Review: On ‘the record,’ boygenius Steps Into the Sun
Three of indie-rock’s most prominent singer-songwriters united five years ago, before many of their current fans knew their names, to put out a six-song EP. Their debut album as boygenius delivers on the endless hype they’ve received since.
Written by Felix Kalvesmaki
Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lucy Dacus make up possibly the most iconic group text in indie rock today. The three of them stand on their own as some of today’s most popular singer-songwriters, with Bridgers even opening for Taylor Swift on her ongoing Eras Tour. Baker’s career came to a boil at just 21, while Dacus has burned slow and hot, quietly rising ranks and stealing hearts. It’s no surprise, then, that their joint project, 2018’s boygenius EP, has slowly but surely become a modern classic. After years of fans old and new clamoring for a second act, their debut album, the record, hit streaming services a few weeks ago. The girls, gays, and theys, as it were, unified in celebration like they were at a drag brunch.
The lead singles from the album, each less exemplary of collective songwriting and more so of each member’s individual style, reintroduces the band members effectively: Baker’s got the chugging “$20” trucking forward with crunchy little strums, a taste of burnt crust reminiscent of their smokier debut EP, but with a bit more whimsy this time around. Bridgers dives into an intimate relationship on the underwater “Emily I’m Sorry,” drowning in her own apologies while trying to do better. Dacus’ “True Blue” whisks the listener out under the Chicago summer sun, warm, welcoming, and wise as always. Each one serves as a solid briefing on how their styles have changed since the first EP, during which the three of them each only had one or two albums out. For instance, the fuzz and distortion that defined Dacus’ second effort, Historian, is almost entirely absent across the record’s tracklist, though it defined some of the best cuts off their first project, like the penultimate “Salt in the Wound.”
Dacus has grown in her writing, too, often playing it tongue-in-cheek; from referring to “True Blue’s” subject as a “winter bitch” with “summer in [their] blood” to her friendly jab at Leonard Cohen as an “old man writing horny poetry” towards the end of a song named after him. One line in “Satanist” is tweet-worthy: "Solomon had a point when he wrote ‘Ecclesiastes.’” She’s quick to change tone, though, and the follow-up "If nothing can be known, then stupidity is holy” might function as a punchline, but it’s an ironically thoughtful conclusion. Dacus blends her trademark wisdom with a sense of humor typically relegated to her social media presence, and it’s a great example of how this band may push each other to be more “ambitious,” as Baker said to Rolling Stone.
Admittedly, this is sometimes more visible in the smaller details than the album as a whole. A few songs (”True Blue,” “Revolution 0,” and “Anti-Curse” for instance) could sound more or less taken from each member’s previous efforts. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as the other two contribute meaningfully to each, but it may leave those anxious for more group numbers waiting. Tracks like “We’re in Love,” though, show that each member can still take the wheel by themselves vocally and still deliver a boygenius song, as opposed to (in this case) a Lucy Dacus song. Not to mention, “$20” could easily sound like a very good, but normal Julien Baker song, until Bridgers and Dacus come in at the end with their overlapping vocals. Almost more importantly: It really feels like each of them are having fun here, too.
Boygenius’ group dynamics are interesting, as a band without a frontwoman. The band is an inverse of Fleetwood Mac: a group of platonic soulmates who truly would never break the chain. As opposed to infighting inspiring the angst of Rumours, several tracks on this album (”Leonard Cohen,” for one) are about other members of the group, and they’re adorable and tender and loving — so loving. The lead vocalists on each song, and the amount of group songs, also mirror something like Fleetwood’s 1977 effort. “Not Strong Enough” is something like “The Chain,” and “Letter to an Old Poet” might just be Bridgers’ “Silver Springs.”
The songs that see all three sharing lead vocals are, invariably, some of the best cuts. “Cool About It” is a solid choice to introduce new fans to boygenius’ group dynamic and individual personalities as songwriters: Baker sings about dive bars and cowboys with neck tattoos, Dacus picks up on similar themes to her iconic “Night Shift,” and Bridgers steals someone’s prescription medication. It’s a great little indie-folk distillation of their artistry. “Satanist” does something similar, albeit with fuzzy, electric-guitar accompaniment and a lot of irony. Baker, who meditated explicitly on God and Christianity for her first few records, now beckons listeners towards the Dark Lord: “Will you be a Satanist with me?” For the learned boygenius fan, the song is meaty, and even for the casual listener, musical fare like Dacus’ mischievous spoken-word interjection of “Oh, you know what we should do?” before the thrashing, crashing payoff of creaky-wood-floor guitars and thunderous-footfall drumming will still satisfy.
