (pleasantly) shocked by the rhythm and vocal closeness of “Golden Hour” when it dropped as a single in July, the arrival of its outro guitar riff brought a smile to my face, as it invoked the signature crunchiness of Luna Li’s earlier release Duality (2022).

It is in “I Imagine” that I believe Kim arrives at the album’s thematic heart. First and foremost, it presents a rightful callout: “you played a funny character in my dreams last night/you showed me real love/the way I knew you could never in the waking world,” she sings. But at the same time that she sets the record straight (pun not intentional), Kim also unlocks and manifests the very thing that will deliver her from this trial: “a stranger’s tune was playing in the background all along, and I woke up thinking only of that song.” This, to me, is the indie pop equivalent of the Big Bang, as the artist’s subconscious pushes her to open the floodgates and create. “Enigami,” a footnote to “I Imagine,” only elaborates on this reckoning: “I imagine harmonic bliss/I imagine a floral kiss/I imagine she plays a guitar,” sings Kim. And thus, potentialities proliferate.

Someone on the internet once said that Wednesday’s song “Quarry” off of their 2023 release Rat Saw God is somehow the best song ever written and it’s not even the best song on the album—this is precisely how I feel about “I Would Let You,” which is equal parts mournful love ballad and feminist manifesto. Opening with a glimmering flute melody over a wandering bass line, its composition is straightforward yet striking. Having by now given her listeners an idea of her stake in this relationship, Kim presents somewhat of an ultimatum, laying out the signs and gestures she is looking for in order to make it work. Having been pushed to her limit, she lets us know where she will draw the line and cease to make sacrifices: “I would exchange safety for loving/I would do anything to be wildly impressed/I would exchange comfort for freedom/I hope you love me for the good I do possess.”

As the song continues, it becomes more representative of an ideological struggle, expanding from Kim’s singular experience into something symbolic: “I would exchange care for respect/I would do anything to be equally addressed/I try to exchange what I want for what I need/And I would exchange you for me.” In this way, “I Would Let You” transcends the realm of romance and begins to speak about femininity on a greater scale. These lyrics in particular struck a chord. I have never felt the presence of misogyny more than when working in music, whether from the 40-year-old male employee looming over me in a music store or while discovering that Red Wing only sells steel-toed work boots adequate for stagehand responsibilities in men’s sizes—dismissiveness and condescension seems to be the modus operandi all around, but is felt disproportionately by people who are assigned female at birth. The relationship Kim describes has begun to replicate these power dynamics in her personal life, and in the end she must stop settling and find another path towards the treatment she deserves.

“Bon Voyage,” both intricate and extravagant, masterfully ties together the many thematic and musical currents of the album. It illustrates the emotional push-and-pull of love and conflict through dramatic crescendos—but this instrumental opulence does not deduct from the song’s candidness. In fact, the song is shot through with the humility of admitting to loss, of submitting to “the sweet conclusion.” It is a narrative microcosm in and of itself, slowly unfolding into the album’s psychological and nominative climax: “I want to see into your heart/you told me fear is an illusion,” she sings, before asking “can a thought grow wings and ascend in turn?” These citations, the album’s red threads, converge catalytically as Kim looks towards the future and waves goodbye to the past. Her exit is aided by a fanfare of the album’s familiar flora, from the chorus of violins to the harp, flute, and driving guitar, a finale to render anyone speechless and changed by its power.

When a Thought Grows Wings, with its exquisite instrumentation, captivating arrangement, and sublime lyricism, is more than I could ever have dreamed of from Luna Li—and that’s coming from someone who has seen her live three times in as many years. Having followed Luna Li since they opened for Japanese Breakfast‘s 2021 Jubilee tour, I hold nothing but awe-stricken respect for Kim’s artistry and excitement for her future, in regards to both her personal and professional life. It is perhaps indulgent, yet honest, to say that I see so much of myself in When a Thought Grows Wings. Anyone who knows me knows that this past year has put me through the ringer, and this album is uncannily reflective of the unprecedented growth that I have experienced—no, labored for—in recent months as I strive towards something refreshing, promising, and new. Like Kim describes, the lyrics for a new song will shake me from a dream or stop me mid-sentence, with my music acting as fertile ground for my realizations and learnings to transform into art. Luna Li gives me the vocabulary and the space to make sense of everything that I feel, to look at it without judgment as I allow myself grace and compassion. And she gives me hope for what rupture can bring—independence, gratitude, clarity, and a newfound infinity of better beginnings.

Article by Sophia Shen

Featured image courtesy of lunalimusic.com