St. Vincent All Born Screaming

Every St. Vincent album had brought with it a new persona. There was the housewife on pills from Strange Mercy, the future cult leader of her self-titled, and the 70s queen of all-nighters from Daddy’s Home. Through these archetypes, she revealed herself to her audience, often metaphorically, but clearly enough to create an emotional connection. On All Born Screaming, though, we’re getting Annie Clark. No costumes, no guises, just her for the first time in over 15 years. This rawer approach is reflected in her music, too – the heaviest and grooviest album she’s written so far.

From the album name to the cover, it’s an intense ride through Clark’s state of mind. The opening one-two punch of Hell is Near and Reckless reinforces that vibe. While the former appears light on its feet, tense moments of dread lurk beneath the surface. And hell breaks through as that song segues into the funereal ringing piano of Reckless, a powerful head-on look at death. “If your love was an anchor then I am lost at sea/I hear the riders calling, they're calling for me,” she sings as the beat explodes cataclysmically, Clark’s grief overwhelming all else.

While not every song is awash in despair, the intensity shows itself differently throughout the album. Sweetest Fruit is an ode to iconic LGBTQ+ artists SOPHIE and Daniel Sotomayor. Over a woozy rhythm, beautifully unexpected vocal harmonies lead into a sharp and shining guitar bridge. The Power’s Out builds off a droning synthesizer bed that hits like static electricity in your ears. As those sounds buzz, Clark’s lyrics play as an updated version of David Bowie’s Five Years, only that the forthcoming disaster is happening now. “Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we got a problem/The man on my screen said, just as somebody shot him,” she sings with weary resignation. 

Of course, one of St. Vincent’s finest qualities is her chameleonic nature, where every album takes her somewhere she’s never been before musically. All Born Screaming is no exception. In fact, it might be the best example of her genre experimentation to date. Broken Man creeps along like a spider over an industrial clang until it pounces with a jump scare guitar chord. Flea is a more seductive cousin with a corroded slide guitar that feels like a sudden slip beneath the rapids, with Dave Grohl’s drumming making a welcome presence on both tracks. So Many Planets is straight out of a David Byrne playbook. Violent Times sounds like St. Vincent’s audition to write the next James Bond theme. (Based on this, they should give it to her!)

The best songs on the album are where Clark melds disparate styles together into a new unique whole as only she can. Big Time Nothing sounds like U2’s Numb if it was written by Prince – a monotone litany droning over a slippery bass that smacks into a funky disco guitar chorus. It’s pure fun. The title track closes things out with an island vacation melody where Clark sings about her own life and career and the passionate way she pursues them. “I have climbed power lines and mountains/Just to feel above the ground,” she sings wryly, later adding “I can't stop my legs, I can't feel my feet/I own nothing and nothing owns me.” But halfway through, the music fades into nothing and builds back up as a kinetic pinball percussion with heavenly choir chants of the title. 

The thrilling way that the album ends sums up its philosophy and the reason behind the title. As Clark said, “If you’re born screaming, that’s a great sign, because it means you’re breathing. You’re alive.” Being alive is joyous, daunting, frightening, endlessly complex, and astonishing. Sometimes, it’s all those emotions at once. I don’t know if any song or album could possibly encompass the entire experience of life, but St. Vincent’s made a pretty damn great effort. May she keep screaming for years and years to come.