St. Vincent continues her evolution on self-titled album

St. Vincent

St. Vincent

Grade: A-

Sounds like: David Byrne taught St. V a thing or two

St. Vincent, the album, is an exercise in refinement. Some artists — such as The National and The xx — have based their entire careers around tediously pursuing a signature sound. Luckily Annie Clark, the mastermind behind St. Vincent, is far more interesting than the aforementioned champions of consistency.

Clark’s self-titled fourth album hardly seems like a radical departure from her last effort, 2011’s excellent Strange Mercy. But after such a defining and assured statement as Mercy, what else could she have done? Since the album was already so strange — a distinctly original avant-garde pop-rock record — you couldn’t call her unambitious for only making minor tweaks.

Clark continues to specialize in the otherworldly and paranoid on St. Vincent, but this time there’s a bounce and funk that was missing before. Perhaps this is where we owe credit to Love This Giant, her underwhelming 2012 collaboration album with former Talking Heads member David Byrne. Clark started work on St. Vincent just hours after wrapping her tour with Byrne, and it shows.

Some of these songs would fit comfortably on Love This Giant. Take “Digital Witness,” a biting send-up of our social media and selfie-obsessed culture. Much like Giant highlight “Who,” the track is anchored by driving saxophone. Clark assumes the role of a digital dependent and ponders, “If I can’t show it, if you can’t see me/ what’s the point of doing anything?” On “Huey Newton” — inspired by a vivid dream in which she spoke to Newton, co-founder of the Black Panthers — Clark imagines a frightening future “entombed in the shrine of zeros and ones,” full of children “turned online assassins.”

But not all of St. Vincent teems with paranoia. In fact, Clark dabbles into some of the most accessible material of her career on this record. “Prince Johnny” is a droning dream-pop number that could easily be mistaken for a Beach House song if not for Clark’s trademark vocal swells.

“I Prefer Your Love” and “Severed Crossed Fingers” highlight some of her most simple, lush and full moments on the record. She even pulls off a straightforward rocker with “Regret.” Sure, lesser artists probably could have written some of these songs, but they would have done so without the lively punch and bite that Clark so keenly balances.

Approachable as it may be, St. Vincent still packs much of the wails, shredding and disorientation of Strange Mercy. Opening track “Rattlesnake” throbs and pulses with genuine fear. When the song climaxes with a rousing guitar solo, it doesn’t feel cheap or unearned. “Birth In Reverse” also could be mistaken for a typical rock song, if it weren’t for its frank approach to the mundane (“take out the garbage, masturbate”) and its jarring clangs and wails.

Much like on Strange Mercy, Clark is at her best when she abides by some conventions of guitar rock while violently pushing against others. St. Vincent can get away with being a bit familiar because Clark is still delving into space that few current artists dare to explore.