The music of Little Mazarn is a cool float a few feet from the ground through a dimly lit, almost familiar forest. It is quieter than silence, big as everything, still but always moving. If you’ve ever had flying dreams, or an amazing night time bike ride on LSD, this might be a world for you. Chords are made up of notes; Little Mazarn gives them all their own moment. There are NO superfluous notes played here.
Lindsey’s kind and twisting voice ambles along over the spare sounds of Jeff Johnston’s saw bowing, Ralph White’s electric mbira wanderings, and her own slow banjo. Like DJ Screw, Bohren & Der Club of Gore, and anyone who chooses to walk instead of ride, Lindsey realizes the amazing power of slow… slow… slow music. Lindsey is at once a baby and a wise old man. Get in this canoe at dawn on some Texas river that remembers when Comanche slept under the stars.
'...quiet and raw and atmospheric and recalls anything from the psychedelic folk of the late ’60s and early ’70s to the freak folk movement of the mid 2000s to current-day folk like Jessica Pratt and Julie Byrne.' -Brooklyn Vegan
'What you think of Little Mazarn will depend, largely, on how you view loneliness, from the banjo echoing, a bell unanswered, to the plaintive singing or the spare accompaniment here and there. This is the music Sam Beam or Damien Jurado make when they’re sad-drunk and alone. -Swordfish
'Little Mazarn's eponymous EP last December captured the quiet, personal pull of Verrill's songwriting, opening meditative expanses in the patient space between her banjo and Johnston's saw. - Doug Freeman,The Austin Chronicle
'Between her talents as a cellist, banjoist, bassist and vocalist, Austin’s Lindsey Verrill AKA Little Mazarn is a powerhouse of atmospheric folk songwriting. Since receiving her banjo at the tender age of fourteen, Verrill has been building up her instrumental and vocal skills alongside her repertoire and ever maturing world view.' -KUTX
'One of my final, favorite discoveries of 2017 was Austin folk artist Lindsey Verrill, who – not unlike our own Katie Crutchfield (i.e. Waxahatchee) takes her stage name from an obscure southern waterway – in this case, a creek on the outskirts of Hot Springs, Arkansas. In mid-December, as the gears of the record industry ground down for their annual seasonal lull, she snuck out her softly transcendent self-titled debut, a spare, haunting five-song set that lasts a mere half an hour yet feels divorced from time entirely.' - WXPN 88.5