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Apr 11, 2023 Web Exclusive By Caleb Campbell

The first boygenius EP easily could have been a one-off affair. After being booked on the same bill, three of indie’s biggest rising singer/songwriters went in the studio to record one song but came out with six. It was the sort of lightning-in-a-bottle combination of timing and chemistry that rarely happens twice.

And for several years it remained that way. Since their self-titled debut EP in 2018, each member has gone in new directions, with Phoebe Bridgers approaching the edges of mainstream stardom with Punisher, Lucy Dacus writing an achingly nostalgic document of queer girlhood with Home Video, and Julien Baker evolving her spectral songwriting in leaps and bounds on Little Oblivions.

Yet, as rewarding as each of those records were, the hope for a proper boygenius album remained for fans. Part of that steadfast loyalty owes to how well the trio’s songwriting voices work together and how much they clearly love each other. The trio seems to understand that, and have been leaning into the hype in their own winking way, aping Nirvana with their Rolling Stone magazine cover and naming their debut simply the record. At least, now that the record is finally here, fans can safely say it was well worth the wait.

The album opens with a quartet of tracks, beginning on a pastoral a cappella intro (“Without You Without Them”) before each band member contributes one of their own songs: “$20” from Baker, “Emily I’m Sorry” from Bridgers, and “True Blue” from Dacus. Each is among the record’s highlights, but after the first act the boundaries of who wrote what begin to blur. Even more so than their EP, the record feels like a true band effort, but one in which each songwriter is given space to shine. Each member is listed as a songwriter on each song, and you can trace their hallmarks through the tracklist. Dacus adds a welcoming warmth, gorgeous harmonies, and heartfelt narratives, Baker brings out a penchant for slashing guitar lines and existential meditations, while Bridgers’ airy vocals and conversational songwriting are heartwrenching and funny in equal measure.

The results are just as magnetic and devastating as expected, exploring the band at their most lovelorn, unsure, and raging. The band’s writing is layered and deeply moving, especially on the record’s spectral ballads and intimate folk numbers. “Cool About It” weaves together post-breakup stories, “Revolution 0” finds Bridgers aching for a distant lover, and “Anti-Curse” narrates Baker’s unexpected sense of peace as she nearly drowns at sea. These tracks are boygenius in their element, unpacking a tangled mess of emotions and leaving gems of lyrical poetry in their wake.

However, amidst the poetic musings and knotted confessions, there is also a palpable sense of communal joy. It animates the record’s most explosive moments, like Bridgers’ throat-shredding screams on “Satanist” and “$20,” Baker’s searing guitar theatrics on “Anti-Curse” and the towering bridge of “Not Strong Enough.” The band unearth a crackling volatile energy when they indulge their rockstar instincts, tapping into a bravado rarely seen in their solo work. The record is at its best when each songwriter is working in tandem, adding new shades to their songwriting and bringing a moving emotional weight to their lyrics.

At its core, the album is about these communal moments, the shared joy of three songwriters who truly love each other sharing in the act of creation. The members write to each other within the songs themselves, dedicating “True Blue” and “We’re In Love” as paeans to the bond they share (“But it feels good to be known so well/I can’t hide from you like I hide from myself/I remember who I am when I’m with you/Your love is tough, your love is tried and true-blue”). Dacus says she first sang the latter track to Bridgers as they lay in Bridgers’ bed holding each others’ faces. The album itself recreates that same kind of closeness, as if each confession is written and delivered between one band member to another. Few albums or songwriters have captured this kind of enduring, soul-deep friendship, and even fewer can render it in such striking intimacy.

In a similar fashion, the band seemingly leaves playful in-jokes and charming call-backs for each other laced throughout the record, ranging from a The Cure namedrop on “Not Strong Enough” to a clever interpolation of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Boxer” on “Cool About It.” That referential streak even turns inward with “Letter to an Old Poet,” where Bridgers returns to the melody of “Me and My Dog,” one of the highlights from the EP. However, she reframes that song’s aching lyrics with a new sense of yearning hope, closing out the record on a celebration of new beginnings—“I wanna be happy/I’m ready to walk into my room without looking for you/I’ll go up the top of our building and remember my dog when I see the full moon.”

Baker, Dacus, and Bridgers are each intensely personal songwriters. Each album from them has felt like a map of themselves and their lives. In turn, the record feels like a map of their relationship with each other, littered with treasured memories, callbacks, inside jokes, and shared inspirations. In every sense, it is a union of its creators’ art and voices. It’s an album in conversation with their EP, with their inspirations, and with their solo work, resulting in one of the rare cases where the whole is truly greater than the sum of its parts. The album’s opening lyrics capture its intentions best: “Give me everything you got/I’ll take what I can get/I want to hear your story and be a part of it.” (www.xboygeniusx.com)

Author rating: 9/10