Apricot Magazine: Jessi Robertson confronts The Cosmos Within on Dark Matter
Across its eight tracks, Dark Matter transforms the language of physics and astronomy into a map of the human condition. From quantum entanglement to the pull of gravity, Robertson finds emotional truth in the invisible forces that shape both the universe and the self. The record is an intricate conversation between science and soul, a reminder that even the darkest matter carries light within it.
Robertson’s story begins far from Nashville’s glowing skyline. Born and raised in a small town in upstate New York, she spent 15 years immersed in Brooklyn’s indie and experimental music scenes before moving south in 2018. That tension between the introspective grit of New York and the storytelling warmth of Tennessee runs like an electrical current through Dark Matter. It’s a record of collisions—between city and small town, intellect and intuition, control and surrender.
The album also marks a deeply personal turning point. Earlier this year, Robertson was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, a revelation that reframed her entire creative life. Dark Matter became the process of understanding that discovery—a way of revisiting discarded songs and long-shelved fragments from 2017 to 2020 through a new lens of self-awareness. These were not just songs to finish; they were parts of herself waiting to be understood.
In creating the album, Robertson built everything from the ground up—writing, performing, and programming each instrument herself. The result is a work that feels solitary but alive, full of pulse and breath. The production glows with intimacy, as if each note were recorded in the space between thought and confession.
The opening track, Spooky Action at a Distance, takes its title from Einstein’s term for quantum entanglement—the phenomenon where particles remain connected even when separated by vast distances. Robertson turns that concept into a haunting meditation on human connection, exploring how two souls can remain intertwined long after the world has pulled them apart. The song shimmers with an otherworldly melancholy, built around a looping guitar figure that feels like a heartbeat echoing across galaxies.
Shadow War follows, pulsing with tension and introspection. Its driving rhythm and sharp lyricism channel the internal battle between who we are and who we are told to be. Robertson’s voice, smoky and unguarded, cuts through the mix with emotional clarity. There is both defiance and vulnerability here—a refusal to keep hiding behind social expectations.
In Dreams Awake drifts into surreal territory, evoking the feeling of sleep paralysis that inspired its lyrics. It’s a song about the body’s stillness and the mind’s rebellion, about the way dreams reveal truths we can’t face in daylight. The production builds from fragile whispers to a swirling crescendo, blurring the boundary between consciousness and surrender.
With The First Law of Thermodynamics, Robertson transforms a principle of physics into a spiritual manifesto. “Energy cannot be created or destroyed,” she sings, her voice threading through layers of guitar and ghostly harmonies. The track feels like a reclamation—a reminder that even in moments of loss or confusion, nothing within us is truly gone.
Einstein-Rosen Bridge—the scientific term for a wormhole—becomes a song about emotional shortcuts and the impossible wish to travel back to the past. Its dreamlike melody moves in slow circles, anchored by a bassline that hums like a cosmic drone. The song captures the ache of memory, that sense of being tethered to moments we can’t return to but can never leave behind.
On Persistent Memory, Robertson delves into the intersection of nostalgia and neurodivergence. The lyrics touch on sensory experiences and mental snapshots that replay endlessly, both comforting and exhausting. It’s a song that understands how the mind can be both a sanctuary and a trap.
The penultimate track, Rogue Star, burns brightest in its simplicity. Built around a gently distorted guitar and pulsing electronic drums, it’s a song about drifting alone yet finding beauty in the solitude. Robertson’s voice rises above the instrumentation like a flare in deep space—lonely but luminous.
The album closes with Object of Desire, a track that fuses longing and acceptance into a final moment of clarity. The production feels cinematic yet grounded, as if the listener is floating above the wreckage of old selves, watching light slowly return to the horizon. It’s not a resolution but a recognition: we may never fully understand the forces that shape us, but we can learn to move with them rather than against them.
Dark Matter was not built to impress; it was built to heal. It’s the sound of an artist learning to trust her instincts and to find meaning in what once felt like chaos. The music moves with the quiet confidence of someone who has finally stopped apologizing for being different. It’s a deeply personal record, but its emotional gravity pulls anyone who listens into its orbit.
Robertson’s decision to release the album on Halloween feels fitting. Dark Matter thrives in liminal spaces—the thresholds between light and shadow, fear and freedom, self and universe. There’s something cinematic about its timing too: autumn evenings, cold air, the strange comfort of looking inward while the world fades to gray outside.
To celebrate the release, Robertson will host a special online listening party on Bandcamp on October 25, offering fans a first glimpse into the album’s atmospheric world. Later in the month, she’ll take Dark Matter on the road during the NYC Nightfall Tour, sharing the stage with Nashville artist Kat Jones.
With Dark Matter, Jessi Robertson doesn’t just craft songs—she crafts constellations. Each track orbits a central question: what do we do with the parts of ourselves that don’t fit neatly into the world’s expectations? Her answer is to sing them into existence, to let them shine in the dark.
In doing so, she’s created not just her most daring work yet, but her most necessary. Dark Matter is a quiet explosion of truth and tenderness, a reminder that even the universe’s darkest spaces are filled with unseen light.