(Self released, digital) Ah, love. We fill albums, films, books, poems and social media posts with paeans and laments to love, but ultimately we know so little about it. Al Pacino declared it "biochemically no different than eating large quantities of chocolate" (granted, he said this while playing Satan in a film), yet studies have shown that lovers have a tendency to sync heartbeats and even respiration. We can be hopeless romantics one week and hardened cynics the next. That dynamic is at the heart of Julia Randall's Rom-Com Industrial Complex. The Burlington singer-songwriter's debut spans the spectrum of love, from the dizzying, weak-at-the-knees early days of infatuation to the bitter moments before a fraying relationship's end. She even covers the acceptance stage, writing a song for an ex and their new partner. The first half of Rom-Com is the giddy climb as love is found and as amazing as the movies promised. In the jazzy, playful "I'm in Love Again," Randall is so enraptured that "coffee tastes like Champagne" and there's no concentrating on anything but those feelings. "You think that I'd know by now," she croons, a prophetic line that returns later. The title track, all gentle folk-pop, is awash with the myths of love, moonlight and gold rings, but already there's a sense of caution creeping in, as if the artist recognizes this is too much like a fairy tale. Randall is a gifted composer, as good at shifting genre gears from pop to jazz to Americana as she is at crafting evocative and, eventually, bittersweet lyrics. She builds suspense as a love story risks going pear-shaped. Despite the wistful romance of "When We've Grown Old"—"disconnect the telephone / and hope we're left alone," she sings — there's a sense of desperation beneath it all as clouds gather on the horizon. For all the cleverness of the concept, it's Randall's voice that holds Rom-Com together. She spends much of the album in close control, singing breathy, at times languid melodies suffused with desire or sorrow. But she can easily swing big, soaring on tracks such as "What Won't Be." By the second half of the record, the love story has fallen apart. Friends and family have been told it's off; pictures are disappearing from social media; sweaters are returned. Randall describes doing some light stalking in "On the Internet," a slow-burning, R&B-inflected song that…
(Self released, digital) Ah, love. We fill albums, films, books, poems and social media posts with paeans and laments to love, but ultimately we know so little about it. Al Pacino declared it "biochemically no different than eating large quantities of chocolate" (granted, he said this while playing Satan in a film), yet studies have shown that lovers have a tendency to sync heartbeats and even respiration. We can be hopeless romantics one week and hardened cynics the next. That dynamic is at the heart of Julia Randall's Rom-Com Industrial Complex. The Burlington singer-songwriter's debut spans the spectrum of love, from the dizzying, weak-at-the-knees early days of infatuation to the bitter moments before a fraying relationship's end. She even covers the acceptance stage, writing a song for an ex and their new partner. The first half of Rom-Com is the giddy climb as love is found and as amazing as the movies promised. In the jazzy, playful "I'm in Love Again," Randall is so enraptured that "coffee tastes like Champagne" and there's no concentrating on anything but those feelings. "You think that I'd know by now," she croons, a prophetic line that returns later. The title track, all gentle folk-pop, is awash with the myths of love, moonlight and gold rings, but already there's a sense of caution creeping in, as if the artist recognizes this is too much like a fairy tale. Randall is a gifted composer, as good at shifting genre gears from pop to jazz to Americana as she is at crafting evocative and, eventually, bittersweet lyrics. She builds suspense as a love story risks going pear-shaped. Despite the wistful romance of "When We've Grown Old"—"disconnect the telephone / and hope we're left alone," she sings — there's a sense of desperation beneath it all as clouds gather on the horizon. For all the cleverness of the concept, it's Randall's voice that holds Rom-Com together. She spends much of the album in close control, singing breathy, at times languid melodies suffused with desire or sorrow. But she can easily swing big, soaring on tracks such as "What Won't Be." By the second half of the record, the love story has fallen apart. Friends and family have been told it's off; pictures are disappearing from social media; sweaters are returned. Randall describes doing some light stalking in "On the Internet," a slow-burning, R&B-inflected song that…