Album Review | St. Vincent: Strange Mercy

PLAY: St. Vincent | "Chloe in the Afternoon"

The cover for St. Vincent's new album Strange Mercy – a milky white latex-looking sheet stretched thin over the mouth of a screaming model; possibly St. Vincent herself, the moniker of Texas native Annie Clark – dances closely to the edge of obscurity. 


However, after I finished listening to the album, I realized the image is actually quite telling of Clarke's music. It captures the sonic tension and conflict that encompasses the sound of Strange Mercy.

In the first five seconds of the opening track, “Chloe in the Afternoon,” the song begins with the delicate whiz of synths. Clark's voice coos affectionately and passionately – her voice radiates warmth. This sound is soon disrupted by distorted bass guitars creating a feeling of anxiety in the piece – as if something is about to go wrong. 

"My own heels heal my hurt. Go slowly. Feel your floor." - "Chloe in the Afternoon"

With this moment, Clark's voice edges closer to devastation. Her voice teeters and wavers as she tries to hit notes her thin, yet sweet voice almost doesn't allow her to hit. These higher notes add to the uneasiness to the song – as if she is almost gasping for air. The aggressive guitars suffocate the lyrics and Clark's voice gargles – almost as if she's drowning. The song soon ends with the same distorted guitars that opened the track, except now the instrument only spews out a few final notes before the song closes to a climatic finish.

To me, “Chloe” stands as a representation for the dramatic tension that most of the songs on Mercy tend to have. The songs' swooping strings and silky synths lay down the foundation for Clark's songs, while the distortion from her bass guitar – an instrument that appears immediately in “Chloe” and recurs repetitively throughout the rest of the album – often suggests as if something violent is bubbling right underneath the surface.

WATCH: St. Vincent | "Cruel"

“Cruel,” the second track on the album opens once again with Clark's honey-dipped voice, and follows a similar formula to the track that played before it. The strings of the backing orchestra rise and fall with Clark's voice. The lyrics are delivered by Clark with poignancy and tragedy. The buzzing guitars vibrate once again beneath the complicated soundscape.

"They could take or leave you, so they took you then 

 they left you." -"Cruel"

I think the contrast of Clark's anxiety-ridden guitars and the lush strings and horns that surround her voice work well to create a thematically strong album, yet there are moments where I wished this tension that's boiling, simmering and gargling underneath would eventually come out to the surface.

Much like the mouth on the cover of the album that suppresses a scream, I feel St. Vincent's songs themselves seem to be suppressing something as well. A darkness and trauma underlies the sound, and while I wished this would lead to a violent climax where these sounds would emerge completely, this tension comes across with precision and accuracy, and we understand that these songs have been arranged carefully; they've been built up from a basic structure in order to create this complex, calculated collection of music. 

As much as I would like to see Clarke's seething emotion come out as the musical equivalent of a diva-like hissy fit, I can understand why she doesn't want to showcase her emotions so blatantly. Clark's use of juxtaposition makes for an exciting and refreshing album; a challenging work that hints on its themes, rather than stating everything at surface level. Which is no doubt impressive. Strange Mercy is vibrant, consistent, yet still unpredictable because of Clarke's choice to layer sounds together. No one's calling uncle – not yet. Show no mercy.