Editor Note: On Friday, July 17, Lisa Molinaro released her debut album Blind Trust. The album explores themes of stagnation, self-reflection, and personal accountability.
The release follows and builds on an impressive resumé. According to a press release, she “spent years playing with some of indie rock’s most celebrated artists, recording with Modest Mouse, performing on viola with The National, and touring with The Decemberists as a violist and multi-instrumentalist.”
Like many other artists, she was forced by the pandemic to do some soul-searching to figure out who she was without familiar surroundings and those famous groups. She had considered recording as a solo artist before, using her Tascam as a twenty-something. According to the press release, “she’d cited external circumstances, but a collaboration with a dance company led her to work on her own project. Years later, we have her debut album.”
“Blending layered string arrangements, art rock ambition, and experimental pop textures, Blind Trust balances meticulous composition with emotional immediacy. Molinaro’s songs move fluidly between hushed harmonies, distorted guitars, and cinematic tension, shaped by years of collaboration across indie rock, film scoring, and performance art. Rooted in themes of grief, self-reflection, and transformation, her work feels both intimate and expansive – the sound of an artist finally claiming space for herself.”
For the album, which was mixed by Zach Bloomstein (Searows, Portugal. The Man) and mastered by Amy Dragon (Bartees Strange, Cleo Solo), Molinaro drew from her decades of touring to create a sound that’s fully her own.
Molinaro penned an exclusive Artist Essay exploring the theme of death in her song “The Ending Never Stops”.
On “The Ending Never Stops” from Blind Trust, out 17 July 2026, by Lisa Molinaro
The end is just a sunken treasure
Mysterious and hard to render
Spurious, the holy sender
Likes to show it off
Once it’s in your palm it’s vanished
Heavy weighs the deadly tender
Even though you cannot have it
The ending never stops
Don’t lose yourself in a cloudy haze
There’s always a chance to see the sun
So don’t get lost in a heady maze
Keep your eyes clear and your game undone
Telling no one that it’s here
Slipping through the cracks it nears
Ever closer here it comes
Destroying all you’ve done
Masquerading
For your calling
Never trading
For what will surely come
Don’t lose yourself in a cloudy haze
There’s always a chance to see the sun
So don’t get lost in a heady maze
Keep your eyes clear and your game undone
The ending is the navigator
The butler, maid and patient waiter
Taking helm of all our ships
Holding tight the whip
We don’t have to say who knows
We already know how it goes
Selling us the passageway
For nothing’s free we know
Death comes for us all. It’s a trope we know well. I don’t like it, I fear it, in fact, I loathe it. Lately, in an attempt to strip away the intriguing layers of this frightening figure, I have been reflecting on Death’s role as a cosmic player in our living game.
I have endured quite a bit of loss these past few years. Friends have succumbed to cancer and car wrecks. My mother was diagnosed with a terrible, progressive disease. I watched my own career trajectory crumble–perhaps naively–during the pandemic. I had banked on living life the way I had in my 30s, my 40s–I thought winningly–until life started dealing me some shit cards. I have recently experienced what felt like small deaths: the deaths of career, youth, certainty, and the ideal versions of myself I thought would endure. I didn’t want to see it that way, so I tried to make this proverbial card game interesting, and the way to enjoy the game I had no choice but to play was to face Death head on.
But I’m terribly afraid to look It in the eye. In the song “The Ending Never Stops,” I wanted to address that fatal passage, but I needed to shift my perspective if I was going to treat It fairly. I saw duality in Death’s purpose; maybe a curse, perhaps a blessing. Maybe both.
In order to muster some courage in the face of It, I decided to put Death into different metaphorical disguises and explore this paradoxical quality. What if Death was not just the servant, but also the captain at the helm? What if your ending is a destructive path to a blank nothingness, or…your guide to something new? It is both the uninvited guest and the inevitable host.
Like a sunken treasure, Death lures us with the spurious promise of untold riches. We risk everything trying to find it. Death is this treasure that can never be possessed: “[f]or once it’s in your palm it’s vanished.” The divine sender—whether God, fate, or whatever force governs existence—holds Death out before us as both warning and wonder, inviting our fascination while forever withholding its meaning.
The fear I harbored began to transform into curiosity. Why was I so afraid? And what was the result of this stultifying fear? Paralysis. A standoff between It and myself. So instead of getting too mired in the murk of Death, I chose to keep my head above the fog to catch the light: “Don’t lose yourself in a cloudy haze / There’s always a chance to see the sun.” And I found it’s better not to overthink things and to remain mindful: “So don’t get lost in a heady maze / Keep your eyes clear and your game undone.” After all, Death determines that the game will end; Fear determines how we play it.
Life’s final passage is at the same time singular and infinite. It happens only once, over and over, for “[t]he ending never stops.” What an incredible ego check to fully grasp that not only am I not the only one, but there is no one or nothing in existence that gets past Death except Death itself. I address Death directly only once when I write “[m]asquerading / For your calling / Never trading for what will surely come.” The many masks of Death are essentially the working uniform It wears to meet us if it is time.
I ultimately want this song to feel hopeful and to churn up the resolve to do something meaningful in life. Yes, it’s grim, but life is a balance of dark and light.
Death will come, like Charon of the River Styx, “[s]elling us the passageway / For nothing’s free we know.” We all would like to get what we paid for. When we stop treating Death solely as an enemy, we begin to see it as the force that gives life urgency, meaning, and shape. The only meaningful response to Death is not to fear it, but to make sure it arrives having interrupted a life fully lived.
You can connect with Lisa Molinaro via her author box below
Lisa Molinaro
Contributor
Lisa Molinaro is a violist and multi-instrumentalist who has spent years collaborating with indie rock luminaries, including Modest Mouse, The National, and The Decemberists. During the pandemic, she turned inward, confronting an artistic identity beyond her role as a collaborator and committing to a long-deferred solo project. The result is her debut album, Blind Trust, a richly layered work that blends art rock ambition, experimental pop textures, and cinematic string arrangements. Rooted in themes of grief, transformation, and self-possession, the album marks Molinaro’s emergence as a singular voice, fully claiming her own creative space.
