Carla J Easton – I Think That I Might Love You

It’s been a wee while since I wrote about the music of Carla J Easton. Happy to put that right as she’s back with her new album, I Think That I Might Love You. I think the last time I touched base with her music was way back on her Weirdo album

Which made synth pop feel huge, generous and full of personality. That album felt like a vivid statement of self from a Glasgow pop writer who had already given us Teen Canteen, Poster Paints and a run of solo songs with hooks for days. Since then, her story has widened again. She has been part of The Vaselines live setup, co-directed and narrated Since Yesterday: The Untold Story of Scotland’s Girl Bands, helped build the Hen Hoose community, and continued to be one of those people who keeps opening doors for women in music and younger artists looking for a way in.

This album began with a flight to Nashville, a cracked heart, a reunion with her soul brother, voice notes, notebooks, borrowed instruments and the kind of friendship that can steady you when life has left you spinning. It also comes after years of Easton standing shoulder to shoulder beside other artists, amplifying other voices and making space for stories that deserve to be heard. The lovely twist here is that the community she has created now seems to pour back into her own music. There’s a list of contributors as long as your arm on this one which is real testament to Easton’s ability to build friendships that last. That in itself is core to what this album is all about. Easton explains.

Let’s pick the thread up and see where it takes us.

From the first few seconds of ‘Oh Yeah’, Easton lets you know this record has arrived with a grin, a guitar and very little patience for hanging about. It comes flying out in under two minutes, which is exactly the right amount of time for a pop song that feels this eager to get moving. The guitars have a bright snap to them; the rhythm section keeps everything skipping forward and the vocal sits right in the middle with that unmistakable mix of sweetness and steel. Backing vocals lift the chorus, synths add colour without taking over and the whole thing feels like the first burst of energy you get after deciding you are going to be alright.

‘Red Kites In The Sun’ gives the album its first real chance to look up. The pace eases, the guitars jangle with that unmistakable Scottish pop glow, and the melody opens with the kind of directness Easton has always done so well. When she reaches the album title in the chorus, it feels like a small confession said out loud before you have time to overthink it. The strings bring romance into the room, while the harmonica adds a lovely human ache around the edges. This album is only two songs in and I think that I might love it!

Up next, ‘Never Really Wanted To Stay’ moves with sharper elbows. It has that classic indie pop trick of sounding breezy while the lyric does something more bruised underneath. The chorus opens out in a way that makes the song feel heartfelt. I love how confidently it uses space. Nothing feels overstuffed. The guitars chime, the backing vocals step in at the right moments and the whole song keeps that forward motion without losing its emotional focus. Yeah, this is a goodbye song but there’s an acceptance in there too.

The first proper emotional wallop arrives with ‘Pillars Crash Down’, it brings together the record’s bright pop heart and its cracked open sadness. Easton sings with real force here, and the arrangement seems to rise around her with every line. The organ gives the song a warm old soul, the guitars push the chorus up and the backing vocals make the whole thing feel communal rather than solitary. That feels important for a breakup song. Pain shared in a room sounds different from pain sung alone into the dark. Easton has always known how to place heavy feelings inside songs that still sparkle, and here she makes regret feel enormous without letting it flatten the tune. It is one of the album’s great big heart moments.

Then comes ‘Let’s Make Plans For The Weekend’, and my goodness, what a pop song. I know there are a lot of guitar driven moments on this album, but this one is pure pop. Taylor Swift could spend a very serious writing retreat trying to write a chorus this tasty. The bass has a strut, the guitars flick at the rhythm, and those little synth details flash through the mix like lights from an arcade machine. Easton’s vocal is bright, playful and completely in control. The chorus snaps into place so quickly that you almost feel daft for smiling, then you play it again and realise resistance is a waste of good energy.

