I saw Waxahatchee perform in a bowling alley this past fall. Used to the punk shows and crowd-sweat that had been there before, the small-ish turnout made the place look way more cavernous than I remembered. I’d forgotten that the small tour she was on was going to provide more low-key affairs, more solo-act than full band. Sister Allison and friend Sam Cook-Parrot opened the show with graceful sets and ever-endearing songs. They were great, but Katie Crutchfield shined. Her set was a workshop; in how to embrace that type of spotlight with such focus and clarity; in how to wring the very most emotion out of sparse arrangements; in how to keep the audience entranced, holding them in your hand, gripping so fucking tightly until the end of the song, with the release, the applause, and the collective, inaudible “wow.” She played some songs off her then un-released latest effort Ivy Tripp there, and that spellbinding essence is almost as present on record as it is live.
I say “almost” only because Crutchfield is such an excellent live performer. Ivy Tripp is not an album that seeks to “capture that live feel, man.” It was crafted, lovingly, in her new home on Long Island. Producer Kyle Gilbride has the knack for letting songs embrace the room in which they were recorded, giving a natural quality to records he works on (prime example: “You’re Damaged” from previous Waxahatchee record, Cerulean Salt). This means that her crushing amounts of talent come through with an earnestness that a studio setting couldn’t possibly foster. I’m not rhapsodizing about any of the real or imagined mystique of lo-fi; indeed, this is not a “lo-fi” album. But instead, it has the hallmarks of home and care, of handcrafted, perfect imperfection, and the record is better for it.
Make no mistake, Crutchfield is lyrically and melodically one of the finest songwriters this generation will ever hear, and her songs would be superb regardless of where they were recorded. Her emotional honesty, attention to detail, and subtle manipulation of structure make her a singular talent. She’s been quoted as saying the record is about people who wander through life, trying to figure out what to do—but let it be about whatever you think it is. That’s part of the wonder of Waxahatchee songs; even when they’re telling a story, when painful details are out in the open, Crutchfield allows you to fill in the blanks or interpret to the extent that maybe you understand what she’s getting at; at the same time, maybe you delude yourself into thinking that she really gets you. That’s a magical thing, and it happens all over this album.
The arrangements on the previous two Waxahatchee albums—first American Weekend and then especially Cerulean Salt—were stark and spacious, with clearly defined parameters between where one instrument began and the other ended. Ivy Tripp maintains the same musical frugality (never too many instruments or parts, subtle use of effects) that guided those records while also expanding the sonic palette into more ethereal territories. “Breathless” is set on a foundation of basic keyboard figures while atmospheric slide guitar whirrs after Crutchfield’s assured, open voice. “Under A Rock,”“Poison,” and “The Dirt” all have great rhythm guitar tones, helping to propel the song while maintaining openness to the overall sound, thus allowing the drums to land expressively. They sound like close cousins to Cerulean Salt’s “Coast to Coast.” Quieter moments like “Summer of Love” or “Half Moon” work wonderfully in what might be the quintessential Waxahatchee setup: one instrument (ok, two on “Summer of Love”) and one voice. Weirder moments on the album come off entirely naturally because they sound like fully-fleshed ideas and adhere to the aforementioned ethos. “<” (“less than”) unravels with a woozy guitar riff and collaged drums that sound like fireworks. The fuller-sounding “La Loose” sounds like she stole her twin’s drum machine to be the paperclip that holds a shimmering art project of a pop song together. Album centerpiece “Air” and closer “Bonfire” are the most ornate, but every part of those songs is necessary. Co-collaborators Keith Spencer and Gilbride deserve credit for helping to build out the sound of Ivy Tripp all while serving its core— Crutchfield’s wonderful songs.
Waxahatchee’s previous records had a blooming quality to them: with each repeat listen, something new comes to the fore. Maybe it’s a nuance in the melody. Maybe the lyrics hit you differently. Ivy Tripp is going to offer that even more generously. Even after some serious quality time with it, I’m already looking forward to having this in heavy rotation in the coming months.
Kyle is a freelance audio engineer, composer, and writer with a fondness for the offbeat. He can be found on his bike in Central NJ attempting to maintain his punk rock ideals.