If there's someone walking under streetlights with eyes always searching elsewhere, it's Samia. Bloodless sounds like her voice cutting through the night: quiet but burning from within, delicate yet sharp enough to slice through anything it touches.
This isn’t just an indie-pop album. It’s a world where sentences fall like blades, and synths spread like the night. Each track feels like a line hastily scribbled in the corner of a diary—memorized before it could be erased.
“Sea Lions” – For Those Who Scream in Silence
With a track like “Sea Lions” opening the album, there’s no need to speak. Samia embraces loneliness like a dance partner in this song. The melody begins gently, then suddenly surges with emotion—not piercing your eardrums, but cracking through your chest. She doesn’t explain; she makes you feel.
The Silence Between the Words
Bloodless turns heartbreaks, late-night walks, and 4 a.m. “How are you?” texts into melody. There are no screams in this album—but silence has its own volume. Samia’s voice is a sigh caught between holding back and letting go—that split-second hesitation before a tear falls.
Production Made of Shattered Glass
Produced by Caleb Wright and Jake Luppen, but it doesn’t sound like it came from spotless studio labs. It sounds like it was born in dusty notebooks and quiet chaos. The songs glint like shards of broken glass—uneven, raw, and exactly because of that, unforgettable. Every synth wave and every pause feels like uncertainty soaked into the track—just like life itself.
The Album Doesn’t End — It Sinks Into You
By the time “Breathing Song” plays, you find yourself somewhere between inhaling and holding your breath. Samia doesn’t leave you with a closing statement, but with an unresolved thought that lingers.
This isn’t an album, it’s a letter. Fold lines visible, some sentences crossed out—still legible, still alive.
Put on your headphones. Wait until the city quiets down. Bloodless will find you.
