There’s something unique about the ukulele. We associate it with Hawaiian music and ’20s jazz bands, and while it’s easy to pluck off a few chords, it’s as tough to master as the accordion or the zither. In the band Lille, Grace Bellury picks out lonely love songs backed by a minimal drum kit, some keys, and some snaky-sounding reeds. Bellury’s vocals exist in a smooth, contemplative dimension, abjuring the heart-rending “person finds person, person loses person” stock footage and replacing it with a melancholy existentialist viewpoint — “I’m here, they’re not, I want them back, but meanwhile I’ll watch some Godard on VHS.” This EP barely touches on her skill set — there are only five cuts and each one is a film festival moment, fraught with symbolism, intrigue, and bathed with a mysterious significance that might not reveal itself until the second bottle of no-name merlot at the after party argument. I feel a black beret coming on. Do you have any Galois straights? I’m flat out. Thanks. Got a light?