Time Is A Flower (2024)
This is where the Telenova universe fully opens up into a cinematic landscape. After two EPs spent perfecting mood and atmosphere, Time Is A Flower feels like Telenova stepping confidently into a subtle maximalist era. They’re no longer just filling pockets of space. They’re building entire structures, blending sweeping orchestration with their signature alt trip-hop pulse in a way that feels expansive but never indulgent.
The album opens with The Wallpaper, a short orchestral piece that works as a quiet invitation rather than a statement. Lyrically, it introduces one of the record’s core ideas: time as something fluid and refractive rather than linear. It sets a reflective tone that carries directly into Teardrop, where subtle rhythmic bounce and carefully layered keys show how much their production has matured. The lyrics here feel inward and restrained, circling emotional fallout without dramatizing it too much, which lets the song breathe instead of collapsing under its own weight.
Power is where the record really flexes. Bongos and congas add an organic pulse beneath sweeping string arrangements, creating a disco-adjacent lift that feels euphoric without tipping into excess. Lyrically, it’s direct and almost devotional, grounding the song’s scale in emotional dependence rather than spectacle. That energy carries into Margot, which leans more into alt-rock territory, before giving way to the extensive tension of Tremors, Traces. The latter’s writing is all about emotional residue, treating memory as something physical that lingers and reverberates long after the moment has passed.
The mid-album stretch is especially strong, with January standing out for its pacing and emotional clarity. The lyrics feel intimate and deeply personal, focused on memory, care, and the fear of forgetting, delivered with a restraint that makes the song quietly devastating. Armstrong’s vocals here are hypnotic in the best way, pulling you deeper rather than reaching outward. After the spoken-word pause of Restless, the title track arrives as a centerpiece. Time Is A Flower balances softness and momentum, using layered vocals and samples as instruments while expanding on the album’s meditation on time, love, and impermanence.
Discothèque Inside My Head is an immediate highlight. The groove is undeniable, landing somewhere between club-ready and introspective without sacrificing either. Lyrically, it captures mental overload and identity fragmentation with surprising clarity, making the song feel relatable even as it leans into more pop accessibility. That high gives way to the R&B-tinged atmosphere of Heaven’s Calling, which feels almost weightless, before the smoky, lo-fi lounge energy of Bird of Paradise. The latter leans into vulnerability and surrender, pairing noir aesthetics with one of the album’s most emotionally exposed moments. Temples closes the record with a steady, driving pulse, built around motion and release, leaving the album open-ended rather than resolved.
The Deluxe Evolution: Telenoir Redux
The deluxe edition takes the Telenoir concept to its natural conclusion, reworking six tracks into darker, late-night forms. These versions aren’t just stylistic detours. They show a deep understanding of how to deconstruct pop songs and rebuild them as something mood-driven and electronic. A live version of Margot captures the band’s infectious stage presence, while the French rendition of Discothèque Dans Ma Tête closes the era on a confident, unexpected note. It reinforces how adaptable this trio really is, whether it’s filling a festival stage or a shadowy basement room.
Time Is A Flower is a debut album that arrives fully formed. It’s ambitious, immersive, and technically precise without feeling cold or overdesigned. Telenova doesn’t just flirt with cinematic pop here. They commit to it, and the result is a record that feels built to last. It’s unlikely you will ever forget it.
