When you think of the ways that structures manifest, the examples that come to mind are likely not final products. They’re frameworks and foundations, made for supporting and supplementing grander and more intricate ideas. Many structures are reliable if somewhat primitive or occasionally limiting, from the bones of apartment complexes to the verse-chorus-bridge-chorus formula of pop hits; structures, as they are, aren’t as interesting as the outcomes they can yield. Mari Rubio—the Brooklyn-based multi-instrumentalist, composer, and producer who releases music as more eaze—has spent a lot of time pondering structures. As she tells it in the liner notes for valley and structure, her second solo album of 2026, she felt like she “unlocked some forbidden secret as a child” when she discovered the concept of ostinato—or, the consistent repetition of a specific musical motif throughout a song or composition. The ostinato is the bedrock of the mostly wordless valley and structure, evident from the first seconds of “they tried to shove me in the structure,” which lulls you in with hypnotic acoustic-guitar arpeggios. But you might not notice the ostinato’s presence or persistence right away; it tends to slip into the background like a heartbeat, subtle despite its vitality. Rubio uses the inconspicuous nature of ostinato to her advantage on valley and structure. She began writing the album as she finished her previous solo LP, a more pop-oriented country sentence structure where she sang over ambient-inspired backdrops. One of that record’s highlights is “the producer,” where Rubio laments how, among other things, audiences will simply never fully grasp the intended meaning behind the music she creates. (That’s one listener’s interpretation, at least.) When Rubio reworks that song’s meandering string riffs into a frenzied violin loop and cloaks its same lyrics with a dose of desolate reverb, she ends up with valley and structure’s “i’m in the structure,” a track with a much more introspective, existential ambiance despite its fundamental (read: structural) parallels to its original form. This time, Rubio sings with more urgency: “This is a losing game / The rules always change / So why would you even play it the same,” evoking how certain structures—particularly social and professional ones—feel restrictive and utterly inescapable. If sentence structure in the country was Rubio’s “pop” album, then valley and structure is its inverse. It features assists from a small crew of guests, including repeat collaborators like Wendy Eisenberg and Jade Guterman, whose striking performances help the album seamlessly maneuver between not-quite-classical, not-quite-ambient minimalism, sometimes within the same song. Its five tracks blur together with a nebulous arc: there’s an optimistic, almost blissful air to the folksy “they tried to shove me in the structure” that makes Nora Stanley’s undulating clarinet on the following “what’s wrong with the structure?” feel all the more foreboding. It’s easy to get lost in the album’s twenty-minute centerpiece “once you say yes to the structure, you never get out,” a gorgeous Dirty Three-like sonata of sorts. Its first movement is brisk and curious: “Despite others’ motives / I’m fine,” Rubio sings over the winding violin, guitar, and piano, the final word hanging like a question. From there, valley and structure nosedive toward something more portentous. There’s beauty in the gothic, elusive tone of “i’m in the structure,” while closer “how can we get out of the structure” seems to communicate some pensive anxiety in its clashing, staccato piano and piercing guitar plucks. But in its final moments, so gently it’s over before you fully notice, the notes shift to a major key. It feels like a quiet triumph and a release of tension, as if to say structures are only as prohibitive and suppressive as you let them be. On valley and structure, Rubio lets them set her creative process free. [Thrill Jockey] <img fetchpriority="high" decoding="async" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-431434" src="https://www.pastemagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/10/05/PasteSectionBreak.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="100"> Abby Jones is a contributor to Paste whose writing has also appeared in Pitchfork, Stereogum, and more. She lives in Brooklyn. Follow her on X (@abbyfjones_) or email her at [email protected].