Album Review: Julien Baker - Turn Out The Lights
December, 2015—
I download Julien Baker’s debut LP, Sprained Ankle, around two months after it’s released based on the
positive press and buzz she’s getting. Maybe I listen to it once through; maybe
it, like so many mp3s on our laptop, go unplayed once downloaded and
transferred into iTunes.
I think I downloaded it in earnest, with the intent to write
a review. However, if memory serves me correctly, by the end of 2015, I was
slowly descending into the unimaginable depths of a very, very serious
depression. Writing reviews, among doing, oh, I don’t know, just about anything
else, became a feat of herculean strength for me, so Sprained Ankle, like many albums, goes unwritten about.
October, 2017—
I am in my living room crying while listening to Turn Out The Lights, Baker’s sophomore
album, because it is simply one of the most devastating, visceral things I have
ever encountered.
It is, without a doubt, the best record of 2017.
* * *
It’s unfortunate to think that I nearly slept on Turn Out The Lights; Baker’s name began
appearing again in music news headlines, and I thought, ‘Hey, that girl has a
new album coming out. I don’t even know if I ever listened to that other one.’
But then her name began appearing in more than just
headlines—Baker has been the subject of incredibly lengthy profiles from a
diverse mix of news outlets, including Stereogum,
The New Yorker, and The New York Times to name a few.
I realized that Turn
Out The Lights, and the buzz surrounding Baker was no joke. She, and this
album, both demand to be taken seriously. And rightly so.
Albums like Turn Out
The Lights don’t come along every day. An artist can go their entire career
and not come close to achieving something like this—this is the kind of album
that stops you in your tracks; that knocks the wind out of you.
In the myriad profiles on Baker, much has been made of her
faith and spiritualty, her sobriety, and her sexual orientation. Many of the
interviews for the Turn Out The Lights
album cycle discuss her Christian upbringing and religious convictions—but
don’t let that turn you away. This is not a ‘Christian’ record and Baker is not
a ‘Christian’ musician in the sense you may be thinking, though her faith, and
the struggles that come along with it, play a huge role in her lyrics.
In going back to review Sprained
Ankle after listening to Turn Out The
Lights, it’s not a night and day difference, but it’s the story of an
artist that matured very quickly, and found an admirable amount of confidence
in herself as a fearless singer and songwriter. On Sprained Ankle, yes, there was a lot of promise, but Baker had room
to grow—the songs themselves were recorded over a short period of time in 2014,
released online, and then properly mastered and reissued by 6131 the following
year.
Turn Out The Lights
begins with a short introductory track before sliding into “Appointments,” one
of the singles released in advance; a slow burning and swaying piece, Baker has
not let her Matador Records budget go to her head. There’s a disarming amount
of depth and texture when compared to her earlier material, but the
arrangements are still very, very sparse—“Appointments” incorporates a few
guitar lines and the piano.
Baker wastes no time laying it all on the table—“You don’t have to remind me so much how I
disappoint you,” she sings on “Appointments. “Suggest that I talk to somebody again that knows how to help me get
better. And ‘til then, I should just try not to miss any more appointments.”
Is this about her? Is this about someone else? Is this about her sobriety? Is
this about her mental health? For someone who is willing to share so much of
themselves in their lyrics, Baker is also smart enough to maintain a small
amount of ambiguity, which makes her songwriting all the more impressive as
well as captivating.
The entire album, as a whole, from start to finish, is like
one, long, unrelenting punch in the stomach. But there’s a specific moment in
the album’s titular track—it’s one of the moments that hits the hardest, and
packs some of the most emotional weight. It’s when the refrain hits, and Baker,
with all she can summon, bellows, “When I
turn out the lights, there’s no one left between me and myself,”
punctuating it with a tap on the distortion pedal to drive it all home even
harder.
Turn Out The Lights is
best taken as a whole—that’s how it is made to work; however, with that being
said, there are additional high points as the album continues to unfold,
including the stunning centerpiece: the slow burning, powerful piano ballad
“Televangelist.” It’s the longest song on the record (almost five minutes), and
finds Baker using some of the most evocative language in her lyrics—“I’m an amputee with a phantom touch, leaning
on an invisible crutch, pinned to the mattress like an insect to Styrofoam,
calling out from my bedroom alone.” It’s also on “Televangelist” that she
confronts her strong faith, as well as the confliction that comes along with
it.
The album concludes with a powerful double shot—the acoustic
and snarling “Even”—and again with the lyrics here: “Is that what you want? For me to be miserable like you—well, brother
you’re about to get your wish” Baker continues to hold nothing back, all
while dressing up these truths with just enough vagueness.
This is followed by the most dramatic, bold song of the
set—“Claws in Your Back,” structured around frisson inducing string
arrangements and huge stabs at the piano keys, Baker calls this the
‘antithesis’ to the closing track from Sprained
Ankle—“Go Home,” a devastatingly personal piece about her own struggles
with sobriety; here, she’s reaching out as best she can to friends in the same
situation.
It’s also on “Claws in Your Back” where, if she hadn’t made
you a believer with the first nine songs on the album, this is where it
happens—beginning around the 3:30 mark, Baker hits two incredibly powerful,
long notes, creating a go for broke moment that, if you haven’t already given
it to her by now, demands your attention, adoration, and respect.
I would have never guessed that 2017 would be the year of
‘the sad girl,’ but between Turn Out The
Lights and Phoebe Bridgers' Stranger in The Alps, it is clear that melancholic and emotional young women, armed
with guitars, pianos, and lyric sheets filled with devastation are who we should
be listening to. With Turn Out The Lights,
Baker fulfills the potential that folks saw in her two years ago—she’s grown
leaps and bounds from her home-recorded days, but she is a smart enough
songwriter to know that her music doesn’t need to be weighed down with
additional instrumentation or truly slick studio production. It’s still raw;
it’s totally visceral and cathartic; it’s an album so good that it makes me
feel bad.
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