The siren songs of Rachel Lime are finally out on her sophomore LP STORIES, an eight-track release that was five years in the works. The album is a story board of mystical resplendence; a soundscape where each chiming track echoes from ear to ear like crashing waves in a sea shell. Finished two years ago and only just released this April, Lime carries listeners through an art pop world of her own whimsical imagination, one that’s often more like scrolling through someone else’s hyper-personalized digital algorithm than listening to a record. Whether it’s the unexpected references to the romantic literature of Tennyson Alfred or the mystical land of the Legend of Zelda jumping out at you, you might not really get it, but that feels like the point.
Like a virtual astral plane, a separate realm, each of Lime’s deep cut references build STORIES’ rich world up around the enigma that encapsulates her psyche. Like a magnet, her enveloping lyrics chant these secrets. On the opening track and first single “Wild Raspberries,” a dreamland of dancey grooves made on GarageBand at 19, Lime sings “Follow me / I know what you seek.” Lime’s chiming and distorted lyrics are heavy but spacious, like an electric Liz Fraser, and suddenly you’re following her through the woods picking raspberries—even though you really have no idea where she’s taking you. All you know is you feel lucky to be headphones-in, wandering to the cyberrealm glitch noises created by Lime and mixer Brian Trench, a collaborator from her last LP A.U. Confusing but enticing, there’s really no barrier to entry on this fantastical release; part of the fun is realizing you’re a bit lost.
The album opens up like Pandora’s box: enticing, tinged with danger and the unknowable. On “Water Lily Bloom,” the ripe bounty of the natural world matches the richness of the orchestration, one mastered by Jersey City local Nick Bolton of Bolton sound. With his hands on other new electronic, synthy projects like the EZ Company’s 2025 self-titled record, Bolton brings a fresh, groovy buzz to Lime’s discography, one that stands out from the slowly plodding melodies of A.U., mastered back in her hometown of Minneapolis. Now, standing on a rooftop in Brooklyn for a segment with FLOOD Magazine, the cityscape behind Lime clashes powerfully with the natural world she crafted with nothing but a keyboard and a mic.
One thing Lime manages to balance in STORIES is her personal connection to this clearly enigmatic but intimate release. On “Jangdan,” the album’s typically full-bodied sound is continually broken up by hauntingly uncanny vocals, chanting and wavering through the backing track. These sounds are those of traditional Pansori singing, the Korean folk music tradition of expressive vocals and rhythmic drumming. Lime’s homage to her Korean background ties every heavy slow undertow of electronic hums, the rich mashing of noise and sound, onto the recording even as buzzing, spontaneous notes keep jumping out. Quirky and scatter-brained, the track feels disjointed and off-putting in its instrumentation until Lime’s sultry voice recaptures the apparent glitch of her own creation, pulling the hectic energy back on track. The song fades with a haunting, reverby incantation: “I was 17 / It was Spring / I wanted everything.” Undeniably heavy and private, the openness by which Lime shares her secrets fits into the purposefully distant world she’s built for us.
Like any good story, the record isn’t all happy endings. On “Secret Garden,” Lime sings darkly, the “rain begins to fall.” Inspired by “La Belle Dame sans Merci: A Ballad,” the fairytale, early 19th century John Keats narrative poem, it turns Lime’s usually hyper-pop down several notches. The result is a xanned-out, unsettling mix, featuring the live cello also on “Wild Raspberries,” played by collaborator Kaeli Earle. There’s an intentionally slow magic in the way the jumbled assortment of twinkling, witchy notes transitions to the peaceful and quiet ambience of the next track “Nacrée.” This third single off the record features animated artwork of a pixelated clam shell, pearlescent, shiny and dripping, made in the digital-glitch style of close collaborator Dog Will Hunt Monsters, the same online creator who crafted the pixelated GIFs for each of Lime’s single releases posted on Instagram. Electronic, buzzing, jangled and mysteriously discordant, each synthy note and sultry lyric emerges in the full-bodied ‘80s spirit of Kate Bush, wild and humming with a virtual world of trip hop-y, downtempo notes. .
In this alternative reality of Lime’s, hopes, dreams and fears are displayed brightly and enticingly even when they’re tinged with darkness. Like pulling aside a beaded curtain and stepping into a dream, the release picks you back up from the darker side of the journey. On “Haenyeo,” which listeners slip into uneasily midway through the record, listeners can see the sun once more and the realm seems to correct itself, even if it still spins a little lopsided. Off-kilter yet sweetly charming, the song is lighthearted, like reliving a childhood spent online playing computer games, with each plopping splat on the keys recalling Mario running into a mushroom or Flappy Bird restarting. Lime’s now-classic dream pop vocals sing “I cannot stay / Maybe someday / I will, I will,” in syncopation with the upbeat pattern. The vivid sound bed of humming keys and clearly ringing magic bells, elvin and playful, create a wavering, drifting feel, like you’re caught up in an oceanic tide too great to control, too big to try; you’re just there for the ride.
As enveloping as her world-building manages to be, the quiet close to the album releases you slightly from its tight embrace. On “I Love When Night Falls,” a soft recording of the wind whistling, light and breezy, transports you to a pensive place reminiscent of Lime’s own imaginings. Like the Legend of Zelda Twilight Princess, the album ends as softly as the question one asks the other: “Tell me, do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?” For listeners of STORIES, the answer is yes, as the warm hug that is the record leaves us wondering where we just were, and where we might wander next.