Review Summary: You won't have to believe in magic / Leave it to me and I'll make it happen
I can't imagine you dead
But you are every day
On the third track from
Lost Weekend, Phoebe Bridgers sings “this is gonna kill me”, and it already feels like a foregone conclusion given the moments leading up to that admission. On opener ‘The Outside’, she mourns the death of her father during a funeral scene that’s executed via pitch-shifted, nearly robotic harmonies – presumably because a traditional vocal delivery of such a sensitive topic would be nearly impossible. Nevertheless, it conveys every last drop of emotional wreckage thanks to Phoebe’s pen (“Crying in a suit and tie, but you should see the other guy / One more time for old time's sake, I’ll watch him get carried away”), and once you understand what
Lost Weekend really is at its core – a vessel for overcoming both a broken engagement (“I'm supposed to be married, but I called it off”) and her father’s death – the rest of the album sort of just fall into place.
Bridgers’ third record is a full bodied, free-flowing masterclass in songwriting where every track is made in part by the the ones around it. There’s something comforting about how these songs prop each other up that makes it feel like it’s not a coincidence; the way ‘Liberty Tree’ calls back lyrically to both ‘Lost Weekend’ and ‘Bobby’, the way Phoebe plays with momentum by having some songs end (seemingly abruptly) only to have the ensuing track rebound from that sudden drop without interruption, or even just how certain musical concepts (bone-chilling hums, shouts/screams that come in tiny bursts of released rage) recur throughout, knotting those moments together as motifs. It feels like more than just a concept album because of the emotional gravity of it all – these aren’t “concepts” so much as actual accounts of tremendous pain. It’s as if Bridgers, through all the struggles she’s endured for the past several years, has found strength in community. Somehow, these sixteen songs emulate what is so special about the human condition. Alone, they are droning, fractured pockets of depression – but together, they assign each other meaning and lift each other to a greater collective purpose. These songs breathe as one, and
Lost Weekend wouldn’t be nearly the same album had Phoebe decided not to weave the tracks together and provide them with shared DNA.
Despite the turmoil contained within,
Lost Weekend still shines with Bridgers’ typical songwriting magic. Just as
Punisher’s reputation grew with time, this album also feels like a slow burner brimming with subtle splashes of creativity. ‘The Governor’s Waltz’ is exhibit A, in what might be her most beautiful song yet. Trickling acoustics and ethereal backing vocals provide the undercurrent for Phoebe to recount each stage of a doomed relationship, from the initial heart flutters (“So, let's see how long we can go without touching…I know you never actually think about jumping / But do it for me”), gradually transitioning towards doubt (“I'm next to you, you're next to nothing / You promised that you'd never leave / But maybe you'll do it for me”), and finally landing in resolution (“Since she took my place in my bed on that stage, I have not lost any sleep / Being myself wasn't easy / Do it for me”). Elsewhere, we get plenty of electronic experimentation and gorgeous string flourishes (the lush burst at the end of the title track is worth highlighting), along with cameos from Geese’s Cameron Winter (their harmony on ‘I Can’t Wait’ is surprisingly effective), Bo Burnham (Phoebe’s current partner), and fellow boygenius bandmates/close friends Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker. All of it contributes to
Lost Weekend’s pervading
magic; this sense that even amid its overarchingly slow pace and eclectic artistic directions, Phoebe will always somehow be able to pull it together.
While Bridgers may have recorded this album from a dark place, the prevailing notes are uplifting. ‘As Above’ sees her embracing the unknown not only as a continuation of the past, but also as an eventual chapter of what will ultimately make her who she
is: “I don't want to live forever, but I don't wanna die / You're gonna take me for granted, but I can handle it / Whatever happens after, it doesn't matter / You won't have to believe in magic / Leave it to me, and I'll make it happen / As above so below / As it was, so it goes.” The song has a wondrous atmosphere and climactic payoff that easily could have served as
Lost Weekend’s fitting conclusion, but afterwards we get a parting ode to her father – one that is sure to dampen a few eyes. The detached, fearful sense that we got from the funeral on ‘The Outside’ has been replaced by perspective on the reprise, and a refusal to let love die. The closing line could be perceived as her finally accepting vulnerability, holding onto the memory of her dad, or maybe both: “You love me, and I won't ever let you forget / Not yet.” Either way it’s a cathartic ending, and it brings
Lost Weekend from a place of emotional devastation to one where Bridgers appears poised for the future. Maybe the end is not quite here yet, after all.
