St. Vincent

St. Vincent’s new album, upon first listen, “seems like it might impress her critics,” said Spencer Kornhaber in The Atlantic.com. The cold, robotic art rock of recent releases has been replaced by the sounds of early-’70s rock and soul: “the boogying synths of Stevie Wonder, the spacey noodling of Pink Floyd.” But the promise of a looser, more personal songwriting is never satisfied. “With repeated listens, a familiar hollowness sets in.” This talented artist, a guitar virtuoso who presents as a David Bowie heir, continues to withhold too much. “Do we ever want St. Vincent to sound ‘relatable,’ though? Maybe not!” said Rob Harvilla in TheRinger.com. As a musician who revels in creating highconcept fictional personas for every album cycle, “she is never, ever, ever boring.” The title track, as a piece of music, is “so odd, so swampy, so slow-eyed and sharp-elbowed” that we ought to just listen. Put aside thoughts about what St. Vincent should do, and “you can better appreciate this record as a triumphantly bizarre multimedia spectacle that earns its loopier affectations.”