Spectreview: U.S. Girls – Heavy Light

Heavy Light may not be as focused or propulsive as U.S. Girls’ 2018 breakthrough, but it manages a heightened sense of poignancy amid its conceptual ambition.

-DODGER BLUE-

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“There’s nothing in your way when you become a sound”

Sometimes clarity is only afforded after the fact, when the separation’s already happened and there’s enough distance. For Meghan Remy, it’s represented in her status as an American expatriate living in Canada: as the frontwoman of U.S. Girls, she’s perhaps one of the most assertively incisive voices of American injustice in the alternative music world at the moment. At some point last decade she decided you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and since then she’s transformed the act from a noisy, desolate experimental solo act to a diverse collaborative with vibrant instrumentation.

2018’s In a Poem Unlimited, her second album for 4AD, was a major breakthrough for the band and one of the best releases of that year. It also couldn’t have come at a better time; almost two years into the Trump era, American popular culture at large saw a refocusing on social inequities – particularly regarding women – and voices like Remy’s were more in demand than ever. Now, during a tempestuous high-stakes election year, she and her cohorts are back to shine a light on whatever else is wrong with the country. Heavy Light is decidedly less than positive about the future of our country, but it’s still livened by its sense of community, the implication that we’re starting become all that we have.

At first it seems as though she’s hitting the young decade where it hurts, tackling the wealth gap very early on (in its first and perhaps best track, “4 American Dollars”) and then slyly extrapolates to cover careerist tunnel vision (the workmanlike fuck of “Overtime”), the effect of capitalism on self-worth (the quasi-tepid balladry of “IOU”), and the ever-eventual destruction of the earth (“The Quiver to the Bomb”). Her true focus, though, is on how American culture shapes us to be the kinds of people that cause our own demise. The disparate interludes that peppered In A Poem Unlimited are here in a more pointed fashion; disembodied voices recall the colors of their early childhood, the turbulence of their adolescences, the hurt that still sticks with them.

Taken together, along with a return to inspiredly bizarre touches like a reworking of “MacArthur Park” (the nostalgic nightmare of “Woodstock ’99”) and the B-movie cover art, Remy’s hitting the nail on the head. Whatever we’re dealing with now is part of an auto-cannibalistic process that happens when we’re not ready to protect against it. It’s a poignant perspective that holds no easy conclusions, especially not the ominous, atonal stomp of closer “Red Fed Radio” that leaves the question disconcertingly perched in the air. Conceptually, Heavy Light may be less focused than its predecessor (perhaps another consequence of the act’s decisive shift to a collaborative) but it’s certainly more ambitious, which should always be celebrated to some degree.

What’s unfortunately missing from this record that propelled Unlimited is a certain untamed oomph, which is instead replaced by several lower-energy singer-songwriter numbers. These don’t lack for beauty (the vibraphone on “Denise, Don’t Wait” is especially touching), but compared to the menace and spit that we know U.S. Girls is capable of, her decision to largely homogenize this record under a tired aesthetic is a little disappointing. There might be a point to it that goes beyond simple sonics, something that’s wrapped up in the record’s examination of the past and growth, but it makes Heavy Light a grower for sure. Just make sure to be patient with it: according to everyone around us, including Remy, there’s not a lot of time left for things to grow.

Recommended for 8K screensavers.