St. Vincent is the moniker of singer/multi-instrumentalist/composer Annie Clark and this is her debut full-length. She's opened for such diverse acts as Television, Jose Gonzalez, and Sufjan Stevens, and she's an inventive and versatile guitarist who has also performed with avant-garde composer Glenn Branca. On this record, she writes cinematic pop epics that feel at times like Paris in the 20s before all the fun ended. Or, conversely, an orchestra of pure modernity – a new American music, informed by jazz, gospel blues, Southern folk music, and classical composition but, in the end, an animal original unto itself. She's been compared to everyone from Bjork to Kate Bush to Jeff Buckley, and her beautiful voice melds perfectly with her intricate guitar work.
Review:
With experience playing with the Polyphonic Spree, Sufjan Stevens, and Glenn
Branca, Annie Clark is more than qualified enough to start writing her own
loosely ornate, lush pop songs. But while Clark, who chooses to use the name St.
Vincent here, does incorporate the frilly strings and horns, background choirs,
and various keyboards (most of which she plays) of her past employers in Marry
Me, her solo debut, she also has an edge to her – something that shows up in
the distorted electric guitar solos of “Jesus Saves, I Spend” or “Now,
Now,” the drums in the ominous “The Apocalypse Song” or “Your Lips Are
Red,” the growing intensity of the vocals “Landmines,” the funereal waltz
of the fantastic “Paris Is Burning” (“I write to give the war is
over/Send my cinders home to mother,” Clark sings sadly over electronic
drumbeats and acoustic guitars) – that pushes her away from the overly
sentimental and quaint. Not that Marry Me doesn't have its fair share of happy
love songs (“All My Stars Aligned,” “What Me Worry?”), but the album
isn't seeped in that kind of joyfulness that sings blind and insincere. It's an
mix of good and bad, of light and dark, of the woman who purposefully sets up
the obstacles she must get through to find her lover (“I'm crawling through
landmines/I know 'cause I planted them,” she sings disarmingly), of sweet
self-deprecation (“Marry me, John, I'll be so good to you/You won't realize
I'm gone”), honest and quirky and totally enticing. Clark is young enough that
she's still able to retain that sense of wonder about the world without seeming
naïve, and old enough that she can say things like “My hands are red from
sealing your red lips” and you believe her. It's an orchestral record for
those who prefer the simplistic, a darker one for those who prefer theirs twee,
love songs for the scorned and sad songs for the content, an engaging and
alluring combination that makes Marry Me nearly irresistible, and one of the
better indie pop albums that's come around for a long time.
All Music Guide – Marisa Brown