Review Summary: an aching breeze.
I didn't stumble upon Phoebe Go through her music, it was her partnership with an Australian based cycling apparel brand that first introduced me to her. The intersection of bikes and music is always an exciting place for me, but discovering a cyclist that makes
actually good music sometimes feels like divine intervention. I know a bunch of music nerds don't want to hear me talk about lycra and carbon wheels, but I think the sense of freedom and presence of mind that burning legs on the open road provides can't be overlooked as a driving force in Phoebe's music. All I'm saying is, when Phoebe sings
"I guess I took the corner too fast, but I was flying for a minute just to crash", she isn't talking about Nascar.
Marmalade is Continental rubber on the Gold Coast. Surfing the tailwind with sea salt in your hair. Carefree yet acutely aware of every speed bump and pothole in your path. It's also a reminder of the past, like a washed out polaroid that you just can't let go of. Phoebe's music might feel effortlessly cool, but this is a breakup record through and through—full of licked wounds and tough lessons. Early highlight "Something You Were Trying" exemplifies this dichotomy by sporting soft electric guitars and an irresistible shoulder-swaying rhythm as Phoebe recounts how it feels to pour your love into someone who never intended to give it back. This sets the bar for what you can expect from the album, but it is hardly the peak of the climb. Fourth track “7 Up” is another huge highlight and features some of Phoebe’s sharpest lyrics and catchiest vocal melodies over another gently rocking groove.
“You said you’d come back for me somehow, but it freaks me out that you call it 'seven up' now” is just such a funny and clever way to express a microcosm of watching someone you love move over seas and grow into a stranger (apparently Australians refer to 7 Up and Sprite as lemonade? I’ll resist inciting a culture war over this
for now), and I get a kick out of it every time I replay the track.
This aching breeze dichotomy doesn't always work in Phoebe's favour however, as it also has the effect of making the problems she presents to the listener feel inconsequential. The sad words are there, waiting like a hammer to be swung, but Phoebe's delivery is too gentle, the music too laid back, that the words often feel like paper airplanes veered off course by the wind. It's almost as if Phoebe is holding back from truly baring her teeth, but maybe her lack of contempt isn't the real issue.
Marmalade is almost like a portrait of someone in a transitional state; one foot in the past, and one foot already well on it's way toward healing. It's Phoebe looking inward and shrugging, because hey,
it is what it is. At least
Marmalade won't break your heart, it's a charming little indie folk record that absolutely deserves thirty minutes of your day, I just can't help but hope the next iteration of Phoebe Go has a little more momentum.
