The making of Meg Remy’s eighth album as US Girls was set against the backdrop of pregnancy and the birth of twin boys, so it’s perhaps inevitable that Bless This Mess is informed by such life-changing experiences. Indeed, Pump even begins with a sample of her breast pump, before Remy makes reference to caesareans and breastfeeding, and asks herself: “So what are we talking about? Bodies, birth, death, machines.” Elsewhere, Screen Face dissects relationships that exist purely on phones, and how poorly they compare with real-life touch and scents (“No way this is a date/ My screen is not your face”). The opulent disco stylings of Tux (Your Body Fills Me, Boo), meanwhile, soundtrack the despairing musings of a rarely worn tuxedo, “lonely, suffocating in this plastic bag”.
Stylistically, the St Vincent-adjacent Bless This Mess is a little scattershot, with Remy most sure-footed on the straightforward pop of St. James Way. Her more experimental material can be heavier going: the sparkling funk of Pump’s first half gives way to an interminable coda that’s far more annoying than clever.
