GutterPutter

Clairo is the stage name of Claire Elizabeth Cottrill, an American singer-songwriter who starts to rise up virally over her song ‘Pretty Girl’ in the late 2010s to the point of making her close to being an instant popstar in the years afterward. Granted, there are accusations of her being an industry plant for her affluent background as the daughter of a marketing executive, but it feels like an envious complaint on how while she may not be a natural poet at heart, she’s still got the skills of a solid songwriter. Both her bedroom-pop days in publishing YouTube tracks & her debut Immunity conveys her ability to create hits wherever it be an LGBT+ exploration in ‘Sofia’, relationships like ‘White Flag’ or even a serious dive into mental health from the likes of ‘Alewife’. The record itself isn’t by all means the best indie-pop album of 2019, but it’s one that does its job well enough in securing the growing fanbase that she has acquired. It is with Sling where we would anticipate a transition from being a girl-next-door artist to being a fully fledged bard who speaks of the shifting of her life – an affirmation of her talent to be up there with Taylor Swift as being the forefront storyteller of her generation. The result being that Sling does its job in depicting the inevitability of growing, but the end result only infers that not all that glitters is gold: the point being that Clairo’s attempts in showing herself as being a worthwhile act isn’t all that convincing well enough.

Described as being much like the indie-pop record that Clairo’s career has focused on so far with a chamber & folk influence, the production tops up well in adding some depth to the musical themes of the record. It’s common for the singer’s voice to emit an echo to cast a spectral essence throughout tracks like ‘Just for Today’ or ‘Bambi’, the mixing & the melody of the songs offers a throwback feeling that’s out of a 70s’ pop album. It offers a charm that I enjoy to be frank, yet it seldom elevates it to the point of being poignant or impeccably well-gelled. Most of the album can be best summed up as being low-tempo as its relaxed tone takes the form of subdued guitars, basic drum patterns or bowed string instruments at play such as ‘Blouse’ or ‘Harbor’. I would like to give a shout out to Jack Antonoff, multi-instrumentalist & producer who rose up to fame as being a part of then-iconic band of the early 2010s fun. for his contribution to the production. I may not be too sold on the sentimentality of the instrumental playing, but he shows himself to have the magic to at least give a texture to make the album’s sound be out of a 70s as mentioned earlier. Piano playing is also found on the likes of ‘Little Changes’ which further adds to the vintage aesthetic, but the emotive resonance can feels a bit too ‘expected’ in a sense that you know that it’s for the sake of making us tear up or sympathise with her. Think telling instead of showing – but we’re talking about the obvious signs of when to rope into our condolences.

It is however imperative to be aware of the lyrical potency of Clairo’s sophomore effort given that it’s a distinct selling point of her career so far. I had hoped that there’s a more sublime poetic sensation, but my lasting feeling of the songwriting is lacklustre to say the least. Maybe it’s that I have my expectations set a bit too high or that it’s the loyalty to the poppy crafts that makes me struggle with finding anything of value, but I fail to buy myself into the words. Take ‘Reaper’ as an example where we look into the perspective of a newly made mother or maternal figure. The thematic focus on ageing is by all means a tough subject to tackle with an utmost finesse, but the issue is that the verse can come off as being a bit too close to inferring the mandatory need for one to have a family:

‘She’s coming closer, I can feel her breathe

I keep forgetting that I’ll have a family

If I listen in with my hands cupped & on my knees

I can feel the single obnoxious sigh of relief’

Clairo, Sling, ‘Reaper’ Verse 2

Keeping in mind the context that we’re looking at the topic of motherhood & the narrative of the singer being with her pet dog, the line ‘I keep forgetting that I’ll have a family’ struck me as being too close to the notion of domesticity. Wherever it’s supposed to be a subversive attack on the hammering notion that we all need to have a family of our own with the maybe-imagined ‘single obnoxious sigh’, it veered away with the chorus – ‘I’m born to be somebody, then somebody comes from me’. I would’ve loved to see the lyrics take a more judicious implication to imply we’re beyond the cult of domesticity, but the passivity of her take in the cycle of womanhood makes the errand disappointing. The impression of the album as being out of the late 60s-70s would’ve marked a great time for Clairo to offer a different stance or a commentary not just about growing up, but also around the changing mores between then & now. Missed opportunities can sour the thesis of the album quite easily especially if the overall impression can come off as being a shallow attempt at introspection.

It doesn’t mean to say however that behind all its glamorous production, the writing itself feels like a mannequin of another take on the nature of ageing. One shouldn’t look over the diamonds underneath the rough patches with the denouement in ‘Management’ where behind the generic singer-songwriter plaintiveness, the single chorus manages to struck a chord to me on the soft labyrinth of regrets & self-loathing over the spirits of the past.

‘Complain to the management

About my lack of self-respect

Fast forward to when I’ll have friends

And men who don’t interject

Harping over old regrets

Hating how I let it get to me, me’

Clairo, Sling, ‘Management’ Chorus

Behind the pleasantry of the production, the muddling of the theme & the dissatisfaction of the lyricism’s focus on the domestic lifestyle, Sling is a project around the fear of long-term compunctions. You may have ‘Partridge’ which is just your typical relationship song around being in a giving end with no receiving or ‘Zinnias’ which skipped the implication around long-term friendship in favour of yet another wondering about the need of traditional motherhood. Yet, ‘Wade’ has a certain humble punch that makes listening to its lyrics on the long term rewarding as Clairo reminisces about her series of failed relationships. It’s by no means a poetic masterpiece, but it’s in the allure of the loathing of prior mistakes which makes you wonder wherever the album is a cry for fear around going down the spiral life as a celebrity which explains her wish to settle down as a mother. Regardless of how familiar it can be to your vintage-oriented works that utilise its style to a greater potency, one can’t help but buy into the sentimentality of youthful exuberance against old introspection.