Kae Tempest + Liesa Van der Aa

Liesa Van der Aa

“Like a snail on a razor blade.” That is how a friend of Liesa Van der Aa described her new album Caramel — as softness wrapping itself around sharp edges, yet never allowing itself to be cut. It is a fitting image, because with Caramel, Liesa delivers her most personal work to date. The “younger, softer sister” of her previous album Easy Alice still inhabits a similarly jazz-infused universe. Although, to mention a few references: you can hear echoes of Laurie Anderson, this time intertwined with the early classics of James Blake, alongside traces of Billie Eilish and FKA twigs. Electronic music, contemporary classical, baroque, jazz, and hip-hop — Caramel, as Van der Aa herself likes to describe it, wears all of these coats at once, casually layered on top of one another. And more than ever before, the masks come off.

“I wanted to make an album that feels like overhearing someone think out loud,” she says. “As if you’re sitting on the edge of someone’s consciousness, before everything has fully taken shape in words.”

Van der Aa once again collaborated with extraordinary pianist Niels Broos, known for his work with Jameszoo, Jamie Peet, and Rol Rol Rol. Drummer James Williams (Leon Bridges) contributed unforgettable, deeply soulful performances. And when bassist Dries Laheye (STUFF.) brings out his melodic magic, the room naturally falls silent. Two remarkable voices also left their mark on the production: London-based producer Anja Ngozi, whose credits include Tirzah and Speakers Corner Quartet, and Brussels producer Shungu, renowned for his love of layered, poetic beats. Together, they helped weave Caramel into a warm blanket of musical mysteries.

The first seeds of Caramel were planted during the pandemic. While the world stood still, Liesa and Niels Broos returned to the studio. They improvised on old demos and explored new melodies — together, but often from a distance. Yet it was only later, beside the wood-burning stove in her parents’ home in Grimbergen, that those fragments began to take on a new shape. Surrounded by forests and breathing space, a different kind of listening emerged. A form of editing that became almost surgical.

“Not a single song remained as it originally was,” Liesa explains. “It became an eerily controlled process.”

From this emerged melodies that kept resurfacing. Little miniatures, as Liesa calls them — small, enigmatic songs that refuse to be pinned down, yet linger in the mind. She cut, pasted, and experimented with loops in a way reminiscent of hip-hop, building a sonic universe that navigates between jazz and pop, melancholy and contemporary freshness. The production took shape in close collaboration with Niels Broos, with contributions from actress Sandra Hüller (Anatomy of a Fall) and singer Judith Okon. The influences range from Nina Simone to Laurie Anderson, from Billie Eilish to James Blake — but above all, the album bears Liesa’s own uncompromising signature.

“The world is filled with lonely people / afraid of making the first move,” she sings in the opening track First Move. It sets the tone for an album that seeks connection without naivety. One that presents softness as an act of courage. One that refuses to harden in response to the world, even when that world — livestreamed, fragmented, and traumatized — can be difficult to carry.

Throughout Caramel, the longing for meaning resonates alongside uncertainty. Liesa’s voice quietly asks: where do I belong? And how do we actually manage to be together? Balancing between self and other, between the inner world and the outer world. These are universal questions, explored here from every angle — critically, yet always threaded with tenderness and hope.

Caramel is an album for those who do not mistake softness for weakness. For those who want to be moved without explanation. It is an invitation to come closer — right to the edge of the razor blade.