Liela Moss - Internal Working Model (LP) - Red Vinyl

Liela Moss has always had a voice that slices through the fog, a cool flame at the centre of the room. On Internal Working Model, her third solo album, she leans into a sleek, synth‑forward palette and finds a new kind of clarity. Released in 2023 on Bella Union, it’s the work of a singer best known for fronting The Duke Spirit, now set against circuitry and pulse rather than fuzz and clatter. The title nods to a term from attachment theory, and that feels right. These songs sit with how we pattern ourselves, how we learn to trust and unlearn to cope, then put those questions under neon light.

The first thing that lands is how considered the production feels. Beats tick like timepieces, bass synths glide rather than stomp, and Moss threads melodies with a calm that never dulls the edge. There’s still grit in her phrasing, that familiar resolve, but it’s filtered through machines that hum rather than roar. Fans who came up on The Duke Spirit will recognise the poise; what’s changed is the scaffolding. The guitars give way to sequencers, and the record breathes easier for it.

Vanishing Shadows is the headline moment, not just for its hook but for the presence of Gary Numan, who joins Moss on a duet that makes perfect sense the second you hear it. His cool, regal tone folds into hers like another layer of smoke, and the track blooms into a slow‑burn anthem. It’s one of those pairings that reads like a nod to lineage. Numan has long been a byword for synth‑driven alienation, and Moss uses that energy as a mirror rather than a crutch. The result feels like two artists conversing across time, not a guest spot stapled on for effect.

Across the album, she writes about power, empathy, and the small moral tests of the everyday. It isn’t sloganeering. The detail is in the sound design, the way a drum figure will flicker like a hazard light while a vocal line holds steady, or how a synth arpeggio will refuse to resolve, keeping you slightly off balance. The choices suit her voice, which carries steel and warmth in equal measure. When she leans into a chorus, you feel the lift without any showboating. It’s the kind of restraint that suggests years of stagecraft.

Bella Union has long been a home for artists who take a left turn without losing themselves, and Internal Working Model fits neatly into that tradition. Critics picked up on the shift as well, noting how Moss folds electronic textures into a pop framework that still feels human. That balance is the album’s quiet triumph. She’s not chasing a retro synthwave high, nor is she draping old songs in new clothes. She’s writing from the present, curious about how machines can hold feeling rather than flatten it.

For those who live with records, Internal Working Model makes a strong case for the format. The low‑end weight and the patient pacing suit a side‑A side‑B journey. If you’ve been eyeing Liela Moss vinyl, this is the one that will sit next to your favourite night‑time listens and earn repeat spins. Search for Internal Working Model vinyl and you’ll find a handful of editions, and it slots neatly alongside other Liela Moss albums on vinyl if you’re building a proper shelf for her solo era. If you’re in a Melbourne record store on a rainy afternoon, it’s the kind of sleeve that catches your eye and rewards a blind buy. And if you buy Liela Moss records online, you won’t feel short‑changed when the postie drops it in with the rest of your vinyl records Australia haul.

It helps that Moss is an assured live performer, and these songs feel built to travel. You can imagine the synths turning club ceilings into star maps, her vocal riding on top of it all with cool command. There’s no filler here, just a sequence that moves like a good film, each scene colouring the next. By the time the last track fades, you’ve been in a room where feeling and circuitry trade secrets.

Internal Working Model does what the best late‑career pivots do. It reframes a familiar voice and lets you hear it anew. No grandstanding, no costume change, just a smart set of songs that find soul inside the machine. Fans will clock the continuity. New listeners will find an artist in full control of her tools. Either way, it’s a keeper.