Review

By Isaac Bradley | 27/05/2026

At 25, Maisie Peters already has the kind of career most artists spend a decade chasing. A Number One album, support slots for Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran and Coldplay, and even a turn on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury Festival have pushed Peters from sharp-tongued internet favourite to one of British pop’s most reliable young storytellers. But on her third studio album, Fluorescence, she sounds less interested in proving herself and more focused on figuring herself out. Released through Gingerbread Man and Atlantic, the 15-track, 49-minute record leans heavily into folk-pop and polished Nashville country influences, written and recorded in Tennessee with a warmth that feels organic rather than trend-chasing. Peters has described Fluorescence as “the next book in a series”, and there’s genuine growth here – not necessarily dramatic reinvention, but a more confident understanding of her own voice. The album’s central theme is self-awareness: learning who you are while simultaneously realising how much you still don’t know. Peters approaches that contradiction with charm and self-deprecating honesty, never pretending to have life completely figured out. That tension gives the record its emotional pull. Lead highlights arrive early. ‘If You Let Me’, a duet with Marcus Mumford, is beautifully understated, built around delicate harmonies and acoustic textures that feel effortlessly intimate. Mumford’s low, worn vocal tone contrasts perfectly against Peters’ brighter delivery, while the track’s soft folk arrangement gives it the feel of a campfire standard waiting to happen. At just over three minutes, it disappears frustratingly quickly. Elsewhere, ‘Flat Earther’ introduces banjo flourishes courtesy of Todd Lombardo and taps into Peters’ talent for writing emotionally precise lyrics without overcomplicating them. It’s a song about defending someone long after everybody else can see the truth – romantic blindness dressed up in Americana instrumentation. ‘Questions’ swings the album back toward glossy pop. There’s a sweetness here that recalls early-2010s coming-of-age pop songwriting, complete with the kind of sharp, conversational hook Peters has practically trademarked. “Does she look like me? Well of course she does!” lands with the same diaristic sting that made fans connect with her in the first place, and there are more than a few echoes of Taylor Swift in its rhythm and structure. The collaboration-heavy second half continues to impress. ‘Kingmaker’, featuring Julia Michaels, pairs two of modern pop’s smartest lyricists on a track that balances vulnerability with sharp self-awareness. Michaels’ presence makes perfect sense: her songwriting fingerprints are all over contemporary pop, and together the pair create one of the album’s strongest emotional peaks. Then there’s ‘Vampire Time’, arguably the record’s prettiest arrangement. Layers of viola and mandolin swirl around Peters’ vocal, creating a rich folk atmosphere that feels cinematic without becoming overproduced. It’s the sort of track that reveals new details on repeat listens. If Fluorescence occasionally plays things a little safe sonically, Peters’ songwriting remains compelling enough to carry it through. The coffee shop and bookstore gigs she played ahead of release now feel cleverly symbolic: this is an album built for closeness, for small details, for lyrics scribbled in notebooks and revisited years later. Peters may still be working herself out, but Fluorescence suggests she’s getting closer - and she’s making some of the strongest music of her career along the way.