Frankie Cosmos

Zentropy

Grade: B

Sounds like: Best Coast’s New York cousin

Greta Kline, the 19-year-old wunderkid whose prolific number of online releases under the name Frankie Cosmos rivals that of Lil B, doesn’t want to sound pretentious. On Zentropy, her latest heart-rending record, it’s her honesty and arresting openness that pours forth.

Daughter of actor Kevin Kline and artist Phoebe Cates, Cosmos most often appears reserved and maybe even fearful. Her two long braided ponytails flank her face in perfect symmetry, centering her eyes, which, like her music, suggest an immense amount of thought going on behind them.

Shyness has never stopped an artist from excelling, though, and Frankie Cosmos is no exception. Both charming and emotionally wrenching, Cosmos’ songwriting wants you to feel things and not be afraid to admit it. With songs that never exceed three minutes, the New York University sophomore can and will make you feel the way you did when your pet died in third grade. 

In her more than 40 releases on Bandcamp — all of which are beautiful and equally emotionally affecting — Cosmos inhabits an alternate universe with co-conspirator “Ronnie.” Her affinity for exiting reality as a mode of exploring her personal life warrants a comparison to poet Frank O’Hara, who, of course, is the inspiration for Kline’s use of “Frankie” as a pseudonym.

“I’m just a normal girl, but my name is Frank,” she sings on album closer “Sad.”

Zentropy finds her characteristic less-is-more songwriting style in a studio setting, a first for the artist, whose early releases were known for incorporating the sound of passing cars and police sirens on the streets below Cosmos’ apartment.

“I’m the kind of girl buses splash with rain,” Cosmos nearly whispers on the aptly titled “Buses Splash With Rain.” Her language here is crisp and poignant — a poetry professor would have a field day with her choice of words. “Kind of girl” has become a loaded phrase in our modern lexicon, and Cosmos knows it. 

A poetry student at NYU, Cosmos embodies the city’s literary past with a youthful wit that is rare in any artist — much less one who’s still too young to buy alcohol.

“You shook me around, drove on the wrong side of the road,” she sings on “Leonie.” The song’s “baker’s dozen of bad affairs,” shifts when the narrator meets her fictional counterpart, Ronnie, who is, among other things, a fan of olives. 

“I’m bitter like olives, that’s why you like them and I don’t,” Cosmos sings.

The song’s male vocals, sung by Aaron Maine of the equally enigmatic band Porches, contribute to the folklore of “Frankie and Ronnie,” a cosmic love story that requires at least $40 to spare on Bandcamp (well worth it) and an afternoon to spend sobbing alone in your room (also worth it). Even then, Cosmos’ songwriting gives a certain illusion of fact that makes it both compelling and frustratingly opaque. 

The moments of candor shine brightly — especially when they’re about JoJo, the cute puppy that adorns the album cover and whose death is echoed in every one of Frankie’s releases.

“I just want my dog back, is that so much to ask?” she croons on “Sad,” and in between sobs you can probably hear yourself saying “no.”