But you’ve heard that before. What makes this album interesting is the shifting, shared, duelling perspectives from hunter to hunted.
Strange’s last records were already scary; he’s no stranger to off-kilter beats and chord progressions (“Cosigns”, “Flagey God”). This album lets the fear into the thematic aspects as well, exploring uncertainty in love, in career, in physical safety as a black person in rural America. These heavy motifs imbue Strange’s performances with a real power, and with such a pleasantly subtle but steadying hand as Jack Antonoff’s, it’s possible to see the trajectory from Strange’s previously somewhat unfocused work to Horror, which might be his strongest and most coherent yet.
Album opener “Too Much” puts a modern spin on greats like
Alabama Shakes and Spoon, seemingly cementing Strange in the indie rock
canon, with a rap bridge to spit in the face of genre classification
entirely. He’s sometimes deflated, other times machismo, with equal
vigor. “Don’t fear what’s coming / Our blood is the connection,” he
sings in “Hit It Quit It”, as the guitars rise to a scream. While at
moments it’s unclear what Strange is afraid of, it has a chilling effect
nonetheless, like seeing someone see something behind you.
Strange has never sounded better, with crisp vocal
production and genuinely emotional deliveries. He’s both demon and
demonized on “Wants/Needs”, a song about the relationship of the artist
to his fans. In the first ballad, “Baltimore”, he explores a quotidian
problem: how does one decide where to settle down? Like his
contemporaries and sometimes tourmates Phoebe Bridgers, Courtney
Barnett, and Japanese Breakfast, Strange excels at pulling poetic
meaning from even the most banal human experiences, “thinking ‘bout the
lives I don’t have.” Where this close attention tips into thematic
imprecision the record’s interesting production elements buoy it.
The standout track of the record, “Lie 95”, is buried in
the middle. Kacy Hill lends subtle backing vocals, and her authorial
hand is felt in the lightness of the track as well. “I wanna survive but
I know the price,” the riff goes, reminding the listener that even in
such a jubilant song, fear remains. Strange’s open attitude towards
collaboration benefits his music while he maintains a unique sound, an
amalgamation of clear references into an entirely new shape. Horror seems to ask the listener to face themselves in the way Strange has on this record, and not everyone will be ready.
