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Vulnerability is the pulse of music. It is the very essence and soul that gives us a reason to listen intently. This soul is created not just through lyrics, but rather through the intersection of production and lyrics, the sum of rhythm, melody, harmony, and timbre - the way these musical concepts work with and despite one another to create a mesmerising scope of musicality. I find myself listening to music centred in vulnerability on repeat. No matter my mood on any given day or the colours of the leaves on the trees as I walk by, I hum along to my meticulously curated playlists with my cherry red headphones, accompanied only by the sound of my footsteps tap tap tapping to the beat of the song.
As a lover of early 2000s pop-folk, story-esque lyricism, and acoustic production, Carol Ades’ recent album Late Start did not disappoint. The music had an intense emotional impact on me, with Ades’ masterful lyrical storytelling, addictive melodies, and resonant production value conveying a sense of vulnerability unequivocal to other music I have listened to this year. Songwriting is one of Ades’ musical superpowers, and the relatable inner narrative of her lyrics—as if plucked straight from the diary of a young girl—conveys the all-too-familiar joys and frustrations of young adult life. All thirteen tracks of the album interconnect to tell a vulnerable coming-of-age story in a manner that far exceeded my expectations of a lesser-known artist.
My personal favourite tracks were most melodically reminiscent of classic folk-pop and indie pop. Central to these songs was the build of the percussion and the warm instrumental. Soft, breathy vocals provided an intimate listening experience, adjacent to the vocal dexterity and style of artists like Gracie Abrams and Lizzy McAlpine. The specific track themes range from overthinking ‘anthems’—like Hope Is a Scary Thing, which reflects on the overwhelm of decision-making in a confusing world of love, anxiety and everything in between—to reflections on the complexities of Ades’ relationship with her mother in Mom Song.
The title track, Late Start, presents the listener with the epitome of the album’s vulnerability; the track reminisces the past while finding comfort in the now, the soft plucking of the guitar and stripped-back vocals dripping with early 2000s nostalgia. The simple melody and bubbly instrumentals juxtapose Ades’ erratic train of thought in the lyrics, and her kind inner reflections in the chorus—making light of her “late start” in life with playful lyrics—match the style of production and melodic simplicity of the song.
Never Fucking Fall in Love Again really shone for me lyrically. Ades’ use of simple rhyme and poetic lyricism skillfully captured the essence of teenage heartbreak. The final chorus is the emotional high point of the song, the culmination of the track’s build and ultimately its “climax” (for lack of a less promiscuous term). From the reverbed layered phrases beneath the main vocal to the voice crack at the end of the song, I found myself holding my breath at the intense vulnerability of her musicianship both lyrically and melodically.
As a first-time music reviewer, I am battling between staying impartial and divulging to you all my own subjective view of music (please forgive me as the latter takes over). While I’d like to give equal writing time to all aspects of the album, my hyper-fixating brain likes to latch on to a favourite and I can’t help but share this next one with you. Every so often I come across a piece of music that cements itself in my brain, disrupts my life in the most glorious of ways, and parks itself in the forefront of my mind, and I will shamelessly eat, sleep, and breathe that song. From the moment I pressed play, Everything Else is Just Noise became this song for me, filled to the brim with intense intimacy and fiery vulnerability. This became the track of the album for me, a dreamy depiction of young love and infatuation through a gorgeous display of vocal harmonies and all-consuming instrumentals. The main harmonies begin in the second half of the verse (building the anticipation of the chorus), right before the production strips back in the pre-chorus, a sudden quietness prevailing where only a hollow beat and synthy melody are layered beneath soft vocals. The final line of the pre-chorus, “nobody gets you like I get you, nobody loves you like I love you,” melts seamlessly into the chorus with a cathartic release, enveloping listeners into an instrumentally dynamic world once again with multilayered synths and drums. The melodic structure of the chorus was the most magical element for me, where I found myself utterly hypnotised by the brilliance of Ades’ voice above the poppy instrumental, and her lyrical genius the cherry on top.
Of course, defining Ades by one song or one lyrical theme would be doing her an injustice. Her artful storytelling binds the album, its vulnerability creating a sense of closeness between the musician and the listener. We can see Ades’ story in the context of our own, and feel her burdens as we feel ours—which to me is the epitome of music intertwining our stories in the most inconspicuous, yet brilliant, of ways. As a beautiful musical collection of coming-of-age stories, Carol Ades’ album Late Start will remain at the top of my playlist and the forefront of my mind, filling the space of my cherry red headphones as my footsteps tap tap tap to the beat of the song…at least until her new album comes out.
Words by Ella Stillhart (she/her)
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