by Conor Lochrie (@conornoconnor)
Widowspeak are one of those bands that are innately reliable and trustworthy. They’ve released an album every 2-3 years over the last decade since 2011; each was released in partnership with the excellent Captured Tracks (Wild Nothing, Molly Burch); each record was an exquisite collection of dream pop; all would have received nothing less than a strong 70%, if subjected to such ratings.
This is all to say that Widowspeak - led by Molly Hamilton and Robert Earl Thomas - are consummate at crafting their sound. It’s never earth-shattering but always interesting and proficient. Plum was released back in August and is the fifth album from the Brooklyn-based outfit. The nine songs on it are unassuming and nuanced, slow-moving and thoughtful.
The title track sees Hamilton using fruit to delineate the differences between two people: “You’re a peach and / I’m a plum,” she whispers. Hamilton’s singing is utterly engrossing thereon. She sounds very much like that other high priestess of dream pop, Mazzy Star’s Hope Sandoval, particularly on a song like “The Good Ones”. Her delivery is never more alluring and involving than on “Jeannie,” as she switches effortlessly between French and English. The breathlessness of Hamilton’s vocals always evoke an overwhelming sense of yearning; for what, the listener or she herself can never seem to say. It’s the indelible mark of quality dream pop. Thomas’ lead guitar work is also to be admired. It swirls resoundingly around the contemplative words of “Money,” keeping the rhythm at a buoyant pace. He strongly drives the sad rock of “Sure Thing,” ensuring it motors along.
Plum was written and recorded before the pandemic but, after COVID-19, some of the songs sound even more apt, being small reflections on the corruption of working under capitalism. The aforementioned “Money” starts with Hamilton asking ruefully and rhetorically “Will you get back what you put in?,” before ending with the tired aphorism “Money doesn’t grow on trees”; it’s an overused cliche, yes, but it intimates her exhaustion at the suffocation of just surviving.
Atmospheric synths fire up “Breadwinner,” as Hamilton delivers a lament against the unceasing inescapability of capitalism. “Baby, you gotta quit that job / ‘Cause your boss is a jerk,” she demands; the song fades out with her sighing heavily the repeated line “Always, always bringing your work home.” This sense of reluctant acceptance of one’s lot in life colors Plum. “Breadwinner” is instantly followed by the bright and breezy “Even True Love,” where Hamilton states “Even true love / You can’t take it with you.”
The final song is “Y2K,” with a more downtempo electronic leaning. As its name suggests, the band placed themselves in the closing moments of 1999, anxiously considering the future: “I could save all my money / I could spend it all / Pay to climb a mountain / And fall,” Hamilton wonders.
Nothing has changed twenty years later. The future from 2020 somehow looks far more worrying than the view at the dawn of the new millennium. Everything seems threatening and fragile. Perhaps, then, the only certainty in the decade ahead is Widowspeak releasing yet another record of subtle and sublime dream pop.