Though
St. Vincent
's 2021 album
Daddy's Home
was far from a failure -- it won the Grammy Award for Best Alternative Album -- it could be argued that it was the first time in
Annie Clark
's career that the concept overshadowed the actual music. That can't be said of
All Born Screaming
. As she searches for ways to embrace the terrifying, exhilarating chaos of being alive,
Clark
delivers the immediacy and emotional impact that
seemed to promise. To express life, death, and love in their most elemental forms, she reaches deep into formative sounds that couldn't be further from
Daddy's
earth-toned '70s homages. However, the shades of
Nine Inch Nails
,
Nirvana
Tori Amos
PJ Harvey
, and
Portishead
she incorporates into
have more to do with those artists' willingness to confront raw, even ugly feelings head-on than they do with nostalgia. It's part of
's concerted effort to push herself that also includes teaching herself modular synthesis (which shines particularly brightly on "Sweetest Fruit," a shimmering tribute to visionary producer
SOPHIE
) and handling the production duties entirely on her own.
's exciting sound design breathes life into the album's distinct movements, from the flowing opener "Hell Is Near" to the mix of playfulness and awe on the title track that makes the record's culmination a journey in itself. In between,
's pounding heart delivers some of the most visceral moments of
's career. An instant classic, "Broken Man"'s seething industrial blues-rock blends playful theatricality with a sense of real danger that radiates from
's snarling vocals and volcanic guitars. It's one of a pair of songs that find her and
Dave Grohl
building on the furious chemistry they shared playing
's songs at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame; the other, "Flea," pierces its suffocating heaviness with a sparkling prog-rock tangent that would be the album's most audacious move if it weren't for the maximalist emptiness of "Big Time Nothing"'s disco-funk strut.
packs such a wallop with these songs that it feels like she's sharing something deeply personal with her listeners even if they're not overtly autobiographical, an impression heightened by
's unforgettable imagery. Pompeiian lovers hold each other forever on "Violent Times," where she sets the importance of choosing love above all to swooning sonics worth of a James Bond theme song; on "The Power's Out," a televised assassination kicks off its woozily romantic sketch of a post-pandemic dystopia. In the end,
's carefully plotted emotional arc and tight musicianship only highlight how refreshingly candid it feels.
has more than earned the freedom she gives herself to express so many different sides to her music, and it's a thrill to hear her stretch out on these ferocious, heartbroken, and ultimately life-affirming songs. ~ Heather Phares