by Kurt Orzeck
This is just one writer’s opinion (duh: you’re reading a subjective review of a record), but doesn’t it seem like lovers with hubris, short-sightedness, and a lack of sentimentality are the ones most likely to get divorced — or, if you prefer, the quickest to get divorced? And yet, whatever the circumstances were in that scenario, fictional or otherwise — centrifugal force Mary Claire proves on their debut that they are an outlier. The musician also makes the very convincing points that the power of love is much, much stronger than statistical data; far more precious than the way we carelessly bandy about the word in our degraded and thus devalued lexicon.
Slake have carved out a wry sub-sub-subgenre called "lesbian doom folk.” The indie band hails from somewhere in the Bay Area, but it’s unclear exactly where, since Slake’s X account contains no posts (a round of applause for that, please); their Instagram account is restricted, at least to the casual observer [Ed. note: it is now public]; and their website redirects to one of those paranoia-inducing "Your connection is not private” pages.
It’s pretty rad for Claire to reveal their intent — or, perhaps, mere entertaining of — the idea of matrimony in the title of their first album. After all, doesn’t it make more sense for an artist like Claire to reveal their romantic life to those who enjoy their music as opposed to a gazillion strangers on social media who scroll past the news in less than one measly second? In the best-case scenario, the dregs of society would comment on their post with some asinine joke about how Mary Claire getting married should be broadcast on the cover of Marie Claire magazine.
We live in an era when friends, families, and strangers will quizzically look and judge you for rejecting social media in the same manner as Frank Sinatra used to state, “Never trust a man who doesn’t drink.” But, as a testimony to their integrity and character, and that the artist at hand doesn’t live a lonely, self-absorbed and sad life, Claire assembled a zany band for their first full-length. Backing Claire, who of course handles guitar and vocals, are a crew that, if they seem to have nothing else in common other than collaborating with Slake's central figure, also agree that their names should be spelled in all lower case: bridge gamble on guitar, lil spakoski on theremin/synth, gabi orion on bass, and ashley reber on drums.
When Slake released their first song “Bonecollector” back in March, it was deemed melodic and replete with a diversity of guitar sounds that shared a common denominator of exquisite beauty. That song is the second track on this LP, and it is preceded by opening tune "Bauhaus The Dog,” as if Claire is telling us she’s setting the table for music so quiet, minimalist and fragile-sounding, it would make Joni Mitchell come across as a boisterous and unrestrained punk-rocker. Rather, Let’s Get Married is a controlled, quiet experiment we haven’t heard since Tiny Vipers and Grouper entered the picture.
After establishing initial trust with the listener, Slake indeed makes some bold choices. On “1026,” for example, Claire endeavors to determine how close a musician can creep close to silence on a track that is technically defined as music. But in the end, Claire isn’t so much a death-defying musician as she is a poet with the potential to become the next Patti Smith.
Virtually every lyric on this record could be defined as brilliant. Here’s a section that hearkens the album title to mind:
"The only people that I've ever seriously loved have been the ones who have changed their names
Well I'm feeling pretty attached to mine, my friends make fun of me all the time
'cause I've got two and I'm asking you to use 'em both when you address me down the line
Promise me you'll do it next time?”
Marriage is often fleeting, but records like this diamond are forever. Let’s Get Married firmly belongs in the latter category.