Every year, seasonal depression creeps back in. When autumn and winter roll around, I find myself reaching for shoegaze — a genre that feels tailor-made to resonate in snow, haze, and the long dark. It weaves melancholy into a single, powerful yet inexplicable feeling. My go-to for a harsh, gloomy winter is the self-titled debut EP by LSD and the Search for God.
The 2007 five-track EP runs about 22 minutes. Most of the tracks move at a faster clip, recalling MBV in their Loveless-era rush — particularly the opening two. This energy, coupled with a psychedelic sound, drives me to move, even run — kicking up a glimmer of hope, a rare emotion for shoegaze.
In the third song, ‘Backwards‘, the rhythm is more pronounced and hypnotic. It unsettles me, sometimes to the point of anxiety and panic. Overall, though, the record sounds dreamy, warm, and very nocturnal. In this respect, it reminds me of Souvlaki by my favorite shoegaze band, Slowdive, where space-rock inflections, soft melodies, and hushed vocals create a dreamlike atmosphere.
Slowdive’s music pins me to the bed and carries me on waves of overdriven, amorphous guitar wash. I don’t want to go anywhere; I am overcome by an oppressive melancholy and lose my footing. LSD and the Search for God’s self-titled EP, though, is nothing like that. It gets me on my feet and sends me running. It feels like even in that drowning sadness, there’s still a spark of life.
On the fourth track, ‘Starting Over‘, I slow down. It’s a moment of self-reflection, much like the song itself. The lyrics tell the story of a girl who managed to escape a toxic relationship, yet still wonders whether she should go back.
The line ‘Careful what you wish for (cause it might come true)’ stands out more than the rest. Even though the sound remains consistent with the rest of the EP — that familiar wall of noise and the drums’ steady, insistent pulse — the atmosphere shifts into something intensely personal, almost like a private conversation. It makes you — even without catching every word — drift back to your own bruised memories.
It hits because it holds two opposing moods at once: frightening despair and hope. Cool-toned, mournful guitars and a gently propulsive tempo create a restless backdrop for intimate, near-whispers: Andy Liszt’s calm voice alongside Sophia Campbell’s soft, motherly warmth. In my head, Campbell’s voice feels almost angelic — like a hand reaching into the dark and pulling you out. They slip into a hushed dialogue about the ruined relationships, trauma and pain they’ve carried. The contrast doesn’t muddle the emotion; it sharpens it, letting noise and tenderness sit in the same frame.
For me, it’s the best song in LSD’s short discography.
Opinions on the EP are sharply divided. Some listeners claim that LSD is merely a repetition of the golden age of shoegaze in the ’90s, echoing the style of cult bands such as MBV and Slowdive. Many draw parallels to MBV, but I’d push back. The vocal interplay is more pronounced, and the guitar wash is softly focused — it reads more Slowdive than Loveless pastiche, and it still lands as its own thing.
To me, LSD offers a reinterpretation of recognisable shoegaze, successfully incorporating genre elements while bringing their own unique ideas to life. Their debut EP, centred around the song ‘Starting Over‘, leaves me in a state of calm acceptance of life’s anguish, imperfection and natural sadness. There is no question of ‘why go on’: I simply find consolation — not inspiration and elation, but the determination to accept reality and move forward.
Sometimes at night, when I listen to this record and gaze into the melancholic depths of my consciousness, I wish I could hold on to this feeling and stay in this state forever. And then I snap awake from the dream, remembering: ‘Careful what you wish for.’
It’s also worth noting that LSD AND THE SEARCH FOR GOD are heading back on the road in March and April, adding a run of shows around Treefort Music Fest. It’s a chance to hear their unique stuff where it fully makes sense: loud, physical, and immersed in the half-light of small venues. All dates are all ages, which only lowers the barrier to experiencing how this kind of melancholy sounds when it’s impossible to pause or escape.
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