“The charm with which Clark delivers her critiques (on Marry Me) and her sadness (on Actor) makes these early albums so replayable.” — MJ Lawrence
St. Vincent’s newest album pushes her sound further than ever, but it’s worth looking back at Annie Clark’s (the artist behind the moniker) first two subtly experimental releases, Marry Me and Actor — two of my favorite albums of all time.
I would be tempted to suggest that, despite being her freshman album, 2007’s Marry Me contains Clark’s most mature lyrics, except “maturity” means little in Annie Clark’s world. (Furthermore, it’s not as if her songwriting has exactly suffered in the years since.) Her lyrical innovation and literary whimsy often deflate any number of adult concepts and constructs, most notably marriage and religion. Take a witty verse from “Human Racing,” for example: “Little lamb, what’s your plan?/ Greener pastures in the sky?/ It’s a shame you want to die, know why?/ Just to find you’ve been blinded to the greenest of pastures/ They’re right here on Earth.”
Marry Me’s world-weariness, present in some form on every track, lends credence to the idea that it is Clark’s most mature album. Stylistically, however, she still seems young and restless on the album. This restlessness would settle into a more focused vision on Actor.
Her second album is also full of purposeful genre exercises with lyrics that rethink the very traditions they’re working with. The arrangements on “The Strangers,” “Black Rainbow” and “Just the Same But Brand New” sound plucked out of a golden era Disney film. So many of the songs seem to be about acting around those we’re closest to, intentionally building a facade, about “Laughing with A Mouth Full Of Blood” and ensuring “The Neighbors” remain “The Strangers.”
Ironically, though Clark made a whole album satirizing the performative nature of our everyday actions, the last two years of her career — much of which she’s spent partnered with collaborator David Byrne — have reveled in theatricality. She’s now embraced a practice of which she was once wary, or at least a critical observer.
The charm with which Clark delivers her critiques (on Marry Me) and her sadness (on Actor) makes these early albums so replayable. The guitar freakouts on “Your Lips Are Red” and “Marrow” aren’t conventionally beautiful, but the majority of this music is gentle enough for its lyrics to be palatable. On the newly released St. Vincent, her music brings the bite that once lingered in the background into the foreground.
