Last updated: 7 hours ago
Allison Barrett makes music that feels like late sunlight through a car windshield, soft, cinematic, a little bruised. Her songs drift between dream and confession, where small moments carry the weight of entire lives. A humming fridge, a half-open window, a dashboard light; these are her instruments as much as any guitar or piano.
She writes like she’s filming a memory in slow motion, honest, unhurried, always a little haunted. There’s warmth in her restraint, heartbreak in her stillness. The sound is equal parts bedroom and horizon line, lo-fi edges wrapped around melodies that linger like smoke.
Barrett doesn’t shout to be heard; she lets the quiet pull you closer until you realize you’ve been listening for a long time.
She writes like she’s filming a memory in slow motion, honest, unhurried, always a little haunted. There’s warmth in her restraint, heartbreak in her stillness. The sound is equal parts bedroom and horizon line, lo-fi edges wrapped around melodies that linger like smoke.
Barrett doesn’t shout to be heard; she lets the quiet pull you closer until you realize you’ve been listening for a long time.
Monthly Listeners
270
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Followers
146
Followers History
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