Natalie Bergman's second album deserves more recognition

This might be an odd comparison, but bear with me: There was discourse surrounding the release of horror film Weapons recently, which wondered if the film had any real subtext, or if it was simply a fun, scary romp.

To cut a long story short, a) it does have subtext, and b) if it didn’t that would be fine.

This discussion popped into my head every time I put on the second album by Natalie Bergman, an American musician who evokes vintage pop with seemingly little ambition beyond that. These are pleasant, listenable tunes, and if that was all they were, that would be fine.

Maybe because the album has been chronically under-reviewed (failing to even rate a mention on aggregate site Metacritic), I’d subconsciously written it off as sparkly homage and nothing more. I did enjoy listening to it though - a lot - and after the umpteenth play had to admit there was something special here.

Of course, any artistic endeavour has layers once you dig into it. Beyond Bergman’s boilerplate love-song lyrics and pitch-perfect delivery, other preoccupations start to present themselves. She’s clearly a devoted music fan, for one, blending soul, country, and folk, all coloured with a nostalgic brush.

This extends to the album’s production, which is sumptuous: lush string sections, buoyant drums, the odd fuzz guitar or handclap, all perfectly placed and wrapped in a blanket of analogue tape. The most audacious moments are the appearance of a flute solo or synthesiser.

Hardly ground-breaking then. But still… very good. And Bergman’s interest in vintage recording gear goes beyond aesthetics. She said the title My Home is Not in This World refers to her rejection of digital environments entirely.

A musician evoking and longing for an earlier time is nothing new, but you can hear Bergman’s sincerity in every song. There are other notable aspects of her story - she’s a devout Christian, and her first album Mercy concerned the death of her parents - but neither of those are apparent here.

Rather, she’s fond of self-evident lyrics like “I really want to dance with you”, “I’ll be there for you”, and “I wanna love you still”. They’re phrases heard in thousands of other pop songs, so generic they almost defy interpretation (although to be fair she’ll occasionally drop in something intriguing like “I found you weeping in the backyard”).

Still, despite my initial impulse to rail against overly tasteful arrangement and cliché lyrics, I thoroughly enjoyed this album.

There’s a warmth to it all - both sonically and in spirit - that’s impossible to resist. And while nearly every chord change and vocal line feels familiar from classic, decades-old tunes, it somehow doesn’t matter, a great example of the sum being greater than its parts.

Alternating between nimble fretwork and blasts of distortion, Dunedin’s Pearly* are led by Joel Field (also in art-rock juggernaut Dale Kerrigan), and Phaedra Love. The pair supply earnest vocals over music that evokes the best of ‘90s rock, with a hint of emo and other guitar-led Ōtepoti greats. It’s equally impressive for the way they convey a range of feelings, from sweetness to all-out nihilism.

Another deeply stoned dispatch from the former Odd Future member, full of songs that last between one and two minutes, stuffed with scruffy loops and wildly entertaining wordplay. Sweatshirt’s last few releases have seen him pushing further into an aesthetic that feels intentionally unfinished, loose around the edges in a way that emerges as deeply human.