Lulu Leloup’s March is the kind of record that doesn’t just revisit jazz traditions — it slips into them, rearranges the furniture, and makes itself at home. Across four elegantly restrained movements, the Beirut/Dubai-based singer-songwriter delivers an EP that feels steeped in vintage sensibility while remaining emotionally immediate. It’s a delicate balancing act, but one Lulu handles with remarkable poise.
There’s a lived-in quality to these songs, particularly in (If you’re gonna break my heart, would you do it after) March, where a tongue-in-cheek premise masks something far more tender. Lulu’s songwriting thrives in that tension — humour brushing up against heartbreak, self-awareness cutting through longing. It’s reminiscent of classic torch songs, but reframed through a distinctly modern lens.
Sonically, March leans into minimalism. Piano-led arrangements, soft brass textures, and subtle rhythmic shifts create a warm, intimate atmosphere that allows Lulu’s voice to take centre stage. She doesn’t over-sing; instead, she lingers, letting each phrase breathe. That restraint becomes the EP’s defining strength.
Ultimately, March feels like a quiet statement of intent. Lulu Leloup isn’t chasing reinvention — she’s refining a sound that already feels fully formed. And in doing so, she delivers a record that’s as timeless as it is quietly devastating.
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