Julien Baker
"Little Oblivions"
(Matador *** 1/2)
Julien Baker commands attention on stage with just the sound of her voice and guitar. She’s expert at holding audiences rapt with unadorned, emotionally fraught songs that turn noisy concert halls into hushed, hallowed spaces.
In some ways, "Little Oblivions," the 25-year-old Memphis songwriter’s third album, which is self-produced, feels like a departure from that approach.
The arrangements are fleshed out, with a grand, full-band sound she created playing most instruments herself. Her engineer, Calvin Lauber, also chipped in, and Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus, Baker’s bandmates in indie supergroup boygenius, contribute backup vocals.
But while the bigger sound offers Baker a barrier she could hide behind, she has no interest in shielding herself. The opening of the first song, “Hardline,” makes plain there’s extraordinary confessional music ahead in which the singer will not be going easy on herself for choices she’s made.
“Blacked out on a weekday; is there something that I’m trying to avoid?” she sings, as the music swells. “Start asking for forgiveness in advance for all the future things I will destroy.”
"Little Oblivions" explores themes of addiction, its consequences, and recovery. But Baker doesn’t do easy moralizing here. Both life and the music — which draws on Baker’s experience in punk bands — get messy. “Bloodshot” and “Relative Fiction” achieve a rare beauty. The songs are all the more harrowing because they confront demons once thought safely locked away. — Dan DeLuca