‘You Might Be The Sun’ brings the temperature down but lets the heartbreak glow. Easton’s vocal sits closer to the front here, and you can hear that glow in the way she shapes the lines around the melody. The imagery has a tender quality, and the arrangement is warm. Acoustic guitars shimmer around the edges, the band against those backing vocals add depth, and by the time the plain ache of “I really miss you” appears, the song just rips its heart off its sleeve and hands it directly to you. Easton can do clever, witty, bright and playful with ease, but she is just as strong when she lets a simple sentence carry the whole weight of the song.

A title with four Really’s deserves commitment, and ‘Really, Really, Really, Really Sad’ absolutely commits. It brings a different flavour to the album, leaning into a 60s girl group pop shape with little melodic turns that feel both theatrical and tender. The arrangement has a lovely swing to it. You get those sweet backing vocals, bright sci-fi keyboard touches and a rhythm that keeps the song moving with a tiny grin at the corner of its mouth. Easton’s vocal plays with the title beautifully. She lets the sadness come wrapped in charm. We all know that mood where you are half laughing at yourself and half staring out the window wondering how you got there.

‘Lift Your Head Up Kid’ feels like a hand on the shoulder. The title alone carries extra weight when you think about how much Easton has done to support younger artists and help women in music find confidence, community and space. The percussion has a clacking, toy box charm, the organ adds warmth and the vocal lands with the kindness of someone who has had to give herself the same advice before passing it on. It would have been easy to make this kind of song syrupy. Easton keeps it bright and grounded. The melody has lift, the backing vocals feel like friends gathering around, and the whole track becomes a small act of encouragement. It fits the record’s wider story beautifully. These are songs about friendship, love and loss, but also about the people who help you stand upright again.

‘Start It Again’ arrives with a big open heart. There is a 90s pop brightness in the rhythm, with acoustic guitar flashes, rattling percussion and brass-coloured details. Easton layers her voice into a stack of hooks, and the advice in the lyric feels generous rather than preachy. I keep thinking about how well she understands dynamics on this record. Some songs rush forward, some sway, some glow from the inside, and this one moves like somebody deciding to rejoin society after a difficult spell. It has one of those choruses that sneaks up on you. The first time, you enjoy it. The second time, you get it.

Theres a lovely folk pop tint to ‘Moth To A Flame’. The strings have a rawer edge here, which suits a song that seems to know how attraction and pain can sit dangerously close together. When Easton sings the idea of moths seeking out pain, it feels like one of those lines that arrives with a nod of recognition. The acoustic guitar gives the song its shape, the bass keeps it steady, and the accordion steps forward with a characterful little turn that gives the track a different colour from anything else on the album. I like when Easton lets a song lean into odd details like that.

The closing track, ‘If You Found A Thread’, brings the album back to the image that started it all. The red thread, the red string of fate, the idea that the people meant for you may be scattered far beyond your postcode. It sways with acoustic guitar, bass and voices that feel gathered together rather than arranged in neat rows. When the lyric reaches for loyalty, connection and finding each other in this lifetime, it gives the album a closing embrace that feels earned. After all the breakups, repairs, plans, memories and open-hearted pop rushes, Easton leaves you with friendship as the thing that carries everyone home.

The loveliest thing about I Think That I Might Love You is how certain it feels. Easton has kept the colour, humour, synth glow and chorus instinct that have always made her songs so easy to love, then run a guitar cable straight through the middle of it all. The album has the communal joy of people playing together in a room, the ache of friendships changing shape, and the confidence of an artist who knows exactly what she brings to a song. It’s guitar driven pop with a massive heart, and it has one pure pop firework in ‘Let’s Make Plans For The Weekend’ that deserves to be bothering radios everywhere. For me, this feels like Easton’s strongest solo record so far, and it also feels like a reward for all the care she has poured into other people’s stories. By the time it ends, the album title has changed from a thought into an answer: I think I love this album.

I Think That I Might Love You is out now via Ernest Jenning Record Co. and Fika Recordings. You can check it out over on the Carla J Easton Bandcamp page.

You can follow Carla J Easton on social media here…

• Facebook
• Instagram
• Bandcamp
• LinkTree