Review Summary: Annie's home
As much as the discourse might give that impression to new listeners, Annie Clark has never been a David Bowie type. Although her trajectory since her self-titled way back in 2014 has focused on highlighting conceptualized aesthetics, she’s not a chameleon. What initially made St. Vincent a project worth paying attention to was the idiosyncratic flavor of rock and pop that only Clark could do. And, you know, for being a really skilled and inventive guitar player. This isn’t to say that “Masseduction” and “Daddy’s Home” didn’t have their share of great moments, but the plastic dominatrix and 70s New York sleaze personas rarely transcended the musical cues inherent to them. Rather, the effect was of surplus getting in the way; references, interludes and promos ultimately bagged down the whole of each release. If there’s one consistent thing to remark on, it’d be her queasy relationship to ‘authenticity’ and the ‘personal’ in music – despite facets of both having trickled through her entire career.
This is why it’s somewhat of a surprise that with “All Born Screaming” we arrive at Clark in her most direct and solid form. Gone is super producer and friend Jack Antonoff, and Annie dons the role herself to tweak and toil away in the studio. It shows. Lead single “Broken Man” isn’t just a back-to-basics roarer, but also a considerably sharper and meticulous sonic experience than the smoothed-out mixes of “Daddy’s Home”. It’s arguably the most aggressive track she’s put out since record store day gem “Krokodil”, and easily one of the most exhilarating first singles of her whole career. On the delirious love declaration “Flea”, Clark flexes her muscles and reminds listeners that if there’s something she’s devoted to in music, it’s those massive movements of elation that combine pleasure and dissonance. It’s the essence of rock, really.
Thankfully, the album doesn’t signal a reversal to her initial sound, since that would quickly sound tiring. “All Born Screaming” is often a clear homage to 90s industrial rock, with Dave Grohl in tow to boot. But this time, the exercise of paying homage to one's heroes feels looser and less bound to serving an overall conceptual aesthetic. There are interesting turns toward horn-led Bond tunes and even (less interestingly so) reggae. But ultimately, the shifts don’t matter as much because it all sounds like Annie doing her thing: Weird hooks straddling between the sweet and the violent (Sweetest Fruit), precise yet yelpy vocals (Reckless) and the combo of familiar rock motifs with spaced out progressions (title track). It’s great!
And not all hell’s bells either. Some fans might be disappointed that the music isn’t consistently trying to burn down the building like the singles do, but the restraint and airiness of the record work for it. Clark is, after all, known to be a cerebral and reflective person. Occasionally, this overexertion of thinking can be to her detriment, but she keenly saves these moments for the negative spaces on the album. Although it’s not all taut, there’s rarely any filler to be found.
After a decade of reaching semi-mainstream status, delving into various minor controversies, celebrity relationships and albums that reflect a grand-sized potential, it feels like a sigh of relief that we’re greeted with something this uncomplicated. Annie Clark succeeds at being frank with her audience and sticks to it. A release about love and pain, loss, grieving and cataclysmic endings. If the artwork shows her on fire, then the music is her sprinting toward you for a malevolent and loving embrace.
