Intimacy is Phoenix James preferred choice of expression. Her voice is sonorous and tender, where anxiety can be mistaken for exhaustion. The only way to sense the differences is with proximity, where vulnerability lives.
“Limbs” expands on that intimacy with an infectious soundstage. The cadent taps of the syncopated drums are comforting, like the trace of a lover’s hands on your skin. The bassline is burly, ensnaring the keys to mirror its movement, thus creating a dance-like routine. Synths pop in and out, ranging from what sounds like the friction of a guitar string to muted bells that hit on the four. The texture is lush, but Phoenix is what allures your attention. She emotes concern as she lilts about the anxiety that comes with falling in love, “you make me scared to care at all/ its not so bad I’m warming up,” drafting the rich soundscape cautiously. The gentleness of the production is reaffirming, aiding her in throwing caution to the wind: “When I don’t feel you, I see you/You touch my head and my soul.”
