As I descended the center staircase of Madame Lou’s in downtown Seattle, I immediately sensed Florist fans taking collective shape—like a horde of moon jellies swaying in the morning shore break. The music had already begun, transmitting a feeling of peace, introspection and safety through soft vocals, synthesizers, drums, guitars and keyboards. The (literal) underground (literally) venue was small and dark, fostering intimate moments for each person to connect with the four band members on stage.
In this crowd was Shane Nelson, a second-year chemistry major at Seattle University. He attended his first Florist show after being a fan for around three years. For him, the band’s music has been a refuge.
“I kind of turn to them as an alternative to sad music,” Nelson explained. “When you’re down, they meet you there and bring you up with them. I like how a lot of their songs are almost so specific about the songwriter’s life that it becomes widely applicable.”
Florist’s music often tackles complex themes such as the tension between life and death through deceptively simple lyrics, feeding our urge to see personal experience reflected in something greater.
“The lead singer, Emily Sprague, did a good job of acknowledging the fact that there is so much going on in the world, and demonstrated how enjoying art and coming together through art is not just okay, but a way to fight back,” Nelson said.
Founded in 2013 and helmed by singer-songwriter Emily Sprague, Florist’s sound merges soft indie folk with ambient synth textures, often blurring the line between music and mood. Their debut EP “We Have Been This Way Forever” introduced their hushed, intimate style, but it was their 2016 breakout album “The Birds Outside Sang” that put them on the indie map. Written after Sprague suffered a serious bicycle accident, the album explored vulnerability, recovery and presence with a fragile, otherworldly beauty.
Since then, the band has released “If Blue Could Be Happiness” (2017), a meditation on grief and memory, and “Emily Alone” (2019), a solo effort by Sprague written and recorded in solitude in California. Their self-titled album “Florist” (2022) marked a full-band reunion and deepened their exploration of nature, relationships and the sacredness of everyday life. That album, recorded in a rented house in the Hudson Valley, feels more like an atmosphere than a product created by a blend of field recordings, ambient loops and campfire closeness.
Their newest release, “Jellywish” (2024), continues that atmospheric tradition while introducing a dreamier, more aquatic tone. With swirling synths, layered harmonies and natural soundscapes like water dripping, tide pool bubbles and gull cries, “Jellywish” feels like an emotional tide pulling listeners between reflection and release. Sprague’s lyrics remain personal and poetic, but there’s a perfected fluidity in this album that opens up even more space for interpretation than their previous albums.
The title itself, a portmanteau of “jellyfish” and “wish,” nods to the themes of transience, hope and the ephemeral beauty of being. Critics have praised the album as one of the band’s most cohesive and adventurous works yet, an evolution that remains true to their essence while exploring new emotional depths.
Considering the underwater themes of the newest album, Nelson explained his experience of the band’s captivating live performance.
“Sprague was how I imagined she would be. Funny and a little awkward, it was very intimate and the lighting was super cool and made it the jellyfish vibe they were going for,” Nelson said.
Third-Year Sociology Major Kaya Brown-Carveth described their state of mind when they chose to listen to Florist:
“I catch myself listening to Florist when I’m very reflective and want to sit and think about my feelings. And when I’m walking a lot, because it’s very chill and just a little ethereal, even. It’s a real moment that you’re having with music,” Brown-Carveth said.
Chloe Ulrich, who typically gravitates toward fast, high-production music, said Florist pulls her in through subtle emotional complexity.
“Their music appears pretty minimal at first, but then the more you sit with it, the more you discover,” Ulrich explained. “And there’s the layers and the meaning.”
While Florist may appeal to those in more reflective or even melancholy states, Ulrich doesn’t view this as limiting.
“It’s very peaceful music compared to most of the stuff I listen to, which is loud and angry with too much going on,” Ulrich said. “Florist has that peace. It’s like I need something else before I’m gonna cry,”
Florist’s name suggests something biologically unnecessary, yet emotionally vital. It’s not the sounds or the flowers alone that matter, but the way they’re arranged. Florist thrives in the quiet power of curation. Over the pa
st twelve years, the band has cultivated a garden of sound that rewards close attention and emotional vulnerability. For fans like Nelson, Brown-Carveth and Ulrich, their music isn’t just something to hear—it’s something to return to, especially when words fall short.
And for anyone still unsure about where to start? Nelson has a simple recommendation.
“I can’t recommend their first couple [of] albums and EPs enough. Everyone should listen.”
