In indie rock, debut albums usually fall into one of two camps. There’s the “here’s a couple of songs I’ve been playing since college, please like me” variety, and then there’s the “I have emerged fully formed from the void, armed with riffs, hooks, and just enough self-awareness to make you think I’m your friend” type. Born in a Landslide is the latter. Liri Dais doesn’t show up like she’s asking for permission to join the club. Rather, she slams the door open with crisp guitars, a voice that demands your attention, and a refusal to sound like someone who just discovered GarageBand.
The first thing that sticks is the voice. It’s got that Michelle Branch warmth and slight huskiness, the kind that makes you believe the sad bits and belt the big choruses in your car. But while Branch sat comfortably in early-2000s pop-rock, Liri clearly spent some formative years mainlining stuff from Mayday Parade and The Menzingers. Essentially, Liri’s vocals aren’t afraid to wade into messier emotional territory. She’s not trying to sound pretty so much as convincing.
Guitars here are the unsung co-stars. They’re clean, hooky, and sharp enough to slice bread. The production somehow nails that balance between polish and grit that most bands lose after album two. It’s modern, but it’s not sterile; think Beach Bunny if they’d been forced to record in a slightly haunted studio.
“The Last Time” opens the record like it’s already halfway through the setlist at a very good gig. “Your Love (Ain’t What It Used to Be)” follows, complete with an earworm chorus designed to torment you in the shower for the next three days. Both have guitar hooks that are earworms in themselves.
The title track, “Born in a Landslide,” is great… if you’re okay with the fact that it’s basically a Fleetwood Mac ballad in cosplay. The harmonies stacked like a suspiciously expensive cake, and chord changes that feel like they’ve been excavated from a second Fleetwood Mac self-titled album-era master tape. Done with love, obviously, but you can’t shake the feeling Stevie Nicks might walk in at any second demanding royalties.
“In Another Town” is where things slow down and go full country-adjacent, in a way that makes you think Liri might secretly have a Maren Morris record hidden under her bed. It’s bittersweet, storytelling-heavy, and has that quiet kind of intimacy that would absolutely ruin you if it came on during a solo drive at night.
“Second Dawn” closes the album with the energy of an early P!nk deep cut; all strut, no hesitation. It’s the kind of track that convinces you the protagonist has finally gotten their life together, or at least bought a leather jacket.
What’s fun about Born in a Landslide is that it flat-out refuses to sit neatly in any one box, even when you think you’ve got it pinned. It’s too unabashedly hook-driven to fit snugly into the emo revival camp; it’s also too emotionally direct to hide behind a layer of postmodern detachment, so the “let’s pretend we’re not trying” indie crowd can’t quite claim it either. And despite its occasional moments of softness and intimacy, it’s far too muscled-up in sound to be comfortably shelved next to bedroom pop’s lo-fi laptop confessionals.
Instead, Born in a Landslide gleefully raids all those stylistic cupboards and takes what it likes; the earnestness of emo, the immediacy of pop-punk, the crisp production of modern alt-rock, and even the lush, windswept balladry of ‘70s soft rock and turns them into something that feels both familiar and personal. It’s a bit like walking into someone’s apartment and realizing their bookshelf has an unsettlingly coherent mix of poetry, comic books, and vintage cookbooks. You know these things, you’ve seen them before, but the way they’re arranged tells you exactly who this person is.
While some chord progressions are comfortingly well-worn, like your favorite hoodie that’s starting to fray at the cuffs, one thing is undeniably clear: Liri Dais’ Born in a Landslide works like a charm. The confidence in execution throughout all eight tracks is so steady, so unselfconscious, that you stop keeping score and just go along for the ride.
Because Born in a Landslide isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel, it’s trying to make the kind of wheel you actually want to use. One that rolls perfectly over the uneven pavement of your daily commute, looks good enough that strangers compliment it, and maybe spins a little dangerously fast if you’re not paying attention. And once you’re in motion, you don’t care if the rim design looks suspiciously like the one you saw on someone else’s bike last week.
Liri Dais’ Born in a Landslide might just be the record you didn’t know you were waiting for. It has enough variety to keep you engaged, enough emotional immediacy to make you feel like you’ve been personally called out, and enough sonic punch to make you want to turn the volume up just a bit too high.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
