Julien Baker
Little Oblivions
Matador
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Julien Baker spent her first two records doing one thing incredibly well: playing dark songs while accompanied by one instrument. In spite of this, her songwriting and use of guitar effects were usually enough to keep her albums dynamic, sometimes more so than bands with full orchestration. The sparse instrumentation also gave her work a claustrophobic feeling: with only a guitar and a voice, there was nowhere to hide. The first time you heard the record, you got the full emotional force of every word.
I will admit that I was apprehensive upon my first listen to Little Oblivions, her first solo record since 2017’s masterful Turn Out The Lights and her first featuring a full band (even though she played all of the instruments herself). The first time I went through the new album, nothing hit me full-force like “Everybody Does” had on Sprained Ankle (2015) or “Happy To Be Here” from Turn Out The Lights.
Additional listens, though, reveal that this line of thinking is the old trap you fall into when one of your favorite artists changes course: listening based on what you already know about them, rather than what they’re trying to do.
Once you shift that perspective, it becomes obvious that Little Oblivions is a huge leap forward for Baker. Perhaps this is most obvious on “Crying Wolf,” one of a few songs on the record about relapse. After the second verse, there is something that could almost be called a guitar solo, a strange, amelodic swirling thing that disorients you as it breaks up the structure of the song dramatically. This sort of digression, a huge departure from the loop-driven instrumental breaks of her earlier work, gives Little Oblivions brand new horizons for Baker to use in the service of her writing.
This materializes in more subtle ways, too. “Song In E” is a piano track of a similar character of “Go Home” from Sprained Ankle. Late in the song, an uncomplicated bass part emerges, adding a bit of depth to the harmony and nothing more. Still, this small addition recharacterizes the latter half of the song, giving it more weight without requiring Baker to pound on the piano and scream as she once had to. Expanding her tool set allowed her to make her most thoughtful and, in some ways, quietest record.
While the lyrics remain as precise and evocative as they have always been, there is a change of tone from Baker’s previous work. Turn Out The Lights reads almost like a progress narrative, moving from Baker’s acknowledgment that living with mental illness is difficult but possible, and ending with a strong resolve to stay alive and make the world better by the time the album ends with “Claws In Your Back.” You leave Turn Out The Lights feeling hopeful, if not still sad.
Little Oblivions is harsher. On “Relative Fiction,” she’s “finished with being good / now I can finally be okay and not the way I thought I should.” Speaking goodness into existence didn’t work, and now she is working herself and all of us through what had been hidden, how hiding it felt, and the betrayals by substances and relationships that have always dogged her. Simply put, Little Oblivions is a more complex take on the shattering honesty that defines Sprained Ankle. We’re no longer just dealing with how much that stuff hurts. We’re dealing with what it means.
Maybe, then, the most interesting thing about Little Oblivions is that it gets us to stop thinking about Julien Baker. Surrounding her voice with more sound turns the spotlight away from her, which helps you realize that Little Oblivions isn’t interested in you understanding someone else’s pain. The problems that define Little Oblivions, these coping mechanisms and avoidance tactics, are part of every person’s life. These songs are already about you.
Notable Tracks: “Crying Wolf” | “Hardline” | “Song In E” | “Ziptie”
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