Tag Archives: Eve Maret

Album of the Day: Eve Maret, “No More Running”

Nashville-based Eve Maret offers up a vision of electronic music that suggests something that’s often been lost in overly simplified histories of the genre—a sense of the slippery strangeness that the field encompassed in the transition from the 1970s into the 1980s. Whether it’s cryptic prog, murmuring outer space burbles, dancefloor funk, or synth-pop chirpiness, there’s a sense throughout No More Running—initially available last year on cassette, now rereleased with additional tracks and new cover art—that all these derivations and more can be part of one aesthetic.

Maret’s activist work, via her cofounding of Hyasynth House—dedicated to collective creative space and healing for cis female, trans, and non-binary artists—readily frames much of the content of No More Running. Yet the album stands just as easily on its own. Her blurred, treated vocals early into the album help to set stages, often with understated slyness (from the title track: “You can’t help yourself / And neither can I, baby”); it feels like listening in on a strangely inviting conversation as it unfolds, in real time. The instrumentals take over as the listen progresses, ranging from the tripped-out “Cosmonaut” with its arrhythmic tones and electronic sighs, to the free-flowing “Feminine Intuition,” feeling sweetly joyful and warm in its rising and falling melodies. When Maret’s singing fully returns on the sprightly “Pink Ray,” it’s almost like the resolution of a narrative, and the album finishes with multilayered efforts like the shimmering and looped pulses of “My Own Pace.” It’s a song title that underscores No More Running’s communal spirit; with these songs, Maret presents a loving tribute to her community, maintained by a distinct, individual voice that’s impossible to ignore.

Ned Raggett