Drowning the noise with a more captivating sound.

Flying With Angels doesn’t soar so much as it glides. It is a record that feels slow but in a deliberate way. It knows exactly where it’s going and doesn’t mind if you’re a few steps behind. It’s not a comeback or a reinvention. It’s Suzanne Vega doing what she’s always done: bringing the world into her revelations and letting them unfold. This isn’t an album that demands your attention but instead earns it patiently.

The opener, “Speakers’ Corner,” doesn’t beg or ask. Suzanne Vega’s voice comes in with a quiet power and moves over the track like wind over water. It’s not about momentum in this track but instead the presence. You dwell in the atmosphere of the music rather than just hearing it.

“Chambermaid” plays like the sound of memory being replayed on a dusty reel, flickering through the nostalgia that comes with old friends and missed chances. It’s a song that doesn’t try to resolve the tension; it simply holds it and when the chorus arrives, it feels like a deep exhale.

On “Alley,” Suzanne Vega leans into her lyrical precision, performing lines that land like poetry. The production is restrained but remains luminous. The soft guitars and light percussion is the kind of arrangement that doesn’t pull focus but makes space. It’s subtle but not slight.

Then there’s “Last Train from Mariupol,” where Suzanne Vega steps back, almost disappearing into the sonic landscape of the song. This track isn’t just storytelling, it’s the curation of emotional tone. This is music that listens back.

Coming 9 years after her last album, Flying With Angels doesn’t try to recapture Vega’s youth – it gracefully leans into time. It’s the sound of someone who’s learned to speak with fewer words and deeper meaning. Flying With Angels feels like a handwritten letter slipped under your door. It’s personal, quiet and a little out of step with the noise of now. Some records aim to impress. This one simply exists and reminds you that existence, done with care, is enough.