Eleanor’s ‘There’s No Quiet, There’s Little Relief’ does not chase serenity. Instead, it excavates unrest with sonic precision and emotional depth, crafting a space where heartbreak, lust, and betrayal aren’t merely themes but textures — layered, tangled, and refracted through a prism of classical training and contemporary production. It is a debut EP that resists easy categorization: part torch song cycle, part art-pop experiment, part blues confession.
The seven-track release unfurls like a deeply personal archive — each song a memory rendered with cinematic weight. On ‘Cold Day in Hell’, her voice hovers in the upper register, fragile and full of bite, while Ben Lowe’s production leans into ambient unease. Elsewhere, ‘Prey’ expands outward with sweeping strings and dissonant flourishes, arranged by Rachael Langtree, whose contributions lend an almost operatic gravitas to Eleanor’s storytelling. These songs do not sit quietly; they press against their own boundaries.
‘Sugar’, the EP’s lead single, stands in stark contrast to its more orchestral counterparts — all sultry basslines and sharp grooves. Produced by James Wyatt and anchored by Rob Holland’s tight bass, it’s playful without being flippant, sensual without softening Eleanor’s voice as narrator. “Who do I think I am releasing a song about sex?” she jokes, but the confidence behind the track suggests someone very aware of the line between vulnerability and performance.
The EP’s structural centerpiece, ‘Stuck On Loving You’, comes in two acts — a sparse, mournful prelude followed by a fully orchestrated release. It encapsulates Eleanor’s ability to dramatize emotion without losing nuance. There’s restraint in her phrasing, but also a willingness to embrace the melodrama of heartbreak. It’s here, perhaps more than anywhere else, that the EP’s title feels most apt: these aren’t quiet songs, nor are they looking for relief. They ache, beautifully.
Produced across several studios and crafted with an ensemble cast of musicians, the project is held together by Eleanor’s vision and vocal signature. There’s a sense of deep listening behind the production choices — an instinct not just for how a song should sound, but how it should feel. In ‘There’s No Quiet, There’s Little Relief’, Eleanor doesn’t offer resolution. Instead, she delivers something far more honest: a lush, living document of the chaos that makes us human.
