EP Review: New Girl Syndrome

With New Girl Syndrome, LA-based Kiwi artist Lisa Crawley gifts us four songs that feel less like tracks on an EP and more like pages torn from a diary, read aloud over a piano in real-time. Across the project, Crawley builds a sound world that is soft but not fragile. It is full of raw honesty, lived-in textures, and the kind of quiet strength that creeps up on you when you least expect it.

The record opens with What You Can Do, a slow-burning, piano-led song for the burnt out self-doubters. Crawley’s voice is gentle, raspy, and unmistakably hers, as it enters like a close friend talking you down from an anxiety spiral. The arrangement is beautifully restrained: subtle synths, a bassline that grows bolder as it goes, and drums that sneak in just as you start to settle. Crawley sings, “You are more than what you can do,” and you believe her. She doesn’t belt it at you but sings it soothingly, like a truth she’s only just come to accept herself. The song’s minimalism creates space — not emptiness, but intention. It lets the lyrics breathe and invites us to breathe with them.

Call It A Night is my personal favourite on the record. The track begins with light percussion and a subtle guitar playing alongside the piano. The crowning jewel of this song is its instrumental post-chorus that makes you feel like you’re floating. Crawley’s melodic instincts shine brightest in the little spaces between verses: the “oohs,” the subtle horns, and the moments where she lets the music speak for her. “New girl syndrome won’t take you long,” she sings, naming the EP in passing, as if it’s just another line. But it lingers. The song wrestles with resilience, with wanting to be the person who keeps pushing through but also knowing when it’s time to “hang up [your] heart”. There’s a harmony in the second verse that made me pause mid-listen — low, clean, and stunning. One of those small touches that shows just how attuned Crawley is to her own sound.

The tone shifts in The Gatekeeper. It bursts to life with a groovy piano and a slightly heavier drum part that will immediately get you head-bopping and foot-tapping. Crawley’s lower vocal range really shines here, grounding the verses with a smoky, assured tone. There’s a swagger to the rhythm, a confidence to the delivery, and a wink in the songwriting that suggests the protagonist we met in track one has grown. The bridge is a standout moment with its layered backing vocals, a magical chord progression, and a sick electric guitar solo. It’s a turning point in the story that pivots from self-doubt to self-definition.

New Girl Syndrome’s story concludes with Don’t Wanna Be. We finish this journey much like we began: a stripped back piano and Crawley’s voice front and centre. The arrangement is simple but rich, especially when the strings bloom quietly into the mix. The melody may sound unpredictable on the surface, but Crawley follows it effortlessly, every note delivered with intention. It’s a soft landing — one that doesn’t try to wrap things up too neatly, but instead leaves us sitting in the gentle aftermath of it all.

What makes New Girl Syndrome so special is its intimacy. It sounds like you’re in the room with Crawley as she plays, and you just happen to be lucky enough to hear it. It’s emotionally generous without being showy, sonically rich without being overproduced. Every note, every lyric, feels like it was placed with care.

This EP isn’t just a collection of songs. It’s a reminder that maybe “new girl syndrome” isn’t something to fear — maybe it’s the beginning of figuring out who you are.