Sincerity is a funny idea. In colloquial terms, it’s a fancy way of saying “I mean it,” not necessarily as a mechanism of establishing boundaries but to emphasize freedom from pretense. Sincerity, as a 21st-century artistic practice, breaks from post-modernist urges toward irony and critique that lend themselves to cynicism. While rooted in a specific ‘80s Austin movement, the “New Sincerity” has had a revolving impact on indie alternative rock especially, churning out crops of bands and singer-songwriters whose musings on personal experiences and stories of all kinds feel unlimited by the urge to be “cool” or state anything with profundity. When indie stars like Cat Power, Sufjan Stevens or Joanna Newsom reject irony or pastiche, they are at their freest.
Merce Lemon has toyed with sincerity over her career as a songwriter, having grown up in the lively Pittsburgh DIY scene amongst grown-up and kid bands, learning to venerate punk and country all alike. Her parents frequently brought her to DIY shows where they’d perform or spectate, including Kimya Dawson, who ended up staying with her family on their escapades; you can hear Dawson’s influence on early Lemon releases like Ideal For a Light Flow With Your Body or the decidedly queer Girls Who Jump In EP. They’re albums that spoke to the mid-‘10s bedroom grace that Lemon saw in bands like Told Slant and Frankie Cosmos when they visited Mr. Roboto Project in Garfield. 2020’s Moonth split the difference between the bedroom stylings and something grander, not unlike the folksy twee of fellow Appalachian singer wished bone. Four years later, Lemon keeps the sincerity but dials up the grandiosity, landing on an Americana rock style for Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild, a collection that leans into the poignant possibilities of cutting lyrics and bold composition.
Where Merce Lemon’s songs once careened by in small packages, only two songs on Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild dip below three minutes. “Backyard Lover” unfurls over five-and-a-half minutes, all of them needed as Lemon reflects on grief, a frequent subject of reflection since the death of her best friend at just 15; “Now I’m falling to a dark place / Where just remembering her death’s / About all I can take.” When the song climaxes on “You fucking liar,” Lemon accuses herself of treachery as she wrestles with self-directed criticism. It’s about as inflammatory as she gets: Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild is largely pensive, but her bandmates’ brawny guitar work bolsters her deliberate lyricism, exposing every moment of conflict and clarity.
On the swaying “Rain,” Lemon’s naturalistic images are vivid: “I miss you like the wind has wings / Like the mountain’s fingertips on the tops of trees / Tickling the sky’s belly.” Her affinity for nature is rich: When she stepped back from songwriting in 2020, she spent summers sleeping outside, learning to farm and otherwise work in tandem with the earth to practice genuine symbiosis. She works in landscaping and has peddled homegrown produce on the streets of Bloomfield. “Crow” touches on Lemon’s fascination with the avian migration she used to observe religiously from her rooftop; the title track, inspired by a family friend’s story of a surreal encounter with Michael Hurley, captures the sensory offerings of nature: dogs barking, trees falling, the aroma of wood.
Where Merce Lemon lets herself get decidedly interpersonal, like on pre-breakup anthem “Window,” she rests on specific images of cats on window sills but concludes with universal feelings of hearts thumping, anticipating the inevitable. Where some songwriters have gotten mired in the specifics of their lives while sharing the lessons they’ve learned, Lemon lets the verdant imagery and casual references to landmarks in her life form a constellation, something recognizable from a healthy distance. Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild is a cosmic album with a veneration for the world around her that helps her appreciate the intricacies of human sociality. Her voice is youthful but her words betray wisdom earned from maintaining both feet on the ground. That vigorous appreciation for words and frozen lime zest proves, above all, refreshing.
Read our recent Best of What’s Next profile on Merce Lemon here.
Devon Chodzin is a Pittsburgh-based critic and urban planner with bylines at Aquarium Drunkard, Stereogum, Bandcamp Daily and more. He lives on Twitter @bigugly.
