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y the cult kings than her first album, and that is<br />
apparent on the opener, “Bad at Apologies.” It’s got<br />
a heavier, more aggressive groove than anything<br />
released before and shows the allure of Brennan’s<br />
androgynous vocals. The spirit here is as wild and<br />
unwound as her debut was orchestrated and defined.<br />
Listening to the records back to back, you are<br />
astonished by the searing guitars and big sound. Still,<br />
the wildness is what makes this a stunner. It begins,<br />
“Yeah, I’m the asshole who stole your boyfriend,” and<br />
attempts to explain the reasons behind the betrayal<br />
of a good friendship. We’ve all been bad at apologies<br />
at one time or another, but Brennan delivers an<br />
anthem on the subject.<br />
By the time you get into the cleverly titled “Stack<br />
Overflow,” you realize she’s literally grabbing the<br />
sounds directly out of the air in Memphis and<br />
working all the elements to her advantage. If you<br />
are unaware, a stack overflow is a programming<br />
error when too much memory is used. Brennan<br />
takes that brilliant phrase and turns it into a gospelfunk<br />
explanation of the human condition that will<br />
have your foot stomping while you shake your airtambourine.<br />
Brennan shines in her wordplay, with<br />
the title itself and the eventual metamorphosis to the<br />
telling final line, “Stax overflow.” So clever it hurts.<br />
With a backbeat that would make Buddy Holly<br />
swoon, a rhythm section Phil Spector would adore<br />
and a simmering 1960s backdrop, Brennan brings<br />
the murder ballad into the world of power pop. “He<br />
Knows Too Much” is about that feeling you get<br />
when you open up to someone, too early and with<br />
too much outpouring of your soul, so that when it<br />
ends, perhaps prematurely, you may have to go into<br />
hiding—or kill the person who knows too much. No,<br />
Brennan isn’t going to kill anyone, and the hilarious<br />
legal disclaimer insert makes that perfectly clear,<br />
while it harkens back to spoken-word soliloquies<br />
found on 45s from the early ’60s. She’s just being<br />
open about the thoughts that cross a recently<br />
collapsed lover’s mind.<br />
“At the End of the World” is a monster of a power<br />
ballad, and I never thought I would describe one of<br />
Brennan’s songs that way, but that’s exactly how it<br />
sounds. As soon as Nancy Wilson of Heart hears this, she’s<br />
going to want it for her own. Singers in hard rock bands<br />
should be planning their covers of this immediately, because<br />
this could be what we referred to as a “panty remover”<br />
in the 1980s. I hope the women keep it in the family,<br />
though, because in that regard it’s just empowering<br />
and beautiful through and through.<br />
The transition to “A Hard Man to Love” is not an easy<br />
one because we shift suddenly into super upbeat<br />
new wave-tinged pop that has as much influence<br />
from Difford and Tillbrook as it does Michael Jackson<br />
and makes clever reference to Nick Lowe. It’s one of<br />
the most perfect tunes on the record, and I sincerely<br />
hope it finds its way to being a single. There are so<br />
many lyrical references and musical motifs here,<br />
including a first sighting of ELO, that I’ll let the reader<br />
just have fun figuring them out.<br />
Speaking of ELO, “Caitiebots Don’t Cry” blows my<br />
mind, and by this time the overarching architecture<br />
of the album becomes clear. While it’s a mid-tempo<br />
number, it could be dropped into Electric Light<br />
Orchestra’s On the Third Day (ironic), without ruining<br />
the flow of the record. Brennan sounds enough<br />
like Jeff Lynne here, and the guitar flange places it<br />
around that same year, with a heady atmosphere.<br />
It’s the longest track, but you don’t want it to end<br />
even as it approaches the six-minute mark. It’s about<br />
heartbreak and loss, but the vocals and the infinite<br />
tapestry they are wrapped in far overshadow that,<br />
making it almost dreamy and danceable. The parallel<br />
universe that delivers the muse to Brennan must be a<br />
fascinating place.<br />
“Benedict Cumberbatch” is the centerpiece of this<br />
thirteen-track record that slowly glows in your<br />
ear. First of all, it’s damn difficult to fit the name<br />
Benedict Cumberbatch into a song, and Brennan<br />
pulls it off as well as could be expected. It’s one<br />
of the few songs that sounds like it could fit on<br />
Debutante with Brennan’s early stylings and more<br />
traditional pop compositions.<br />
The absolute dance party that is “Shake Away”<br />
channels Big Star, as well as erstwhile power pop<br />
partners in crime like Raspberries, The Records<br />
and Dwight Twilley Band. The album is almost<br />
overwhelming at this point for anyone who really<br />
digs the last sixty years of rock and pop. Another one<br />
of my absolute favorites, and if they get to the point<br />
where they’re pressing 45s, this should be backed<br />
with “A Hard Man to Love.” This song makes me<br />
swoon as much as it makes me wanna dance.<br />
Thunderous drums, chugging striking guitar, vocals<br />
kicked to ten on the aggression meter—that’s just<br />
the first seven seconds of “The Angels Lie,” yet<br />
another clever clincher for Best Music Geek Song<br />
of the Year. It is at once a vulnerable number, as<br />
Brennan speaks openly about her health issues<br />
(Young Onset Parkinson’s) while going through a<br />
litany of musicians we lost last year and imagining<br />
Harry Nilsson putting together a brilliant band on the<br />
other side. The “Bridge” portion (you’ll know what I<br />
mean when you hear it), as well as the “End,” is at<br />
once funny and yet completely serious.<br />
“Collapse” is a soulful, reflective ballad, played<br />
appropriately on Chris Bell’s guitar, conveying the<br />
only mournful, maudlin mood found on the record. It’s<br />
deep in exhaustion, but so strong, and equivalently<br />
tired, and for that reason it’s completely relatable. It<br />
refers to the brushstrokes of mortality that Brennan’s<br />
health reminds her of more and more often, but it’s<br />
a realistic outlook on constantly running a race you<br />
don’t know if you can finish in time.<br />
There’s a bit of darker new wave influence on “LA/<br />
Amsterdam,” as Brennan culls more material from<br />
rejection in both musical validation and romantic<br />
satisfaction. This is a number Stevie Nicks should<br />
be hell bent on covering, because it’s got a sense of<br />
underlying magic. Kicking off with a shaker and a<br />
church organ, it’s difficult to hear where “Perish the<br />
Thought” is going, but it builds, each verse adding<br />
more instruments to the mix. Brennan’s voice is<br />
relaxed and seductive, and by the time the bridge<br />
hits, it’s a chorus of angelic voices.<br />
The album finishes with “Goodbye Missamerica,”<br />
which bids adieu to the America we knew only a<br />
year ago. It’s a hell of statement to go out on and<br />
could be seriously mistaken, again, for a Jeff Lynne<br />
composition, not only for the vocal gymnastics but<br />
the orchestrations involved here. It explores the<br />
golden age of ELO found in the fascinating middle of<br />
their catalog. This is a moving, heartfelt number in a<br />
completely different way—more out of sheer beauty<br />
than vision. It feels like the album is delivering its<br />
final notes in effervescent clouds, far above the<br />
troubled land, slipping you into lullabyed dreams.<br />
JAVA 31<br />
MAGAZINE