Songs that ‘feel like surround sound cinema’
Arlo Parks’ music captures misery in a heartening way
The first day Arlo Parks showed up at a London flat to work on music with producer Luca Buccellati in 2018, she was only 17 years old. She was barely even Arlo Parks yet; the singer-songwriter had only recently plucked that name from the ether, inspired by the pseudonyms of two artists she deeply admired, King Krule and Frank Ocean, and intent on finding something a bit shorter than her birth name, Anais Oluwatoyin Estelle Marinho (or “Isa” to her friends).
“It felt strong but also a bit androgynous, which I liked,” Parks said.
Buccellati had spent the morning writing and recording a tune he called “The Breakup Song,” with goofy lyrics intended mostly to amuse his roommate. When Parks arrived, he played it for her, figuring it would be an icebreaker she’d laugh at before they settled down to do some real work. “She immediately was like, ‘Whoa, just take the vocals off and give me five minutes,’ ” Buccellati recalled.
The music resonated with Parks. “I remember thinking the bass reminded me of something from ‘Voodoo,’ and the drums had this crunchy ‘Low End Theory’ energy,” she said, referring to classic albums by D’Angelo and A Tribe Called Quest. She quickly jotted down lyrics, recorded both lead and harmony vocals, and in 15 minutes, they’d finished “Cola,” a spare, hypnotic and precisely rendered snapshot of a relationship cratering. The song, Parks’ first official release, has since been streamed more than 15 million times on
Spotify.
“That was a defining moment in terms of establishing the sound of Arlo Parks,” Buccellati said.
Parks hasn’t altered her process much since then. “If it’s not like a lightning bolt striking, then maybe it’s not meant to be,” said Parks, now 20. “I’m quite impatient. I’m just used to songs coming that quickly and instinctively.”
“Cola” was the first of a steady drip of singles that showcase an artist swerving among an eclectic mishmash of influences — Jill Scott, the Cure, Joan Armatrading, Tricky, Instagram poet Nayyirah Waheed — and writing incisively about the swells of modern-day misery in a way that feels improbably heartening. It’s a talent that’s especially relevant during an era when a pandemic has
locked so many in a state of anxious isolation.
“It feels like she’s always singing to you, even though she’s telling stories about herself and her friends,” said Paul Epworth, and who produced two tracks on Parks’ full-length debut, “Collapsed in Sunbeams.” “Connecting people in that way, it’s a rare gift. She’s such a grounded, warm, honest, fun person to be around, but her lyrics are forged in darkness. The best artists always have that duality to them.”
Parks said that a sense of intimacy and connection is at the crux of her record: “I think during this time where the space between people is so pronounced and the chaos can feel overwhelming, the songs touch a specific, vulnerable part of people.”
Her sharp eye and gently
bruised psyche have proved invaluable assets to her songwriting.
“I’m a very sensory person, and it’s definitely the way I think,” she said. “How dark the red of somebody’s sweater is, the album that soundtracked a specific autumn, the name of somebody’s mother — all these things create a more immersive picture. I want my songs to feel like surround sound cinema.”
That ambition has grown more realized on “Collapsed in Sunbeams.” The album was written and recorded largely during the pandemic, but the songs were inspired by rereading a diary Parks began keeping when she was 13.
“This whole album is basically just my journal,” she said. “It’s a time capsule of adolescence.”
For most of the songs, she worked again with Buccellati. The two found an easy working rhythm: Buccellati would go to sleep early, and invariably, in the wee hours of the morning, Parks would text him with a playlist of music she was enthralled with at that moment. That playlist — which might include songs by Radiohead, Erykah Badu, Massive Attack, the Stone Roses — would inspire the music he’d craft the next morning.
The album has a broader sonic palette than Parks’ economical early singles. The arrangements are fuller, the beats a little livelier. But it’s her sharp focus as a storyteller that stands out. On “Eugene,” she’s burning with jealousy as a best friend she has developed a crush on has fallen for a guy. Parks, who is bisexual, examines failed relationships with disarming generosity and a light touch. “Green Eyes,” which was inspired by the Pat Parker poem “My Lover Is a Woman,” tells of a former paramour who “could not hold my hand in public” but does so without rancor amid an airy, shuffling beat.
“Every word and line has a purpose, but it’s meant to be absorbed at your own pace,” said singer-songwriter Clairo, who contributed guitar and backing vocals to “Green Eyes.” “She allows space for her audience to flow in and out of their relationship to her songs. It’s the kind of space where you’re in the car on your 200th listen to ‘Eugene,’ and you actually hear what she’s been saying the whole time.”
The album’s first single, “Black Dog,” an empathetic portrait of a friend mired in a deep depression, was released in early May and has become something of a pandemic-era anthem. The tragic coda to the back story is that the friend who inspired the song died by suicide, but writing it, for Parks, “was part of the grieving process,” as has been the public reaction. “Getting messages from fans who were really lonely saying songs like ‘Black Dog’ had soothed them, made them feel safe and held, really warm my spirit.”
Even though Parks’ music is, as Epworth put it, “forged in darkness,” it’s not consumed by it.
“It’s searching for light,” said Parks. “I find it harder to write about joy because it’s simpler. There’s more complexity in sad things. But I’m a defiant optimist.”
That glimmer of possibility, that belief that the light at the end of our collective dark tunnel could be something other than another onrushing train is, as much as anything else, what has made Parks’ music a part of many pandemic survival kits.