There are glimpses, though, of beauty at either end of the record, and it definitely benefits from the open, vulnerable lyric style.

Over the past decade, Julien Baker has cemented herself as a key player in the singer-songwriter world. Most recently, she helped make waves as part of the critically acclaimed Boygenius project alongside contemporaries in the genre, Lucy Dacus and Phoebe Bridgers. Her previous two solo projects were sonically sparse, featuring sombre love songs, but this new record takes her into new waters instrumentally — featuring drums for the first time, for example. Experimental, considering Baker’s previous sound, but it is not an aesthetic that pushes the boundaries as much as some of Little Oblivions’ reception might suggest.

The opener, ‘Headline’, however, sets us off at a pretty high standard. Opening with synths reminiscent of the intro of Travis Scott’s ‘Sicko Mode’ of all things, it plays out into a sombre, vulnerable ballad. Lyrics here speak of substance abuse, depression, and fear of her own future actions, doing so very bluntly. Instrumentally, it is exactly what to expect from this album: fuller than her previous work, bringing more synthetic sounds into the mix. However, being Baker’s first foray into this sound, it does come across a little messy at times, particularly as we transition into the instrumental break – something about it just isn’t as smooth as it should be.

‘Heatwave’ continues this positive start while toning down the instrumentals. The first verse, accompanied only by a guitar, gives a morbid anecdote of seeing a car engulfed in flame, as she reflects on how flippant we can be about others’ deaths, with their lives reduced “to fill a page in the Sunday paper” while we might focus on how events like this could make us late for work. The second half of this track still rubs me the wrong way a little, particularly in the way it is mixed to sound like it is being played in a concert hall.

From here, though, it’s pretty downhill — despite some interesting passages and elements within otherwise disappointingly bland songs. One of these interesting elements is the religious references in the lyrics, yearning for help from faith healers and Jesus himself to get out of a mess of drug addiction and depression. Aesthetically, a few of these tracks, such as ‘Faith Healer’ and ‘Crying Wolf’ remind me of contemporary worship music too, which is an interesting sonic reference to make here, though unfortunately it’s not a particularly pleasing aesthetic.

The “bigger” sound that Baker goes for on this album sounds at times a little forced and messy. ‘Relative Fiction’, for example, works well as the fairly stripped-back piano ballad we get for the first two minutes. However, on the second half, while instruments are added to bring in a fuller palate, the track’s energy and emotion don’t really build — creating a strange dissonance, making me wonder what these instruments were brought in for other than just to be there. ‘Ringside’ is another victim of this. While the instrumentals build more satisfyingly here, the vocals seem to get a little lost in the mix, particularly during the chorus. Throughout the album, too, it feels as if drums are added just to be there, without really bringing anything to the table.

Towards the backend of the album though, the other issue which arises is the lack of tune, making some of the tracks quite forgettable. ‘Song in E’, despite separating itself from the rest of Little Oblivions with the instrumentals stripped back considerably, does little to separate itself from other tracks in a similar vein beyond this album. ‘Repeat’ creates a decent sonic atmosphere, and has some interesting effects towards the end, but the melody is just so unmemorable.

‘Ziptie’, however, turns the tide a little right at the end. Closing out the album, it has one of the first solid melodies and builds very nicely for the length of the track. The despondent, sparse instrumentals also allow for her voice to be highlighted, particularly alongside some tasteful backing vocals towards the end of the track. Repeating a common theme throughout the lyrics, Baker talks about how much sin there is in the world with a bit of despair at the faults of herself and others in this, and human nature’s role in it all — the defeatist chorus then asking at what point he’s just going to give up on us. While rather depressing, for me this is probably the strongest track on the album.

While it’s good to see Julien Baker pushing the boat out at this point in her career; unfortunately, it doesn’t play out as hoped: the aesthetic gets old quickly and it feels at times as if she is chucking layers in just for the sake of it. There are glimpses, though, of beauty at either end of the record, and it definitely benefits from the open, vulnerable lyric style. Unfortunately, the lack of memorable tunes throughout the runtime of the album means that it is not one that I see myself coming back to.