Hamilton-based indie rocker Lisa SQ is back with another dose of deliciously lo-fi, smoke-cured folk, debuting the new single “Cold Little Fingers,” a song that sounds like the 3 a.m. roadsound of those sleepless nights of yours. From the first seconds, listeners are pulled into a place somewhere between dreaming and waking, a place of private confusion and whispering voices, pounding hearts, and lingering childhood fears.
There’s a particular intimacy to Lisa SQ’s songwriting here, the kind that immediately announces both openness and ordered chaos. “Cold Little Fingers” isn’t just a song, it’s a late-night invitation. Its scope reflects the sensation of being wide-eyed and lying awake with thoughts swirling and memories grazing the periphery of your mind. The instrumentation is precise but restless, pinging and pulsing in a manner suggesting the heartbeat of someone teetering on the verge of a sleepless revelation.
Lisa SQ embraces the surrealist, moving in the gentle fear and joy of personal anxieties. “Cold Little Fingers” is the voice in the dark, that article you assure yourself is nothing that refuses to be exorcised, lingering like a shadow on your bedroom wall. Each line sounds like it’s spoken on a woozy whisper, in a confessional to an audience of one, and yet meant somehow for anyone who’s ever grappled with their own late-night demons.
What makes “Cold Little Fingers” arresting is the extent to which it turns discomfort into art. There’s a pressure in the music that reflects the physical sensations of shivering down your spine, tossing and turning in your sheets, and trying desperately to keep your cool when you’re this close to blowing your top. But amid this tension, there’s beauty. A strange grace that makes the darkness feel animated rather than oppressive. It’s one of those songs you find returning to your head long after it has finished, and just like the children and the sun, it’s the closest thing you have to, which is to say, together facing the monsters under your bed in silent solidarity.