Waves (Limited Edition) [Amethyst Coloured Vinyl]

With Waves, Moonchild step into something quieter, heavier, and ultimately more revealing. Framed as a deeply personal pivot, the album trades the easy pull of love songs for something more interior, circling themes of grief, healing, resilience and self-worth with a steady, unforced clarity. It feels like a recalibration rather than a reinvention.

Released in April 2026, the record unfolds across fourteen tracks, each one shaped by a renewed focus on collaboration and experimentation. There is a looseness to the sessions that suits the material. In-person recording brings a sense of presence, while the embrace of sampling adds texture without overwhelming the core of the songs. Moonchild’s sound has always been defined by restraint, and here that restraint becomes a strength.

‘Not Sorry’, featuring Jill Scott and Rapsody, sets the tone early. It is assured without being confrontational, grounded in self-definition rather than defence. From there, the album moves with intention. ‘Ride The Wave’ and ‘When You Know’ feel like gentle transitions, easing the listener into the record’s emotional centre, while ‘Up From Here’ expands the palette with contributions from Robert Glasper and D Smoke that add weight without disrupting the flow.

Midway through, Waves finds its rhythm. ‘Fear (Hey Friend)’ with PJ Morton carries a quiet reassurance, while ‘Advice’, featuring Chris Dave, leans into subtle groove work that never overshadows the sentiment. ‘Counting’, with Gretchen Parlato, Chris Dave and Dayna Stephen, is one of the album’s most fully realised moments, a track that balances precision and warmth with ease.

The collaborations never feel ornamental. Instead, they deepen the record’s sense of community. Elena Pinderhughes on ‘Sweet Spot’, Erin Bentlage on ‘Strong’, and Lalah Hathaway across ‘For Yourself’ and ‘Afterglow’ all contribute to an atmosphere that feels shared rather than assembled. Even at its most expansive, the album remains centred.

Lyrically, the shift is clear. Amber’s writing is direct, often unguarded, and it suits the material. There is no need for abstraction when the themes are this close to the surface. The album’s closing stretch, from ‘Nothing To Prove’ through to ‘Afterglow’, brings that into focus, leaning into acceptance without losing sight of what came before.

What makes Waves compelling is its sense of purpose. It does not chase catharsis or resolution. Instead, it sits with its emotions, allowing them to unfold at their own pace. The result is an album that feels both grounded and quietly ambitious, expanding Moonchild’s sound while staying true to its core.

It is, as Amber suggests, about processing and stepping forward. More importantly, it sounds like a band comfortable enough to let that process be heard.