On September 22, twenty-three-year-old Phoebe Bridgers released her debut album, Stranger in the Alps, on Dead Oceans. Eleven tracks packed with brutal sentimentality, she truly opens herself up for interpretation.
Bridgers released her Killer EP via PAX-AM records, where she performed three songs with Ryan Adams that he produced and put out into the world. Two of the songs on the EP, “Killer” and “Georgia” are featured on SITA with new arrangements.
I first saw Phoebe play at 3rd & Lindsley in Nashville with some friends in early 2016. She was playing with a group of her close friends. I remember her hair was dyed a soft pink, deeply contrasting with her gothic, straight-edged attire and perfectly aligning with her countenance while performing. A powerful essence enveloped the entire show; her awkward grabs at jokes in between White Russians throughout the night were charming and made the songs more profound to the audience. That’s the thing about Phoebe—you don’t have to know the full story. Her genius lies in the explicit details adding up to a broken timeline.
I was not surprised when Stephen Thompson at NPR claimed she might be 2017’s best new artist. Dropping “Smoke Signals” as the first single for the new album was the perfect choice. A twisted love song with a haunting video to match, it was bound to capture attention. With lyrics like “I want to live at the Holiday Inn where somebody else makes the bed,” and countless mentions of the famous deaths wrecking the lives of fans in 2016, “Smoke Signals” immediately became a classic in my mind.
After having waited for nearly two long years to listen to more than a few tracks written by Bridgers, I am so relieved to say it was well worth it. I cannot imagine the pride she has knowing her first album is filled with her best material, doing exactly what she wanted to do with it. She sews her dark fascination with nostalgia and a sweet delivery so seamlessly; it’s one of those albums you think is easy to listen to, until you actually pay attention.
In the songs, there are ideas ranging from sexting to shower beers to murdering your loved ones. One aspect of Bridgers’ writing style I really appreciate is how plain-stated she is while talking about grief. She doesn’t try to add too many layers to it, like many artists do; she strips it down and speaks with real experience, and is not afraid to address how overwhelming and cumbersome it can be. In the song “Funeral,” she sings “it makes me so sad/ when I think about it too much I can’t breathe,” which is later followed by “and I have a friend I call/ when I bore myself to tears/ and we talk until we think we might just kill ourselves/ then we laugh until it disappears”. Most do not dare go so deep into the perplexities of learning to live with eternal absence, and I commend her for using such strong imagery while addressing such a serious subject.
Three standout tracks I can’t stop playing are “Demi Moore”, “Scott Street”, and “You Missed My Heart”. While the album does not have a title track, the closest thing can be found in “Scott Street,” where she ends the song with a refrain of “don’t be a stranger” while addressing a character who may be an intimate friend from her past. It’s the happiest sounding track on the record, though the focus is still on the harsh reality of facing hometown history. Reminiscent ringing from a bike during the second half of the song adds a personal touch. Those touches are truly what takes the album to the next level—the whirring airplane sounds during the mentioning of Bowie in “Smoke Signals”, as well as the production on “Smoke Signals (Reprise)”, where the album ends in a way leaving Bridgers all by herself, eerily at peace as the music fades.
I would recommend this album to Elliott Smith fanatics, word-junkies, and those who have an affinity for creepy imagery but prefer to be somber about it. Stranger in the Alps was made to be enjoyed in the aftermath of 2016, and deserves your full attention.
You can find Phoebe’s upcoming tour appearances and music for purchase here:
http://www.phoebefuckingbridgers.com
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