Of all the words that could have been used to describe Corrina Repp at the start of her career—singer, songwriter, folkie—"performer" wasn’t the first that came to mind. Especially on her first albums for Hush Records, which seemed to take the label’s name literally, with Repp singing as if in a library, cushioned by stray guitar strums and murmured electronic tones. The Pattern of Electricity is Repp’s first solo release since 2006’s deeply lonesome The Absent and the Distant, and despite the nine-year gap, her slow, subdued music hasn’t changed all that much. What has changed, however, is her voice. Far from a whisper, it now rings out. She’s performing.
Credit her time in Tu Fawning for that enhanced presence. During her solo hiatus Repp dedicated herself to that Portland band, which began as a freewheeling outlet for whatever whim captured the fancy of her and co-lead Joe Haege, be it droning psychedelia or freakish jazz. By 2012’s A Monument the group had discovered some discipline, playing in line with the percussive thrust and theatrical bombast of bands like the Black Keys and Florence and the Machine. It was a solid record, and so conveniently in sync with popular tastes that the group must have had high hopes it. In live footage of the group from around that time, Repp almost seems to be practicing for bigger stages. The band never made it that far, though. They dissolved soon after, along with Repp’s romantic relationship with Haege. The Pattern of Electricity is a breakup album, albeit one a bit removed from the initial sting of the split. After Tu Fawning unraveled, Repp stashed her guitar in a closet and spent a year away from music to collect herself. These songs reflect that cooling off period, capturing the early healing stages of heartbreak, when resentment and grief begin to give way to thoughts about picking up the pieces. "Woman, shed yourself again," she commands herself on opener "The Beast Lives in the Same Place", as if recovery is something to be willed. She sings song after song with the wounded determination of somebody who understands on a rational level they’ll be all right, even if her gut doesn’t fully believe it yet.
That same hard-fought resolve carries through even the album’s most sorrowful moments, like the hymnal-esque "Woods" and the organ-washed "Long Shadow (with Pb)", but Electricity resists wallowing in the darkness just for the sake of it. Repp smuggles some genuine dazzle into the album’s showiest number, "Pattern the Cuts / Calm Ass Mofo". From its minimalist opening pulses, that seven-minute song blossoms into a dapper orchestral pop suite with shades of Grizzly Bear’s Veckatimest. "I haven't been this calm before," she sings, "and now I know I want more." Like much of the album, it’s a song about trying to channel heartache into something productive, a search for a silver lining. These songs may grieve, sometimes toughly, but they never mope.
