The Unsettling Beauty of LTB’s “Butterflies”

LTB’s new single, “Butterflies,” arrives fluttering with a name that promises delicacy, yet delivers a pin through the wing. This Annapolis artist wraps raw heartache in a soundscape that feels both familiar and unsettlingly unique – a confection laced with something sharp, served on a beautifully complex plate.

The music itself pulls you under with a hypnotic undertow of soulful R&B and jazz-tinged atmospherics. It’s smooth, yes, but possesses a texture like damask wallpaper that’s starting to peel at the edges, revealing something darker beneath. LTB’s vocals glide, sometimes soulful pleas, sometimes weary declarations, navigating hazy chords that give way to moments of piercing clarity. This contrast mirrors the central theme: that initial vibrant rush soured by the metallic tang of betrayal. For a moment, a synth wash reminded me, oddly, of the iridescent shimmer on a beetle’s back – beautiful, but hinting at something armour-plated and unyielding beneath. It’s that kind of unsettling beauty LTB crafts here.

The Unsettling Beauty of LTB's "Butterflies"
The Unsettling Beauty of LTB’s “Butterflies”

This isn’t just sadness; it’s the peculiar ache of addiction to what broke you. “Butterflies” captures that push-pull, the knowledge of poison presented as nectar, with unsettling precision. The feeling sticks to you, less like gentle melancholy and more like staring at one of those old lenticular images, where the smile flickers into a grimace depending on how you hold it. Love’s illusion revealed in that slight shift of perspective. The narrative’s shift from enchantment to that final, inevitable departure – the metaphorical flight – feels less like liberation and more like watching smoke escape through a crack in the door. Gone, but leaving a faint, specific scent behind in the room.

“Butterflies” doesn’t offer easy answers or neat catharsis. It simply holds up a shard of shattered love, letting the atmospheric production and LTB’s vulnerable delivery catch the light on its fractured surfaces. It leaves you pondering the allure of beautiful things that carry the potential for profound pain. How easily does the wingbeat become a tremor?

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