[rating=9.00]
When an established artist chooses to self-title a new record, it feels like an attempt to rebrand, or more firmly encapsulate the artist’s view in a single statement. It says “this record is who I am and what my music is all about.” Apropos, then, that Annie Clark’s new “self-titled” record, her fourth under her St. Vincent moniker, listens like something of a manifesto. Apropos, also, that said manifesto arrives with the same vigor, verve, and unique style that we’ve come to expect from a St. Vincent record, only here those qualities are turned up and carefully honed, resulting in a collection of songs that are among Clark’s most audacious and intriguing to date.
Clark has always had a distinctive sound and style–her marriage of distortion, jagged riffs, and sweeping melodies is something of a byword in the alternative rock/pop scene–but St. Vincent leaps out at you from the first minute of lead-off track “Rattlesnake” with teeth bared and temper flaring. There is little that is hesitant or ambivalent about the record. Even when Clark hares off into strange territory (like the lyrically-opaque jam session “Huey Newton”), she does so with the same breezy, forthright confidence she’s displayed in recent promotional videos and live appearances. On the album cover, she sports a tall shock of silver hair that makes her resemble nothing so much as a mad-scientist messiah, perched on her chair with sloe-eyed poise. It’s an image that perfectly captures the record’s self-assured vision.
Clark’s trademark, fleet-fingered guitar work is front and center as usual, fed through a series of filters and distortion pedals. She and perennial producer John Congleton squeeze as much dimension out of a guitar’s sound as possible: this riff sounds like buzzing bees; this one, a rattle sounding from the underbrush. The sonic trickery might fall flat in the hands of a less-able guitarist, but Clark has chops and then some. She and Congleton seem to have made an art out of pushing the sound of the guitar into new dimensions without distracting from Clark’s technical prowess. This is particuarly evident on the rockier, upbeat tracks from St. Vincent, whether you’re talking about “Birth in Reverse”‘s punk-pop insistency or the military swagger of “Regret”.
It wouldn’t be a St. Vincent record without at least a handful of stunning ballads, and St. Vincent doesn’t disappoint. After hitting us with the one-two punch of “Rattlesnake” and “Birth in Reverse,” Clark downshifts into “Prince Johnny,” a chorale-laden ballad that shows off Clark’s impressive flair for beautiful melodies that are as charming and bittersweet as they are fresh. Her ballads always take unexpected dips and turns; she isn’t an artist who’s satisfied with first-thought songwriting. There’s a balance between melodies that are expected and ones that push the boundaries, and Clark lives in that balance. She and Congleton have chosen beat-driven arrangements for these downtempo numbers that enhance their hybrid quality: “Prince Johnny” pulses with a rhythm section that brings to mind nobody less than Prince himself, and the beats sit front and center on “Psychopath” as well. “I Prefer Your Love” shimmers over a trip-hop beat that wouldn’t have been out of place on Madonna’s Ray of Light.
Throughout, it’s not just Clark’s guitar playing that catches one’s attention. Her voice has always been beautiful and emotive, able to infuse real feeling into her words–a snarl here, a sigh there–but she really lets loose on St. Vincent, not shying away from shouts and squeals. She has never sounded more at ease on record; in that sense, St. Vincent out of all her records captures the thrilling dynamic power of Clark’s live vocal performances.
The back half of the record is less immediately appealing–songs such as “Bring Me Your Loves” and “Every Tear Disappears” seem to rehash sonic territory already covered by other songs on the record that are superior or more fully-realized–and but that doesn’t diminish the impressive and powerful statement that Annie Clark is making. Taken as a whole, St. Vincent is an assured, imaginative body of work showcasing the considerable talents of a songwriter and performer at the top of her game. By the time closing track “Severed Crossed Fingers” unspools in your headphones, with Clark delivering one of the record’s most impassioned vocals about her–and all of our–relationship with that tricky concept called “hope”, you feel as if you’ve been visiting a different universe, a landscape carved from Clark’s fertile and often febrile musical imagination. It’s a journey worth taking.
