Album Review: Songs From The Nineline by Laurie Freelove
Alright, so let’s talk about Songs From The Nineline. This little gem from 1996 is one of those albums that sneaks up on you. Laurie Freelove, backed by Chocolate Records, delivered something raw yet polished (yeah, I know it sounds weird, but stick with me). It’s a mix of pop and rock vibes that feels like late-night drives or staring out rainy windows—introspective but not overly dramatic.
The album opens strong with “Disappearing,” and honestly? That track hits hard. It’s got this haunting melody that sticks in your head for days, like gum under your shoe but in the best way possible. There’s a kind of ache in the vocals, as if Laurie knows exactly how messy life can get but still wants to sing about it anyway. You feel seen when listening to this song, like she’s holding up a mirror to all those moments you tried to forget but couldn’t quite shake off.
Then there’s “Love A Way.” Oh man, this one’s just... soft punches straight to the gut. It’s tender without being cheesy, which is harder than it sounds. The lyrics repeat in this almost hypnotic way, and before you know it, you’re humming along even though you didn’t mean to. It’s not loud or flashy—it doesn’t need to be. Instead, it creeps into your soul quietly, like an old friend showing up unannounced but making everything better just by being there.
I gotta admit, some tracks blend together after a while (“Seasons of Idle Hands” vs. “Season of Idle Hands”? Come on), but that’s part of its charm too. It’s not trying to reinvent the wheel; it’s more like giving the wheel a fresh coat of paint and saying, “Hey, look closer.” And yeah, covers like “Dear Prudence” are fun nods to the past, but they don’t overshadow the original stuff.
What stays with me most about Songs From The Nineline isn’t any single chorus or guitar riff—it’s the mood. Listening to it feels like finding an old journal entry you forgot you wrote. Nostalgic, bittersweet, maybe a little broken—but real. Like someone whispered secrets into a microphone and hoped no one would hear them—but we did.
Here’s the kicker: I bet Laurie Freelove had no idea people would still be talking about this album decades later. Or maybe she did. Maybe that’s why it feels so timeless. Either way, it’s proof that sometimes the most unforgettable things come wrapped in quiet packages.
(Side note: If you ever see this album at a thrift store, grab it. Trust me.)
