Gemma Laurence – ‘We Were Bodies Underwater’ album review: Every sad girl indie album you’ve ever heard before
THE SKINNY: There is a specific subset of music lovers who relish in the art of female melancholy. In turn, this hunger for pain has kickstarted the capitalisation of a now-thriving genre – just look at Lucy Dacus, Lizzy McAlpine, Adrianne Lenker and the like. The industry is littered with them. And don’t get me wrong, I love indulging in that malaise from time to time, but as far as Gemma Laurence and her new album We Were Bodies Underwater is concerned, it’s just another addition to the canon.
This is not to say that, as a complete product, the album is in any way of poor quality, but it’s just the fact that a distinct lack of identity flows through its nine-track course. These songs could, in theory, be performed by any of those other artists outlined, and none of them screams of Laurence’s personal strength of feeling or emotion. On a listening journey, the missing imprint makes you drift away from its narrative when it should really pack a lot of heart, along with a few punches.
The real salt in the wound to all of this – or the saving grace, depending on how you look at it – is that the depths of lyricism and storytelling are second to none. Even across the span of a relatively short album, the representations of love, lust, yearning, and everything that comes in between truly set Laurence apart as a writer, even if this doesn’t translate as successfully to the overall sonics themselves. Through nine vignettes of romance, there is a real narrative arc to be told, but these poetics are sadly better appreciated in a literary sense than in any other medium.
Put it this way, if any of the sad girl indie alum are looking to add a songwriter to their roster, Laurence is the perfect person for the job. Her lyrical gaze on romance will undoubtedly grow from strength to strength, but unfortunately, the distinctiveness of her sonics is currently struggling to catch up. If We Were Bodies Underwater is just a pitstop on a journey, then there’s most definitely room for development, but if it is intended as a final destination, then the view is admittedly a little underwhelming.
For fans of: Decent lyrical poetry and standard indie sonics, you’re already familiar with.
A concluding comment from Lucy Dacus’ ‘First Time’: “You can’t feel it for the first time, a second time.”
We Were Bodies Underwater track by track:
Release date: July 18th | Producer: Charlie Dahlke | Label: MainFactor
‘Still There’: The tone of Laurence’s vocals is instantly striking, and although the lyrics are a powerful suite of melancholy and lust, the melodies risk blending into one in a repetitive pattern. [3/5]
‘Hedonist’: A heavy dose of angst gives way to an unsuspecting dichotomy between comfort and anger. Grappling with this emotional narrative gives the song a sense of dynamic weight, making it a more successful effort than some of the other tracks to come over the course of the album. [4/5]
‘Bloodlines’: Laurence’s musical niche somewhere between the genres of indie and country establishes itself more clearly here, and it is undeniably palatable, but equally not anything completely groundbreaking that hasn’t been heard in a similar sonic canon before. [3.5/5]
‘Harbor’: The quiet timidity of the vocals and overall sonics are probably intended to be endearing in some way, but this is the point where you can risk drifting away from the narrative of the record as it doesn’t hold any real magnetism to keep you compelled within its grasp. [2/5]
‘Just a Kid’: What would a sad indie album be without some childhood trauma rearing its ugly head? This is not meant to discredit what is undeniably one of the stronger songs on the album, as it actually builds to a decent emotional crescendo of anger and unleashes its full force with a much-needed outburst of electric guitar. It’s the tune that represents what the rest of the record should be. [4.5/5]
‘Want Me’: But just when you think you’re having a breakthrough from the previous track, the album returns to the same downbeats of melancholy it has become entrenched in by this stage. There’s only so many tears that can fall, or only so much rain that can pour, before the ground becomes totally oversaturated. [2.5/5]
‘Bird Song’: The title gives you hope that this song will offer some moment of fresh levity, like being let back into nature itself. But in the end, you are sadly disappointed by the feeling that it is following the same formula of every other tune of its kind that has come before. [3/5]
‘Your Arm Brushed Mine’: I have to be brutally honest, I am losing the will to live. There’s only so many acoustic guitar strum sequences and easy-going drum beats that one person can take. If I had heard this song in isolation, the assessment may be different, but in the context of the rest of the album, it’s about as interesting as watching paint dry. [1.5/5]
‘Lover (I Will Meet You Down the Line)’: Lyrically, I agree with Laurence – there is always something painful to be mined from goodbyes. But sonically, this short epitaph to the album is about as effusive as a dying battery, slowing down more and more before it goes off to sleep and needs recharged. In a way, that’s quite prophetic for the entire record. [1/5]
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