On their sophomore album Souvenir, knitting perfects the art of the vulnerable indie-rock confessional

Listening to Souvenir, the sophomore LP from the Montreal-based trio knitting, is a typically beguiling and deeply emotional experience. Emerging from Quebec's ever-fertile indie underground, the band first cut through the noise with their self-released debut album, Some Kind of Heaven. That record, with its paradigmatically ’90s aesthetics, drew inevitable comparisons to slacker-rock exemplars like Pavement, the Pixies, and the Eels, firmly establishing frontperson Mischa Dempsey's reputation for insightful and witty lyricism. While the influence is irrefutable—Dempsey openly admits to a deep and resonant love for this era of rock—it is Dempsey’s precise perspective on the world and their place in it that gives knitting a unique voice worth listening to.

Souvenir isn’t explicitly presented as a concept record, but it feels epistolic in its construction, like a diary with thoughts and feelings poured out onto the page in poetic prose. We find Dempsey looking inward and not always liking, or even understanding, what they see. With each song feeling like a new entry in the narrator's thought journal, we travel with them along an undefined stretch of time, examining notions of self, identity, mental health, and the tedious mundanities of the 9-to-5. Dempsey’s soft, at times fragile vocal performance doesn’t aggressively draw attention to itself; instead, it entices the listener, hoping and longing for us to dive deeper—to hear them, to see them, even when they feel they don’t deserve the attention. The vocal booth is effectively repurposed as a confessional.

Of course, this isn’t just the Mischa Dempsey show. They are flanked by fellow guitarist and engineer Sarah Harris, bassist Piper Curtis, and drummer Andy Mulcair. In the brief, peripatetic interim between dropping their debut, touring it, writing the new record, and navigating the industry gubbins we aren't privy to, knitting somehow found the time to mature and grow. Souvenir benefits immensely from the newfound assuredness that comes with a band finally finding its footing, giving Dempsey's poetry vital space to breathe.

Album opener "I Want to Remember Everything" kicks things off with a lead riff that would've felt right at home on a Glastonbury or Lollapalooza stage during the galvanization of the indie rock genre. It operates as a stirring ode to the movies, detailing how a young, non-binary Dempsey found comfort and connection in the medium when those in their real world were unwilling or unable to see past their own naivety and bigotry. Mid-album highlight "Shuffle" opens with the exalted strum and pick of an acoustic guitar, while bass and drums underpin the riff with an energy that matches the six-string. Harris' judicious use of electric guitar adds crucial atmosphere and texture, grounding the directness of the performances. And there, in the dead center of the soundstage, is Dempsey—letting go of barrier-building rituals once meant to keep them safe but no longer fit for purpose, thanks to the wisdom and emotional intelligence of a new paramour. It is a love letter, and it is beautiful.

Throughout Souvenir, the players' performances range from whimsical to somber to raucous. Dempsey and Harris’ intersecting guitars and synth work ripple and shimmer like reflections of the moon on a lake after a stone has been thrown. They craft riffs and melodies that invoke feelings of anticipation and contemplation—or simply sound wave-your-lighter-in-the-air cool—anchored by the good old-fashioned 4/4 time of Curtis and Mulcair. Each composition gives tangible body and weight to Dempsey’s introspective ruminations.

Souvenir balances nostalgia and novelty with total aplomb. Yet these songs—songs about love, life, and hope—while immediately engaging on a superficial level, only reveal their true depth, intimacy, and deftness after several concentrated listens. You must spend time with Souvenir, nurturing your relationship with it before it fully opens up to you. Just like all the best art, it earns, and repays, your utmost affection.