Spectreview: Illuminati Hotties – Let Me Do One More

Released: Oct 1, 2021

Indie Rock
(Punk Rock)
(Indie Pop)
(Singer-Songwriter)

-LIGHT SLATE BLUE-

For a guide to the review color rating system, click here.

Everyone wants one more. One more chip from the bag, one more shot at the hoop, one more episode, one more day of vacation, one more chance at fixing things. We’re in the process of reckoning with what the last eighty-or-so years have instilled in us, a force that preys on our self-destructive instincts and tears us apart as we continually find cheap, easy fixes to seal the cracks. Call it addiction, call it artificial comfort, call it a coping mechanism, but we all participate in this process in ways we find ourselves having to recover from. Music, too, is part of it. You might be getting it for dirt cheap, but it’s still a product deigned to entertain and distract, to keep us caught up in that endless search for more good times. All the “authenticity” and “integrity” in the world will be undercut by the bottom line, so why care so much?

Let Me Do One More, Sarah Tuzdin’s second formal LP under Illuminati Hotties, isn’t just an intoxicating balance between the tender bedroom pop of Kiss Yr Frenemies and the chaotic punk of Free I.H. It’s also a subtle critique of the spiritual burnout borne from blithe consumerism, with a subtle yet focused conceptual edge that’s new for the act. To these ears, the record recalls Great Grandpa’s dense 2019 level-up Four of Arrows, and not just because Alex Menne shares an infuriatingly brief duet with Tuzdin in “Toasting” (that supergroup needs to happen). They share a sense of realized ambition brought to life with a gorgeous sound. You can tell exactly what Tuzdin wanted to say here, and the fact that she’s executed it so well is remarkable.

Those coming into Let Me Do One More expecting a series of caution-be-damned burners akin to its earliest songs – and its earliest singles – might be disappointed with all the slower, softer material here. The record is certainly less propulsive overall than her last project, which might be a letdown for some considering those songs that do lean into that energy are also among Tuzdin’s best. “Pool Hopping” is smartly designed to replicate dumb fun, with little details like chiming keys, radio samples and well-placed harmonies to build that sense of defiant laziness across its runtime. “MMMOOOAAAAAYAYA” takes an even more confrontational edge, lining up quips like an obnoxious Twitter feed but with a distinct self-awareness that brilliantly rides the line between mocking and empathy. Those openers count among the strong material here, but they function more as red herrings for an album that’s largely a measured rumination on love and self-care in an era when infatuation and indulgence are the junk foods we’re instead led to subsist on.

A majority of these songs involve people looking for the substantial and settling for some make-do imitation. A couple engages in transactional foreplay on “Knead”; the dissatisfied gorge themselves at the corner store on “Threatening Each Other re: Capitalism”; a nagging self-doubt plagues the relationship at the center of the gorgeously-paced “Protector,” which compares the person in question to a range of products varying in use. Tuzdin varies the approach too, dabbling in both the obvious (turgidly laying down a list of transactions and ownership claims on “Kickflip”) and the obviated (using “Cheap Shoes” as a metaphor for the flimsy arguments that online discourse is built on). Moments of straight-laced sweetness do pop up to break the cynicism – including the Cali-graced twilight “The Sway” and the repressed twang of “u v v p” (featuring a suave Buck Meek on the coda) – but the drained heart at the center of the record dominates.

That heart finally comes to the foreground in “Growth,” a devastating finale that provides bold punctuation on an album honest about its disingenuousness. Over uncharacteristically-warm, reverberant acoustic guitar, Tuzdin finally addresses the roots of the issue; a trepidation, a sense of being used, a dearth of connection, an unplaceable grief, a loss. And then, just as the problem comes to light, the scene resets itself and Tuzdin resigns to its eventuality. That final moment, where we’re taken out of the song’s spell and into the recording space where Tuzdin gives the record its tongue-in-cheek title, delicately wraps the concept up with a question mark. Is that ask for an extra take meant to remind us of the fiction behind the studio creation, or is it just Tuzdin wanting to live in that moment again, getting as close as possible to the truth?

The fact that it’s open-ended further implies how far she’s come not just as a songwriter but as an artist. Let Me Do One More may not be the high-octane record people expected from her, but it’s something more substantial, arguably better. In crafting a multifaceted critique on consumerism’s continuing decimation of society’s inner workings, Tuzdin’s created a complex record you can go back to for any number of reasons, not the least of which is the sheer fun of indulging, for once, in irresponsibility.

Highly recommended for occasional littering (I’m kidding, don’t do that).