Waiting for the Encore. It's Friday morning. The sun is rising in the heavens. What better to do than absorb yourself in someone else's melancholia? So to Phoebe Bridgers first solo album for six years; Lost Weekend. Well it's almost the weekend. Why not ?
And what's the first thing you get? Vocoder. And drift. Thirty Something drift. Weightlessness and reference to loss and despair. References to her deceased Dad and relationship severance and sadness. Being killed by being alive.
Wan Indie melodies. Paul Simon for modern times. But with less philospophical weight or direction. This is aural wallpaper for an age where the central condition seems to be a sense of dislocation.
So this is all rather glum but it's relatable glumness. Song titles such as 'Lost Boys', 'The Outside' Kill Me.' It's relentlessly self absorbed but aren't we all . 'Why am I here?' 'Why indeed?'
This is relatable easy listening. It all strikes me as rather akin to the last words of Waiting For Godot. ' Lets go.' 'We can't' Why not' 'We're waiting for Godot.' I quite like it
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