The opening moments deliberately evoke the crackle of old vinyl, a neat metaphor for resurrection that underpins the entire record. Sooter's use of guitalele as rhythmic anchor proves inspired—its percussive snap cutting through the mix with the precision of a skilled craftsman who understands that innovation often lies in the marriage of familiar elements rather than wholesale reinvention.
The title track, born from personal anguish and dedicated to a loved one navigating addiction's treacherous waters, bears the hallmarks of genuine emotional investment. Sooter's Brazilian heritage seeps through the proceedings like morning mist, lending a particular warmth to what could have been merely competent singer-songwriter fare. His vocal delivery recalls the unhurried confidence of Gary Clark Jr., though without the Texan's bluesy swagger—instead offering something more contemplative, more European in its restraint.
The production, executed entirely within the confines of a Düsseldorf home studio, achieves remarkable clarity. Sooter's decision to offset the bass timing creates a polyrhythmic tension that elevates the reggae-influenced foundation beyond pastiche. His multi-instrumental prowess—guitar, bass, keyboard, and cello—never feels showy; rather, each element serves the song's emotional architecture with commendable discipline.
The record's greatest strength lies in its refusal to chase contemporary trends. While peers might reach for trap snares or AutoTuned vocal flourishes, Sooter trusts in melody and groove. The result possesses an almost timeless quality, as if these songs might have emerged from any decade since the 1970s, yet somehow feel entirely contemporary.
Sooter's diverse influences—from Dream Theater's progressive complexity to khruangbin's Thai-funk explorations—coalesce into something coherent rather than schizophrenic. The ghost of Bob Marley hovers benevolently over proceedings, though filtered through a distinctly Germanic sensibility that prizes precision over spiritual abandon.
The closing moments mirror the opening's vinyl crackle, suggesting cyclical renewal rather than mere conclusion. It's a neat trick that transforms the EP into a meditation on memory, loss, and the redemptive power of creativity. Whether St. Tamarin can sustain this level of inspiration across a full album remains to be seen, but "Come With Me" announces the arrival of a singular voice worth following.
Sooter's promise that future releases will sound "very unlike the current ones" might alarm those who appreciate this EP's cohesive vision. Yet given the evident skill and emotional intelligence on display here, such artistic restlessness feels more like promise than threat. St. Tamarin has crafted something genuinely affecting—a modest triumph that lingers long after the final note fades.