On “Sugarcoat,” Blushing Keeps the 90s Dream Alive

Nostalgia is a disease. Constantly lingering in the past is the easiest way to never move forward, and assuming things used to be better often prevents people from enjoying greatness that is right in front of them. That being said: the 90s were pretty awesome, weren’t they? It was definitely the best decade, and I’m not just saying this because it was when I was a child who easily made friends and had no responsibilities.

This band, Blushing, really likes the 90s. They have a song on their new album, Sugarcoat, called “Tamogotchi.” Their sugary bubble-grunge sound is the product of a group of people who believe that the music industry and the world was a better place when Letters to Cleo was a prominent band (they may be right). There is an oddly endearing shamelessness to this whole endeavor — a lot of the presentation and style borders on feeling cynical in its Millennial pandering, but the songs also have a certain charm that makes them feel convincingly sincere.

On the surface, Sugarcoat is a straight-forward pop-rock album that isn’t particularly interested in probing deep into questions about the human condition. There’s not much to say about the individual songs except that there are a lot of bright, catchy melodies, and everything is executed sharply in terms of what the band is trying to do. If you enjoy relatively mindless, fun guitar pop, you will like this album. So instead of focusing on that, indulge me while I overanalyze the nostalgic aspect of this thing.

Because what is most interesting about Sugarcoat is how it (maybe intentionally) functions as a critique of itself. Nostalgia is primarily a result of how our minds remember all the good times and forget the bad ones, and that is also what is happening on this album in all facets from the sound to the packaging. It’s a constant sugar rush of bright colorful hooks and sweet vocals, and it’s all so on-the-nose (again, they called a song “Tamagotchi”) that a sense of darkness creeps in, as the band starts to resemble one of those groups that is a little too happy and you start to think they’re a cult.

What’s really being sold here is a kind of escapism, a retreat for some listeners into the carefree days of childhood. But it’s also a fantasy that at times feels hollow, because listening to this, you’d think nothing bad ever happened in the 90s and everyone was living in some kind of ultra-colorful music video. So there is this constant tension on the album between the pleasurable sounds and the slightly gross way it insists on looking backwards through the most rose-colored glasses imaginable. The funny thing is, this ambivalence is what ultimately makes me want to recommend the album: it has all these catchy songs, and — whether intended or not — there are elements in the music that raise these questions and make it surprisingly thought-provoking.

Cassandra Jenkins Makes Boredom and Loneliness Sound Glorious

On first blush, the low-key folk stylings of Cassandra Jenkins could be mistaken for the legions of bland singer-songwriter types who create their idea of “sad music” without bringing original sound or thought to the table. But her last album, An Overview on Phenomenal Nature, showed her expanding her sound and experimenting creatively, especially on the stand-out track “Hard Drive,” which winded through five-and-a-half minutes of whispery storytelling with saxophone and piano flourishes. Jenkins’ latest album, My Light, My Destroyer, shows continued growth, as uneventful shifts at a flower shop, hotel room stays, and trips to Petco are turned into high-definition songs full of existential questions.

The specificity in the lyrics is a key to making this album stand out. My Light, My Destroyer presents what feels like a literal road map of experiences and memories. Jenkins zooms in on tiny details and is able to expand them into big ideas: on “Clams Casino,” someone ordering the titular dish without knowing what it is stands in for the feeling of aimlessness many of us have wandering through life. The somewhat grungy “Petco” turns her trips to the pet store into ruminations on whether she can ever take care of a pet or even herself. The most prominent location is “Aurora, IL,” and on that song she spends a night in a hotel on tour staring into space and the room’s ceiling — material that fits the song’s dreamy rock vibe with its strings and surprisingly heavy guitar.

Jenkins gets the musical part of storytelling also, and every song on My Light, My Destroyer sounds the way it feels it should sound. The highlight of the album — and of 2024 music in general — is “Delphinium Blue,” which is where all of Jenkins’ gifts come together. She’s working in a flower shop while longing for someone and her spoken-word recitation of her tasks (“chin up/stay on task/wash the windows/count the cash”) is juxtaposed with her desire while the music swells with beautiful almost shoegaze-like noise. It’s probably the most accurate depiction of a peaceful, mundane job in a song, and it’s another example of how Jenkins can make ordinary life sound spectacular and tiny moments feel massive.

For all I know, the stories Jenkins is telling could be fiction. But these songs are detailed and lived-in enough that the distinction doesn’t really matter — these are reflections on loneliness, anxiety, and yearning that feel completely believable and authentic. And all of the themes are bolstered by a sense of wonder that particularly comes through in more experimental songs like “Betelgeuse” where she’s just talking while looking into the stars. My Light, My Destroyer perfectly captures how the world is vast and awe-inspiring — which makes it that much more difficult to find your place in it.

Chelsea Wolfe Soundtracks Our Apocalypse On “Hiss Spun”

If the world really is ending, Chelsea Wolfe’s new album, Hiss Spun, is a fitting soundtrack. Wolfe’s music is not particularly political, instead focusing inward on the darkest parts of ourselves, yet this album feels weirdly timely. As massive hurricanes crash the coasts and we reach the precipice of nuclear war because two idiot leaders can’t stop trash-talking each other like grade-schoolers, the turbulence and doom in Wolfe’s music reflects a dark world that is on the verge of complete chaos.

That sense of foreboding pervades every second of Hiss Spun, which impressively manages to be even darker than her previous effort, Abyss, which felt like a concept album about being stuck in a pit and not seeing the sun for 20 years. This is a massive, beautiful monster of an album — the kind that makes other rock albums feel ineffectual and tame by comparison. It pummels the listener with loud guitars and crashing drums while Wolfe’s powerful voice and her poetic, gothic lyrics sometimes struggle to be heard over the din.

What I love about Wolfe’s music lately is how unrestrained and feral it is. She seems to put every bit of herself into every song and note, and it makes these relentless journeys into the void cathartic and meaningful rather than sounding like empty noise. She also has no qualms about embracing drama and theatricality, which stands out in an era where a lot of music is self-consciously “chill” and relaxing. Every song feels like it has life-or-death stakes as Wolfe struggles to prevent her soul from sliding into complete darkness.

Like Abyss, this album uses dynamics heavily, and it’s easy to get lost in its thunderous loud parts or the bewitching folk-inspired sections. But beneath all of that, Wolfe shows an underrated ability as a relatively traditional songwriter who writes real hooks. “16 Psyche,” “Vex” and “Static Hum” are all not so far away from sounding like 90s radio hits, but Wolfe adds enough weirdness and personal touch (plus some growling vocals from Aaron Turner on “Vex”) to make them stand out from other alternative rock imitators. The album’s last track, “Scrape,” is rawer and even more intense than the rest of the album, as Wolfe describes a destructive relationship in blistering detail with less production and noise to hide her pain.

While Hiss Spun is bleak, there is always an inspiring quality for me when an artist really seems to throw all of themselves into the music they’re working on. Wolfe is among the best at that, and her charisma and songwriting ability make her one of the most captivating artists out there. So much music is content to sit in the background; Hiss Spun grabs the listener and doesn’t let go.