"Outta Sight" is a record that feels like a fever dream painted in Pantone. Ten tracks, each tethered to a color, unravel into something between séance and confession. R/A/D - the pairing of Brisa Roché and Nicolas Laureau - approach the album less as a collection of songs than as a kaleidoscope of moods, each shade mutating into memory, threat, tenderness, or rebellion.

The opener “Magenta” already sets the tone: a pastoral apocalypse, where trains and eyelids blur into a surreal lullaby, snow threatens to fall, and intimacy becomes both salvation and trap. Then comes “Dark Blue”, which shakes like tectonic plates and whispers love as catastrophe: tremble, darling, tremble. Elsewhere, “Cyan” roars down a Humboldt Bay dirt road in a beat-up Celica, redwoods looming like gothic cathedrals. The color wheel becomes autobiography, dream diary, and ghost story all at once.

What makes "Outta Sight" compelling isn’t just its lyrical daring but the way Roché and Laureau stage it. The guitars are raw, elemental, carved down to bone, vibrating somewhere between drone blues and no wave minimalism. They provide a haunted scaffolding where Roché’s voice can oscillate from intimate caress to furious incantation. On “Red”, she snarls her refusal like a beast guarding a threshold; on “Mauve”, she pleads to her mother in a tone that collapses playfulness into desperation. “Orange” mourns a lover’s absence by clutching at her daughter’s warmth - a rare ballad of domestic ache, sung with the unflinching directness of someone unwilling to sand the edges off grief.

The record’s humor is sly, buried in surreal turns of phrase - “baby Dracula guitar”, “suitcase full of antlers” - as if Dada poetry wandered into a confessional booth. Yet nothing here feels indulgent. There’s urgency in how these fragments accumulate, a refusal to stay in a single register. Colors bleed, memories loop, the psyche spins, but the songs keep their grip.

Given their pedigrees, it makes sense. Roché has lived several artistic lives already - folk, jazz, pop, electro, even literature - always restless, always searching. Laureau, under Don Niño and Prohibition/Prohibited banners, has carried the torch for independent music as both player and instigator, fusing intimacy with experimentation. Together, they sound like co-conspirators rediscovering youth by dismantling it.

If the blues once sang of crossroads, "Outta Sight" builds an entire color wheel of them. It’s a record that shifts between vulnerability and ferocity, between dream logic and brutal honesty. It burns bright, it trembles, it laughs, it mourns - and it refuses to settle. Like a painting that keeps dripping after you’ve hung it on the wall, it doesn’t stop moving once the needle lifts.