emotion

Texan experimentalist Claire Rousay's foray into melancholic, folk-pop may surprise fans of her tactile collages of everyday sounds like screeching keys, hushed conversations and suggestive humming. Those most familiar with the full extent of her extensive catalog of self-described “emo ambient”—which spans hyperpop, text-to-speech recordings and unfinished cover by Elliott Smith— we might just see this as another left turn. In fact, on emotionRousay gathers strands of her past work into a revelatory self-portrait, channeling her experimental musical language into the kind of fervent pop she apparently loves but has so far mostly shared as a one-off, trading her typically atmospheric atmospherics for smaller ones. more melodic, lyrical slowcore songs.

Where softer focus and everything perfect is already here consisted of abstract, shifting collages, emotion has a solid core of her spare guitar playing and luscious vocals, which she applies heavy Auto-Tune to. Despite emotionHowever, in more conventional singer-songwriter fashion, Rousay doesn't completely abandon her avant-garde tendencies, using sounds and field recordings to add texture, depth and narrative to the album. The result opens up a new expressive frontier in her work, finding original ways to explore despair and desire.

Depression occurs to a large extent emotionhis lyrics. The album opens with a poignant confession: “It's 4 o'clock on a Monday and I can't stop sobbing.” The line, read by Theodore Cale Schafer, comes from Rousay's phone—an analog twist on the text-to-speech experiments in it was always worth it. emotionHis honest, conversational lyrics draw on a similar bond of horror and dark humor. Heavy drinking (“Blacking out 'til I feel okay” sings on “it could be anywhere”) features throughout. Self-loathing multiplies: “I hate me, too,” he sings, “the lover's spit plays in the background.” The album is full of sexual longing, but links romance with feelings of inadequacy: “I spend half my life giving you head, just in case you need to forgive me one day,” he admits on “head.” Exploring the “infinite void” described in “4 PM,” Rousay finds a dense tangle of memories, confessions, and emotions.

rousay's concern opposite emotion It's not so much that these feelings will overwhelm her, but that they might be crushed into numbness — “an even worse reality,” as her note on “4 PM” concludes. The steady, lethargic pace of the album reflects Rousay's frustration. “I'm asking for it” swells dramatically before quickly escaping, as if it has lost its will.

Rousay explores anhedonia more movingly through her voice, using Auto-Tune to give it a robotic quality. Inspired by Young Thug and Sparklehorse, she used the effect on last year's single “album/sigh-in-my-ear” class=”external-link” data-event-click=”{"element":"ExternalLink","outgoingURL":"https://clairerousay.bandcamp.com/album/sigh-in-my-ear"}” href=”https://clairerousay.bandcamp.com/album/sigh-in-my-ear” rel=”noopener” target=”_blank”>Sigh in my ear” as well as on Bandcamp uploads like “meg“, “a fucking creative (dressing room demo)” and “new monkey (unfinished cover by Elliott smith).” The vocal effect was stark and mismatched on these singles, seemingly applicable mainly for its impressive sound. In emotion, However, by crushing Rousay's emotional outbursts into a neutral, dehumanized monotone, the result becomes a powerful conceptual device, exploring how despair can give way to numbness and exhaustion.