Lia Ices lives in an elegantly built bird of prey‑style nest; she definitely has some avian relatives. She’s got Joni Mitchell, Chan Marshall, and Christie McVie genes as well. Her singing resembles certain tropical birds calls, but her notes bounce up‑and‑down through the octaves more like those of a red‑winged blackbird. She is a woman and a fierce musician, whether she was borne from the forest floor or from a mother in a hospital bed, who later bought her a piano and signed her up for lessons when she was a child. Let’s assume both are true. There’s both outright desire and intimacy in her sound, a no‑pussyfooting approach to re‑telling tales from the secret garden.

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