Clairo takes her time on ‘Sling’

Singer-songwriter+Clairo%2C+Claire+Cottrill%2C+released+her+sophomore+album%2C+Sling%2C+on+July+16.+The+Sidekick+executive+editor-in-chief+Anjali+Krishna+discusses+the+album%E2%80%99s+wildly+different+style+from+Clairo%E2%80%99s+first+album%2C+Immunity.

Srihari Yechangunja

Singer-songwriter Clairo, Claire Cottrill, released her sophomore album, Sling, on July 16. The Sidekick executive editor-in-chief Anjali Krishna discusses the album’s wildly different style from Clairo’s first album, Immunity.

Anjali Krishna, Executive Editor-in-Chief

Atop a mountain in New York, far away from the crammed city bedrooms implicated in Clairo’s typical bedroom pop, is Glen Tonche Studios. It is secluded, quiet, serene and inconspicuously beautiful among the surrounding greenery.

So is Sling, Clairo’s 1970s-inspired folk masterpiece recorded there. Fresh, floral, and flowing and growing with ease each beat, Cotrill’s sophomore album is written about her dog, Joanie, and written for the Joni (Mitchell), pulling clear inspiration from Ladies of the Canyon and Hejira

In her first collaboration with pop’s foremost producer Jack Antonoff, Cotrill reaches far past her usual guitar fuzz and automated drum patterns into the world of humming strings, horns and minor keys to emulate the power of the regal mountains surrounding her and the simple elegance of flora and fauna. Vocal harmonies sliding over horns feel moved by the breeze rather than Antonoff and Cotrill’s machinations behind an editing booth. 

This isn’t to say the music is too restrained or closely curated to be enjoyable. On the janky “Amoeba,” Antonoff and Cotrill break a glass on the studio floor for the noise, and on the deeply specific “Zinnias,” thrumming guitar adds a delectable vibrancy. When the key changes on album opener “Bambi,” her simple words (“Take it or leave it”) take on a magical quality, gently buoyed by the newly introduced backing piano chords to form one of the more melodious moments on the album.

Indeed, at several more points in the album, production eases into something unexpected, calling attention to seemingly inconsequential lyrics. In “Zinnias,” the beat picks up as she confesses “Quietly, I’m tempted / Sure sounds nice to settle down for a while,” highlighting one of the dominating concepts on ‘Sling’: Cotrill’s contemplation on motherhood and domesticity spurred by new responsibility to her dog Joanie (See instrumental track “Joanie”). Yet nothing feels stilted, jolty or urgent – it’s all clear, clean and fluttery. Each transition is more growth than notable change, and with each listen, a new layer or instrumental is unobtrusively revealed. More often than not, these changes are joyful in nature, with deftly added saxophones and flutes to balance out a melancholic piano. 

Although the musicality of the record is the clear stunner, Cotrill’s emulation of Elliot Smith is notable. As strings float over her on “Bambi”, she questions poignantly, “What if all I want is conversation and time?” And time, to Cotrill, is all at once a thing of beauty and terror. She feels it passing too quickly as she struggles through mental illness (“it’s getting late / since when did taking time take all my life?”) and solidifying as something profoundly personal (“It’s only time, it won’t age like wine / but it’s mine and I’ll take the blow.”) 

On “Harbor,” when Cotrill comes to the conclusion “You don’t love me that way,” her singing falters naturally, breaking into a speaking tone to emphasize her resignation. She sings desperately on “Blouse,” “If touch could make them hear me / touch me now,” in the sort of spur-of-the-moment pleas you would never say after thinking, willing to be sexualized in exchange for being heard. Regarding her future as a mother with mental illness, she lays down the devastating line “At thirty, your honey’s gonna ask you, ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’” Her voice sounds terrifyingly young in it, tearful and teenage and rebellious, we can almost picture a younger Cotrill screaming the words at her own mother. Her voice, though unintentionally feeble at a few points, conveys emotion masterfully.

The pandemic for musicians meant one of two things: make an album so bright and bold and unignorable that music meant for the club would be played at home-alone dance parties or create something intimate, cozy and reflective of present circumstances. Antonoff ensured that Sling fell into the latter category, the record riddled with small mistakes so obvious and easy to fix he must have left them on purpose – Cotrill’s voice a little too quiet, the drums a little too loud. 

This record is Clairo’s deepest secrets whispered into your ears, crooned, as you lay with her in green grasses, looking up at a mountainous view. As you hear strings well up and a song begins to grow, you see Cotrill grow as well, into something as melodic, harmonious and utterly beautiful as Sling.

Follow Anjali (@anjalikrishna_) and @CHSCampusNews on Twitter.