Haley Fohr knows how to dirge. There’s usually some darkness in the music she makes as Circuit Des Yeux, and often a lot of it. Drop your needle anywhere within her discography and even the most upbeat songs sound deadly serious. Her early records sometimes distanced that somber tone with thick distortion or hissy echo, which added mystery. But over time her work has become clearer, and Overdue, her fourth full-length, is the most direct, immediate record she’s made. It’s also her best.
That’s because increased clarity reveals how many ways Fohr can hit the same emotional target. There’s variety in the instrumentation: dramatic, string-like synths, bittersweet acoustic strums, grinding electric guitars, and all kinds of rhythmic foundations. There’s also variety in her voice, which echoes the melancholy warble of Antony, the goth-howl of Diamanda Galás, and the chilly authority of Nico. But she also has a unique way of turning every phrase dark. It’s hard to imagine anyone else making a casual line like “rollin’ in my Nova 88” sound so grave.
That line shows the variety of lyrical angles Fohr is willing to take, trusting that a committed approach can add weight to any sentiment. She’s right: every couplet and stanza on Overdue is forceful, no matter what Fohr’s singing about. Roughly half the songs are sung in second person, giving them a fateful hue. “When your body leaves you/ You won’t need anything to hold onto,” she sings in “Hegira”, as if she’s a god reporting the future. The rest use first person, suggesting Fohr’s a victim of the same fate she just foretold. “Who has learned to bleed my innards?/ Who has given me the deepest winters?” she sings in the slow, minimal “Acarina”, over music that sounds like Body/Head covering Low. Those and many of Fohr’s words dodge literal interpretation, dislocated from whatever specific scenarios inspired them. But there is one couplet that seems like a clear statement of intent: “If the truth sets you free/ I’d rather be living in my dreams.”
Each song on Overdue feels like a lived-in dream—not just in its hypnotic, voice-in-head sound, but also in the way Fohr builds atmosphere like a sonic set designer. Gradually, details accumulate and an internal logic takes over. Sometimes this comes from simple increases in activity, as instruments rise toward mutual climaxes. But in other spots the ascent is sneakier, taking you places before you know it. Take “Bud & Gin”, whose folky lilt feels repetitive, but eventually—with the help of Fohr’s ambient moans—traverses a range of moods. At the end, she literally rewinds the song, as if she’s become so caught up in it that the only way to find her footing is to retrace her steps.
Such wanderings may make Overdue sound like heavy going, and certainly much of it is. But Fohr puts so much power behind her music that following her into the emotional depths can be intoxicating, and even life-affirming. After all, one of the best things art can do is make you feel something, whatever that something may be. On Overdue, Haley Fohr is more than up to that task.
