Malena Cadiz is a lady of the canyon waylaid at a suburban strip mall, acutely aware of how romance shines through even in the moments of grit and desolation. There’s something Didion-esque about Cadiz’s storytelling as she crafts deeply personal vignettes that reveal greater narratives about the world we live in. The 10 songs on her 4th full length album, ‘Hellbent & Moonbound’ are full of wit and vulnerability, capturing the strange beauty and humor of day to day life.

‘Hellbent & Moonbound’ is a tender album that’s ripe with the charm of timeless indie folk, the stirring magic of your favorite poet, and the humble romance of a slow dance in the kitchen as the clock strikes midnight. Maybe it’s the pedal steel in “Whatever You Need” or the twinkling harp in “Getting By,” but the warmth radiating from these songs almost makes it sound like Angel Olsen deconstructing Patrick Watson, or Big Thief covering Laura Marling. As she sings about embracing change, Cadiz lets her voice roll through a trill and frolic in a falsetto, each vocal flourish giving these songs the feeling of childhood joy – the kind that’s fleeting, simple, and pure. While happiness isn’t a given on every song, per se, it is an undercurrent that’s reflective of Cadiz’s overarching gratitude for the way she’s settled into her own skin.

“Growing up a second-generation Filipino-American, I bounced between living with my mom in Michigan and my dad in Singapore. Looking for a sense of belonging has always been a part of my work,” says Cadiz. “It’s an ongoing journey, but I feel like – for the moment – I’ve found it – with my community, my family, and within myself.”

In the seven years since her last album Cadiz has uprooted her life, moved across the country, became a mother, juggled odd jobs and spent the past few years going inward, “I found solace in being creative. I’d gone through so many transitions – it was a moment to be still and examine who and how I wanted to be, letting go of anything that wasn’t serving me, and leaning into what was.” Cadiz laughs, “it’s been a long marinating process,” and precisely because of that she’s gained a rich perspective on how changes, big and small, help us to grow into a more self-assured version of ourselves.

That much is obvious looking back at Cadiz’s discography. ‘Sunfair,’ her 2016 album and second full-length overall, uses her stripped-down guitar to highlight her instantly recognizable voice—once described by The Fader as “Karen Dalton meets Joanna Newsom”—as she confronted themes of transition, longing, and gravitating towards what inspires you. It’s a striking album that suggests Cadiz couldn’t quite mend the holes popping up in her life. With ‘Hellbent & Moonbound,’ she realizes what she was missing: not a perfectly sized puzzle piece to stop that gap, but rather the right needles and thread to stitch it back together again in a way that’s flexible for her shapeshifting life.

With a newfound determination, Cadiz wrangled together songs she wrote over the past few years and started seeing them in a new light. With producer Andrew Lappin at the helm (L’Rain, Madison McFerrin) they arranged an album that’s both fresh and timeless. “There is a pretty long history of iconic LA albums that I wanted this to fit into,” says Lappin, “Anything from the 60s (Beach Boys) to 70s Neil Young albums like “On the Beach,” to Harry Nilsson, up through Fleetwood Mac and into the 90s and early 2000s (Jon Brion, Aimee Mann). I wanted to make the next in the line of those classic, quintessential L.A. records.”

In the regard, ‘Hellbent & Moonbound’ is truly a community affair, featuring some of the L.A.’s most sought after studio musicians, including Jason Abraham Roberts (Norah Jones, Bedouine), Matt Musty (Grace Potter, Train), Pat Kelly (Perfume Genius, St. Vincent) and Sam Kauffman-Skloff (Angel Olsen, St. Vincent), composer Bryan Senti (Feist) among many others.

She drew inspiration from poets like Louise Glück and Ada Limón (“Drift”), sonic textures from kora playing by Toumani Diabaté, and the centuries-old graffiti inscribed at the Temple of Dendur at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “Through a crack on 82nd street, dandelions ring like tambourines/You and me, let’s be the wish blown carried with the seed/You and me, let’s be the coin thrown flickering in the stream,” Cadiz sings in the understated opener “Museum Shoes.” For her, it’s an ode to the part of life she never wants to lose – “That’s my hope,” says Cadiz. “To always be engaged and seeking – to be like those dandelion seeds flying off, always betting on your own dreams and seeing where they take you.”

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