Luluc - Sculptor (LP) - Translucent Jade Green Vinyl

Luluc make quiet songs that travel far. Sculptor, released on Sub Pop on July 13, 2018, is their most precise kind of hush. The Australian duo of Zoë Randell and Steve Hassett have always prized restraint, but here the space around their melodies feels almost architectural. You can hear the grain of the guitar wood and the soft thrum of a tambourine tucked at the back of the room. It plays like a late conversation that never needs to be raised above a murmur.

Randell’s voice is the center. Unforced and close, it draws you in rather than reaching out. Hassett’s guitars and harmonies frame it with care. The pair wrote and shaped these songs with a sculptor’s patience, shaving things down until only the necessary curves remained. That approach fits the title, and it suits the guests they invited in. The record features contributions from J Mascis, Aaron Dessner, and Jim White, each adding detail without crowding the frame. Mascis slips in like a ghostly presence. Dessner’s touch is textural and steady. White’s drumming has that loping, human pulse he brings to so many records. The fingerprints are there, but the songs still breathe like Luluc songs.

“Heist” has the kind of glow that made so many of us stop in our tracks when we first heard Passerby. A simple pattern, a low bassline that feels like a steady heartbeat, and a melody that hangs in the air. The lyric sketches intimacy with a thief’s light touch. It’s not showy. It just lingers. “Moon Girl” moves like a waltz under a night sky. The arrangement opens gently, then settles into a pocket that makes you want to spin the volume knob up a notch, just to catch the edges of the room sound. If you’re the type who hunts for small production choices, this album rewards headphones. Guitar harmonics ping out at the corners. A piano enters late, almost like it remembered something important and tiptoed back.

Luluc came up in Melbourne’s scene, and you can still hear that sense of community in how they fold collaborators into their world. But Sculptor feels very much like a record made by two people who trust their instincts. The pacing is unhurried. Songs unfurl at their own speed, which is part of the charm. There is no rush to the chorus. No need to punch through a mix. The hooks arrive anyway, carried by phrasing and tone rather than volume. It’s the kind of album that wins you over on a second or third play, then becomes hard to imagine not having around.

Critics noticed that steadiness when it landed in 2018. It drew thoughtful praise for its clarity and calm, and for how the duo’s writing deepened without losing its soft-spoken core. The sequencing helps. The record flows like a set, the kind a band plays when the venue is quiet and everyone is listening. You can picture it working in a small room in Fitzroy just as well as a dim hall in Brooklyn. That portability is part of why Luluc albums on vinyl get revisited. They suit the ritual. Lower the needle, let the floorboards creak a little, and let Randell’s voice fill the space between your speakers.

If you collect Luluc vinyl, Sculptor is essential. The mastering gives the low end a warm bed, and the top end has air to spare. It feels tactile. You hear fingers on strings and small breaths before a line. If you’re browsing a Melbourne record store or digging through vinyl records Australia wide, keep an eye out for a clean copy. Better yet, if you prefer to buy Luluc records online, this is an easy add to the cart. Sculptor vinyl sits happily next to Passerby and their earlier Dear Hamlyn, marking a graceful step forward while keeping the qualities that made their name.

What makes the album stick is how humane it feels. The duo resist drama for its own sake. They trust in melody, in the resonance of simple words sung well, in the quiet thrill of a chord change landing right where it should. In a year full of records competing to be the loudest, Sculptor chose another path. It asks you to lean in. Give it that time and it opens up like a well loved book, full of margins you want to revisit.