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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

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