Like a lot of people,
Speedy Ortiz's
Sadie Dupuis had the time to examine her life and feelings more closely than ever before during the COVID-19 global pandemic. Unlike a lot of people, her reflection led not only to an emotional breakthrough but an artistic one as well.
Rabbit Rabbit, her band's fourth album, turns up everything vital to
Speedy Ortiz's music by several notches -- the odd meters, the engaging hooks, but most of all, the disarming honesty. For the first time,
Dupuis examines the abuse she suffered as a child and its aftermath in song, and it roots
Rabbit Rabbit in gripping authenticity. The articulate lyrics that sometimes acted like a shield on previous
Speedy Ortiz albums now feel like a lifeline. When
Dupuis sings "Don't wear a ponytail/If you can help it, don't go alone" in a near-monotone on "Who's Afraid of the Bath," it's far more unsettling than a scream would be; "Brace Thee" traces the breakdown of old coping mechanisms ("All the shapes you backed me into/An outline I cannot shake off"); and "Ghostwriter" questions "how to move on" over guitars that fall somewhere between storming and jubilant.
Dupuis' confessions rarely take a straight path. She's just as likely to take the scenic route, as on "Emergency & Me" ("I'm so embarrassed/I danced around my ethics") as she is to crystallize them into brilliant one-liners on "Plus One" ("call me when you need a plus zero"). The novelistic detail in lines like "Falling in love with L.A./Where the cars cut you off from the right lane" (from "You S02") only heightens the impression that the band's songs are actually short stories in disguise.
Rabbit Rabbit's music is just as eloquent at expressing the slippery mix of anger, fear, disgust, and self-aware humor that lingers after trauma. Working with
Illuminati Hotties'
Sarah Tudzin as co-producer and engineer,
Speedy Ortiz give their sound a hi-def makeover that's in sharp focus but far from simple; songs like "Kim Cattrall" are awash in sonic details and sprawling guitars that are held together with heroic doses of melody. This is some of the band's heaviest music, in both senses of the word. "Ranch vs. Ranch" borrows teeth-rattling riffs from the alt-metal that soundtracked the group's teenage years. They couple those surging guitars with eerie electronics to striking effect on the climactic "Cry Cry Cry," where
Dupuis confronts her discomfort with crying like a showdown with a big bad. Moments like these make
Rabbit Rabbit the work of a band willing to push themselves to the limit. Untangling
Speedy Ortiz's hyper-detailed words and sounds is always time well spent, but these fierce, surprising songs are some of their most satisfying work yet. ~ Heather Phares
