Album Review: D. Marin Perez – Symbols
Born and raised in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, D. Marin Perez spent years working as a community organizer and minister in Los Angeles — a background that shaped both his worldview and his songwriting. Drawing on a childhood “steady diet of The Beatles and Mormon hymns,” Perez later found refuge, purpose and expression in folk, blues, rock and soul. Over time, music became not just art but a way to reflect on inequality, belonging and faith — themes rooted in his experience of community work and personal history.
Perez now lives in Los Angeles, and through his music he bridges his past and present: old-school Americana and blues, psych-tinged pop, and socially conscious lyrics. His new LP, Symbols, out November 14, 2025, is the latest chapter in this journey — a seven-song record that pulses with urgency, empathy, and a searching spirit.
Recorded almost entirely to cassette tape and rooted in analog warmth before being mixed and mastered digitally, Symbols carries the intimacy of home recordings alongside the clarity of modern production — a fitting sonic home for Perez’s hybrid identity: spiritual yet worldly, rooted yet restless.
That dual sensibility comes into sharp focus on “Illusions,” the first moment on the album that grabbed me instantly. The song brings together two seemingly distant worlds: the bright, in-your-face jolt of power pop — think Big Star’s September Gurls or the euphoric charge of Guided By Voices’ Glad Girls — and the atmospheric, textured folk you might expect from Cass McCombs or Kevin Morby.
Across the record, Perez’s vocal delivery is the through-line — easy, sincere, and remarkably elastic. Nowhere is this clearer than on “Older Side of Young,” where he channels a distinctly Lennonesque tenderness, the kind you hear on “Julia,” “Dear Prudence,” or moments from Lennon’s first solo record. But it’s not imitation; it’s as if Lennon had grown up American, raised on church music and country harmonies, carrying a different kind of spiritual weight. The softness in Perez’s voice, paired with an undercurrent of faith and introspection, also evokes the gentler side of Sufjan Stevens. It’s a performance that feels both intimate and quietly radiant, part confession, part hymn.
His voice takes on a more cutting, bristling tone — still somehow relaxed — on “Senator Senator.” That ability to shift character without losing warmth becomes one of Symbols’ quiet superpowers.
Another standout track “Crying Wolf” comes in with its deliberately stumbling drum part and a murky, psych-charged mix, creating a thick, viscous atmosphere you sink into completely. It feels like diving headfirst into a strange new world — like Alice chasing the white rabbit down the hole.
Symbols is a tightly focused, seven-track record where D. Marin Perez’s hybrid of folk, power pop, and psych-tinged Americana feels fully realized. The album moves fluidly between intimate, home-recorded textures and punchy, immediate arrangements, with Perez’s voice at the center — elastic, sincere, capable of tenderness and bite. There’s a clear through-line: a restless curiosity and a capacity for emotional nuance that makes Symbols feel cohesive, deliberate, and unmistakably Perez.
Perez now lives in Los Angeles, and through his music he bridges his past and present: old-school Americana and blues, psych-tinged pop, and socially conscious lyrics. His new LP, Symbols, out November 14, 2025, is the latest chapter in this journey — a seven-song record that pulses with urgency, empathy, and a searching spirit.
Recorded almost entirely to cassette tape and rooted in analog warmth before being mixed and mastered digitally, Symbols carries the intimacy of home recordings alongside the clarity of modern production — a fitting sonic home for Perez’s hybrid identity: spiritual yet worldly, rooted yet restless.
That dual sensibility comes into sharp focus on “Illusions,” the first moment on the album that grabbed me instantly. The song brings together two seemingly distant worlds: the bright, in-your-face jolt of power pop — think Big Star’s September Gurls or the euphoric charge of Guided By Voices’ Glad Girls — and the atmospheric, textured folk you might expect from Cass McCombs or Kevin Morby.
Across the record, Perez’s vocal delivery is the through-line — easy, sincere, and remarkably elastic. Nowhere is this clearer than on “Older Side of Young,” where he channels a distinctly Lennonesque tenderness, the kind you hear on “Julia,” “Dear Prudence,” or moments from Lennon’s first solo record. But it’s not imitation; it’s as if Lennon had grown up American, raised on church music and country harmonies, carrying a different kind of spiritual weight. The softness in Perez’s voice, paired with an undercurrent of faith and introspection, also evokes the gentler side of Sufjan Stevens. It’s a performance that feels both intimate and quietly radiant, part confession, part hymn.
His voice takes on a more cutting, bristling tone — still somehow relaxed — on “Senator Senator.” That ability to shift character without losing warmth becomes one of Symbols’ quiet superpowers.
Another standout track “Crying Wolf” comes in with its deliberately stumbling drum part and a murky, psych-charged mix, creating a thick, viscous atmosphere you sink into completely. It feels like diving headfirst into a strange new world — like Alice chasing the white rabbit down the hole.
Symbols is a tightly focused, seven-track record where D. Marin Perez’s hybrid of folk, power pop, and psych-tinged Americana feels fully realized. The album moves fluidly between intimate, home-recorded textures and punchy, immediate arrangements, with Perez’s voice at the center — elastic, sincere, capable of tenderness and bite. There’s a clear through-line: a restless curiosity and a capacity for emotional nuance that makes Symbols feel cohesive, deliberate, and unmistakably Perez.