After a two-year hiatus, Mitski is back with her sixth studio album, Laurel Hell.
by Aileen Tran
In 2019, indie-rocker Mitski announced at a New York performance that it would be her “last show indefinitely.” Her fifth studio album, Be The Cowboy, was one of the top albums of the year and featured hits like “Nobody” and “Washing Machine Heart.” With huge commercial success came non-stop touring—and it started to take a toll on Mitski’s mental health.
“I sense that if I don’t step away soon, my self-worth/identity will start depending too much on staying in the game, in the constant churn,” she said, before taking a much-needed break from the music scene.
Now, after a two year hiatus, Mitski is back with Laurel Hell, named after laurel thickets found deep in the Appalachian mountains—beautiful to look at, but deadly to pass through. Just by the naming of her albums, the enigmatic 31-year-old gives us a peek into her pensive mind.
Laurel Hell, opens with “Valentine, Texas” and stays true to her characteristic style. The song opens as a slow, haunting ballad before exploding halfway-through, transforming into a powerful Beach House-esque sound. Mitski sings about issues with self-identity with the lyrics “who will I be tonight? Who will I become tonight?” and explores the interaction between intimacy and her art.
The next song “Working for the Knife,” was only written because Mitski was contractually obligated by her record label to release another record—something made blatantly clear by song title. It’s the lead single on Laurel Hell, and it definitely fits the bill. The instrumentals are bold and synth-heavy, and somehow the production achieves a factory-like intensity that lends to an ominous feeling. She sings, “I used to think I’d be done by twenty, now at twenty-nine, the road ahead appears the same. Though maybe at thirty, I’ll see a way to change that I’m living for the knife.” Although Mitski has kept the interpretation of “Working for the Knife” broad and ambiguous (as she usually does), the knife imagery seems to depict her struggles with an oppressive force, but whether it comes from an external or internal source remains unclear. She then touches on consumerism and its impact on her art, with the lyrics, “I used to think I would tell stories, but nobody cared for the stories I had about no good guys,”
Next on the album was “Stay Soft,” which is equally as catchy as the previous song. The upbeat dance-synth sound is accompanied by lyrics that explore vulnerability and sexuality in a way only Mitski can.
With “Everyone,” Mitski remains faithful to her angsty roots, characteristic of her previous albums Bury Me At Makeout Creek and Puberty 2. The lyrics touch on the early days in her music career before she was catapulted into fame. The repetitive synths give off the feeling that the song is building up to something great, but it doesn’t. It starts to get a bit monotonous, and this seems to be a trend throughout the rest of the album.
The next song “Heat Lightning” is slow and reminiscent of a folk song, with understated vocals uncharacteristic of the majority of Mitski’s work. The production and lyrics, again, are good, but it’s just the same as pretty much every slow song on the album.
Things start to pick up with “The Only Heartbreaker,” which opens with a beat almost identical to a-ha’s “Take on Me.” It’s a fun 80’s-like dance song with lyrics talking about her role in toxic relationship dynamics. She keeps the same high-energy and catchiness with the next few tracks, “Love Me More” and “Should’ve Been Me.” Mitski explores themes of loneliness, isolation and yearning for something to fill her emptiness, neatly packaged with heavy synths and dance-worthy production.
Mitski turns down the vibe again with “There’s Nothing Left for You,” which starts out slow before crescendoing into something less boring, but that’s about it. Lyrically, she compares her feelings about the music industry with a relationship that she can no longer give her energy to. In “I Guess,” Mitski reflects on her music career and struggles with accepting its end. With the lyrics, “I’ll have to learn to be somebody else, it’s been you and me since before I was me, without you, I don’t yet know quite how to live,” she makes her uncertainty about the future clear, but she knows she must move on from music.
Mitski makes sure to not leave the album on such a sad note, closing with a lively tune called “That’s Our Lamp.” Although the lyrics talk about a complicated breakup of a long-term relationship—perhaps Mitski’s relationship with music—the production is optimistic and reminiscent of the 70s, with an ABBA-like feel.
Overall, Laurel Hell is for miserable party girls, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s definitely not a no skip album like some of her more commercially successful prior albums. It’s mostly dark and depressing, save for the sprinkling of occasional Europop-esque head-bangers. Mitski makes it clear she’s a tortured artist who doesn’t like to be controlled—but it makes you wonder if she would feel the same way whether or not she had all the freedom in the world.
Aileen Tran 