There’s an odd feeling of decompression when listening to St. Vincent. Imagine letting fall from your mouth every biting, stinging remark you’ve ever wanted to say to someone with a sly smirk on your face, and then imagine having an awesome jazz guitar solo to back you up afterward.
After collaborating with David Byrne on Love This Giant in 2012, St. Vincent (Annie Clark) has continued to grow more into herself as an artist while taking the next natural step toward the realm of the uncanny in her new self-titled album, released Feb. 25.
After gaining unexpected success with her sophomore album Actor in 2009, Strange Mercy crept up to number 19 on the Billboard charts in 2011, claiming her a nice warm seat of acceptance in the mainstream indie music scene. Ever since, Clark has been boldly experimenting.
“Rattlesnake,” the opening track on St. Vincent, isn’t of this world. The melody is psychedelic and jazzy enough to the point of melting, until you’re suddenly interrupted by an aggressive, “AH-AH-AH-AH-AH.” It’s like the musical equivalent of being bit by a snake while lying in a grassy, peaceful field.
One thing I have always admired about Clark is the confident presentation of her music; if she’s going to say something bizarre, she’s going to say it with utmost certainty. Take for example, “Oh, what an ordinary day/Take out the garbage, masturbate/I’m still holding for the laugh,” from her single “Birth in Reverse.” The boldness of her voice makes you believe in what she’s saying, no matter how far out her infidelities to normalcy are.
However, not everything she says is all that bizarre. I find there’s a very obvious poetry in her lyrics, especially after learning that she named her musical alter-personality St. Vincent after the hospital where poet Dylan Thomas took his final breaths. In “Prince Johnny” she begs, “But honey don’t mistake my affection for another spit and penny-style redemption/’Cause we’re all sons of someone’s.” There is an undeniable, unapologetic conviction to her lyrics, easily making her one of my favorite lyricists.
A song that continues to stand out above the rest for me, no matter how many times I listen to the entirety of this album, is “Huey Newton.” The opening coerces you with a concise, hypnotic and digital melody, the same way one gets sucked into late night web surfing. Imagine scrolling through Tumblr around 1 or 2 a.m. on a Wednesday with melancholy pulsating through your fingertips and the knowledge that you should instead be sleeping lingering in the back of your skull. The lyrics and arrangements are painfully self-aware and intelligently crafted.
Not every track from the album is all too commendable, however.
“Bring Me Your Loves” has the same digital vibes as the other tracks, but it is almost too heavy with the abrasive technological background noise and robotic vocals. And while I wanted so badly to appreciate the playfulness of “Digital Witness,” I just couldn’t shake the thought it was trying way too hard. While I will proudly defend Ms. Clark anytime, anywhere, I simply cannot justify some of her newer, more overreaching tracks.
In the end though, her experimentation is one for the books. If there’s something to be applauded here, it’s the way she effortlessly progresses more and more into herself and her art with each passing album. Though a few tracks and I shared some disagreements on her latest album, I can accept what she’s trying to do as an artist: make a statement and make it boldly.
Critic’s Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
Jackie Braje can be reached at jacquelyn.braje@theminaretonline.com