One place where the record differs from their eponymous EP is, to put it simply, in vibe. The album covers reflect this very well: the EP is a monochrome photo on a black background; the record sees the Boys reaching towards the sunrise, each arm bearing a matching tooth tattoo. The EP carries a darker energy: its guitars could at times feel funereal, even the lighter-sounding cuts like “Souvenir” have a haunting air to them. The record is a warm Sunday morning, a beautiful sunrise, even if the Saturday night before was the worst of your life. It’s not an unwelcome change of pace, but it’s a notable change of tone. Admittedly, a few more of those “sick riffs” Baker mentioned would’ve been welcome. Especially given Baker’s inhuman shredding talents (see: any live performance of “Salt in the Wound”), it’s a shame we miss out on another sick guitar solo from her.
However, the daybreak warmth of the record is deceptive: some of its loneliest lines live on its most upbeat tracks. “Not Strong Enough” drives across its entire runtime with a near-constant 4/4 kick, something completely alien to the downtempo and downtrodden composition of the first EP. It’s really closer to indie pop at times, and also contains perhaps the catchiest chorus of any of their careers. The harmonies are smooth chocolate, especially Baker’s, who picks up both the chorus melody and the high harmony with ease and style. She was perhaps born to sing this song. At the same time, it’s one of the more outwardly pessimistic cuts on the record, with each take on not being “strong enough” a bit sadder than the last: Bridgers spiraling as she dreads the future, Baker trying to temper expectations she doesn’t think she can meet, and Dacus delivering a biblical lament: “Always an angel, never a god.” She repeats it like a prayer to the lord an angel serves, her longing building as her bandmates join in to back her up and the final chorus explodes. The record maintains a lightness in its instrumentals, but remains familiarly introspective, sometimes morose, and occasionally, absolutely devastating.
“Letter to an Old Poet” is crushing on several levels. Plain and simply, its subject matter and Bridgers’ storytelling here puts the weight on her shoulders onto yours, and it leaves you sore. Bridgers indulges anger a few times on this record, most notably on this closer. “You’re not special, you’re evil / You don’t get to tell me to calm down” is righteous rage for the spoken over, and it feels good to hear. For boygenius fans, the album ends on a reprise: arguably the most popular song from the EP was the Bridgers-led “Me & My Dog,” which she even performed on her own after the supergroup’s initial tour ended. It’s undeniably one of the best songs in the boygenius catalog, which makes it all the more impressive that “Old Poet” doesn’t step on its memory at all. In fact, its direct repetition of many of its melodies and harmonies feel all the more meaningful when Bridgers wishes not to be “emaciated,” but fucking “happy.” When a leitmotif from “Me & My Dog” comes in and Baker and Dacus enter echoing their same three-part accompaniment five years later, as Bridgers stares at the moon and thinks of the dog she wrote about in 2018 and lost in 2019, and waits for her happiness, you feel like you could grow older and find yours too. And maybe you’ll be lucky enough to have friends as caring as hers to keep you company in harmony until it happens.
That’s part of what feels significant about the record: these three musicians have constantly had their careers defined by “sad girl” labels, and it’s a lot more difficult to say that about a band of three people who outwardly and constantly talk about how fun it is to make music together. It’s a lot more difficult to push them into this troubled artist narrative that doesn’t suit any of them if they spend their interviews dressing up like Nirvana and giggling to each other. This energy is present all throughout the record, too: the subject matters look as deeply inward as Baker, Bridgers, and Dacus tend to individually, but the sense of community boygenius has in each other sees them rejoicing together, complaining together, staying together. A lot has been said on these three, on their bond, on their queerness, on their revolutionary potential, and it over-complicates the simple joy of making something with friends. The best part of the record is just that. Their careful songwriting, natural harmony, and at times wicked musicianship is a nice bonus.