Article Contributed by Gratefulweb
Published on November 29, 2025
Photo: Courtesy of Sabrina Trueheart
There are songs that feel like postcards — faded, creased at the edges — and then there’s “Alice in Videoland”, the latest single from New York-based psychedelic folk singer/songwriter Sabrina Trueheart. It doesn’t just evoke memory — it distorts it, rewinds it, lets the tape warp under heat while we stand inside a shuttered video store where time is packaged on plastic shelves and ghosts from our teenage softness still hum like fluorescent bulbs.
Trueheart’s voice arrives like soft film grain, tender but not fragile, carrying echoes of Mikaela Davis, Kate Bollinger, and the dreamy edges of 60s psych-folk. A slow river pulse of bass and drums (courtesy of Christian Cocco and Matt Terribile) gives the song its rhythmic heartbeat, while shimmering production layers the atmosphere with a gentle unease — a lullaby for the disenchanted, the vulnerable, the girls who grew up too fast or not at all.
Lyrically, “Alice in Videoland” is a mirror-room confession — an ode to “all the gullible, vulnerable girls like you and I” — delivered with both softness and fire. The repeated imagery of boats, rivers, memory-poison and dream-fracture places the song in a sort of cinematic subconscious. We are drifting, dissolving, rewinding. We’re in Wonderland, yes — but it’s fluorescent-lit, dusty-tiled, stocked with VHS ghosts and heartbreak priced at $1.99/weekend rental.
By the time Trueheart reaches the refrain — “’til we can’t breathe” — the trance is complete. The song doesn’t explode; it evaporates. It lingers like a phantom scene you’re not sure you witnessed or dreamt. The best art does that — blurs the seam.
Stream: “Alice in Videoland”
Sabrina Trueheart has built a door and left it slightly open. Inside is nostalgia, feminist fury, alt-country haze, and the soft ache of remembering the versions of ourselves we still grieve.
Released November 12, 2025 · Written & performed by Sabrina Trueheart · Recorded at Ace Tone Productions