St. Vincent is like the sea, beautifully pristine from afar but full of complex darkness and unknown depth upon closer inspection.
Annie Clark, the mastermind behind St. Vincent, triumphs with her highly lauded third album, Strange Mercy. Still carefully balancing sultrily warm vocals above jagged guitar riffs, Clark concocts mesmerizing tracks that hypnotize with off-kilter syncopation and honey-textured intonation. In this third LP, Clark gets personal and turns to subjects often not addressed while hashing out self-conflicts.
On the outside, Annie Clark possesses that peculiar kind of perfect beauty, somewhat overshadowed by even more curious oddities; so perfect that it seems strangely unnatural. Promotional pictures for Strange Mercy demonstrate this as Clark shines with brilliance but is touched by unsettling, detached hands, the owners of which are out of the shots. If this serves as anything like an introduction to the album proper, it’s a spot-on portrayal of the mystique of the ominous tracks.
Having had experience with existential panic attacks from a young age, Clark knows the feeling of sudden fear. Carrying this to the musical medium, Clark makes a connection between her yearning voice and her wailing guitar, whether it’s an echoing of the melody, as in the chorus for the Actor-recalling “Cruel,” or blurring the boundaries between the two timbres. The latter is exhibited prominently in “Northern Lights,” in which Clark’s voice is slightly distorted to match the rasp of the guitar. As the track builds to full intensity, Clark’s voice fades as the guitar steps in, finishing the transition from clarity to insanity.
Strange Mercy also ventures into more calming territories that place a stark spotlight on Clark’s smooth vocals. Even still, these more atmospheric tracks go slightly awry with subtly discordant layers of echoing synths and sudden blasts of rough guitar riffs with the occasional emphasis on off-beats via a sharply bass-heavy drum set. With these sudden jolts of energy and ghostly vocal harmonies that sneak in between verses, Clark injects the necessary eeriness into an otherwise soothing lullaby.
Accompanying the haunting compositions is Clark’s aptly wrenching poetry. From “Got to make this last, if it makes me sick … / convinced it was the end of times” and “living in fear in the year of the tiger,” tales of seemingly personal battles are spelled out and cause an equally potent reaction from the listener. Yet, they still have a shroud over them so they remain mysteriously anonymous, leaving interpretation to the listener, as Clark intends. This becomes an interesting perspective as Clark sings “Oh little one I’d tell you good news that I don’t believe / If it would help you sleep / Strange mercy,” coining the album title as a kind of assurance through lies, tying into the overall perceived serenity made of bits of delirium.
With the complexity of Strange Mercy, Clark reminds us that in every pool of perfection, there are always specks of madness.
Final Grade: A