Sofie Royer - Harlequin (LP)

I first clocked Harlequin in a Melbourne record store, the sleeve staring back with that painted face and a glint that promised theatre and trouble. It fits. Sofie Royer has always worked with a touch of mischief, from her early days DJing and presenting for Boiler Room to compiling Sofie’s SOS Tape for Stones Throw. After the intimate, loungey charm of her debut Cult Survivor, she returned in September 2022 with Harlequin on Stones Throw, and it’s a richer, slyer record that leans into character without losing the human underneath the makeup.

Royer’s classical training shows up not as showy runs, but as poise. The arrangements sit just so, with strings slipping in like stage curtains and little harmonic turns that feel learned yet light. She writes and arranges with a crate-digger’s ear too. You can hear hints of soft-focus city pop, a dash of chanson, some new wave sparkle, and the relaxed pulse of late-night disco, but nothing scans as pastiche. The palette is her own, elegant and just a little crooked at the edges.

The singles tell the story well. Mio is the kind of heart-prick pop song that creeps up on you. It has an Italo shimmer, but the vocals keep things grounded, almost conspiratorial. Baker Miller Pink takes its name from that calm-inducing colour used in institutional settings, and the tune walks a neat line between candyfloss and unease, like someone smiling through a long cab ride home at 3 am. Schweden Espresso is the most obvious wink to Vienna, with flickers of German and a caffeinated strut that made it an instant fan favourite. If you’ve ever dashed across the Ringstrasse in winter, you’ll recognise that brisk, bright energy.

What elevates Harlequin is how the theatrical conceit sharpens the writing. The harlequin is a mask, sure, but it’s also a way of talking about role play in everyday life. On these songs, Royer plays with surface and sincerity. Sometimes she’s the wry observer, sometimes she’s dead-on earnest, and sometimes she’s both inside one verse. The production lets that duality breathe. Drum machines tick neatly, basslines lope without fuss, and keys glow like old neon. When a violin line peeks through, it feels like a hand on your shoulder.

Royer has lived between Vienna and Los Angeles, and that split comes through in the mood. European cafe cool rubbing against West Coast haze. You hear it in the pacing, which favours strolls over sprints, and in the melodies that don’t chase obvious hooks so much as circle them until they feel inevitable. It’s an album that rewards front-to-back listens. Flip it on and let the scenes roll by. Side A is all invitation and side-eye; side B deepens the colours and lets the lights dim.

Stones Throw has a knack for championing idiosyncratic pop, and Harlequin fits snugly into that lineage while pushing toward something more theatrical. The record drew thoughtful coverage from major music press, and you can see why. It is easy to shelve this next to Broadcast or Françoise Hardy because of the soft-focus glamour, but the writing cuts at its own angle. There are gazes into the mirror and plenty of winks, and it all lands because Royer keeps the melodies tidy and the rhythms uncluttered.

On vinyl the mood really settles in. The space between kick and synth, the hush of the vocal, the way strings comb through the mix, it all gains depth. If you’re hunting Sofie Royer vinyl, Harlequin is the sweet spot where the persona snaps into focus. It is one of those sleepers that turns into a staple, the record you throw on when guests arrive and again when they leave. If you’re browsing to buy Sofie Royer records online, this is the one to click on first. And if you prefer a dig in person, there’s a fair chance you’ll find Harlequin filed under new arrivals at a Melbourne record store. Among Sofie Royer albums on vinyl, this sits as the most complete statement so far, a set that balances craft, character, and late-night warmth.

For collectors in vinyl records Australia circles, the Stones Throw pressing makes a strong case for physical over playlist. Harlequin invites you into its small, perfectly lit rooms, then pours you another espresso and asks you to stay a little longer. It’s theatrical, yes, but never a put-on. The paint might smudge. The voice never does.