Among the conclusions she reaches is “Decades are wastin’ on your name / You’ll grasp the concept of life / When you give up the point of tryin’.” True to her word, she sings it like she’s not trying. Panning out from this is Clairo’s most common subject matter - the peculiarity of life in general.Ĭlairo reflects upon optimism for the future in “Wade,” over a jazzy backdrop that plays a running commentary on her thoughts. The climax of her unpredictable poetic ramblings is an admission to understanding the appeal of domesticity. On “Zinnias,” she sings with a whimsical meter and carefree spontaneity of phrasing over an acoustic guitar that frames her like an oddball folk singer. In “Blouse,” Clairo addresses her experiences of sexualization in the workplace with a snappy refrain of “If touch could make them hear me, touch me now.” Normally such a line would be delivered with anthemic, righteous indignation, but she sings it with her usual detachment, which is, in a way, more venomous. This time, the conclusion is “But white noise comes from nothing at all.” And a celebration of nothingness is entirely expected. “Little Changes” trudges along to more of Clairo’s mildly expressed discontents and sidewalk revelations, as she recounts her experiences with a past lover. She sings in a weary extended sigh, and the whole song rings like a jaded shrug at the world, as the band plays music to herald a happy ending. “Harbour” takes up a similar topic more directly, but with Clairo’s usual deadpan delivery. “Patridge” is a measured, bittersweet jab at a former romantic partner that culminates with Clairo hooing with abandon over the recurrent space lounge backdrop. Several songs are reflections on past relationships, always presented with the same disapproving indifference. Clairo puts about as little effort into singing as possible, just enough to register a melody and get her words across, and, as it turns out, just the right amount. “Amoeba” features a chorus that concludes, “But I show up to the party just to leave” over a celebratory backdrop that might well play at that party. Her opening bluntness, however, remains consistent throughout the album. Opener “Bambi” begins with a spacey intro from a jazz band fit for technicolor cartoons, and Clairo enters declaring, “I’m stepping inside a universe / Designed against my own beliefs.” In context, the song is likely a stab at the music industry, considering Clairo’s vocal criticism of in the past for its sexism. It’s an unsparingly honest series of reflections magnified to new musical proportions. For her latest endeavor, “ Sling,” Clairo has both receded into her own world and taken on the world at large, adopting cinematic, space lounge sounds and offering her takes on life in the same candid persona as she had in her YouTube hits. For an artist whose earliest music capitalized on irony, this was a slick shifting of levels. By the point of her full length debut, 2018’s “Immunity,” she had largely ditched the DIY aesthetic for glossy pop production, while retaining a designedly-DIY voice. The songs were catchy, and she quickly became a DIY success. Massachusetts singer-songwriter Clairo began as a YouTube sensation, singing jokey lyrics over toy box instrumentation. Clairo Rolls Her Eyes to Cinematic Sounds on ‘Sling’
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