by Becca Barglowski (@beccabarglow)
Incredibly idiosyncratic - albeit not to one another, the Atlanta-based quartet Mamalarky communicates amongst themselves in a tongue all their own. Their most recent release, Pocket Fantasy, is not an invitation into their world, but an overheard discussion felt so intensely that it is carried home by casual passerby. Mamalarky travels through their sophomore LP with an omniscience that is undeniably present but purposely withheld; the listener - stunned into silence by the band’s seemingly effortless synchronicity, is deliberately told nothing and shown everything.
Unconcerned with contradictions of sound and style, Pocket Fantasy is strung together like a stream of consciousness. Singer Livy Bennett isn’t tied down by the rules of logic as she flows from thoughtful contemplation to unprompted revelation without warning. “What are you thinking / What are you thinking when you stand on the sides? / I feel the same way too / That is exactly why I walked up to you / Dance, dance together / But I don't know how to dance / Maybe you do,” she sings above the dreamily atmospheric instrumental of “Dance Together,” comfortably stringing together assumptions in a one-sided dialogue that mimics the art of conversation; a practice of which Bennett shows us is only mastered by working through the unanswered silence of one’s own internal monologue.
Backed by the sliding motion of a choppy guitar riff and punctual pops of synth, “The Hour” makes it clear as to how Mamalarky’s complex instrumental interplay is grounded within the playful poignance of lyrics that read like intrusive thoughts. Staccato notes stretch out into grainy reverb as Bennett sings, “Intuition it’s a compass / What if we just let it guide us / To our core.” Intentional in action and articulation, she spells out Mamalarky’s intuitive approach to the artistic process.
The purposeful vulnerability of “Shining Armor” and “July” aid Mamalarky in their album-wide quest to let instinct lead the way. Shedding their egos to the tune of spastically strummed steel strings, Mamalarky kindly suggests the listener free themselves in the same way, “Reveal yourself / no shell / remove all protection / learn your lesson.” In a whirlwind of whining instruments, Bennett’s lyrical clarity appears like the eye of the storm. At first, Pocket Fantasy can be mistaken for a body of miscellaneous musings; but when in the hands of the collector himself, the album is just as easily found to be sacred.