Her last album, 2022’s self-titled release, offered a blend of engaging songs and intriguing instrumental forays, varying from solo performances to full-band renderings.
With her latest project, Jellywish, she largely readopts the guitar-and-vocal MO of earlier work, particularly 2019’s Emily Alone. That said, she strikes a more equanimous bearing, even as she continues to explore some of her favorite themes: relational issues, struggles with self-esteem, and concerns about her place in the world. The new set is also notably more ecopolitical, as Sprague tackles widespread suffering, including the degradation of the environment and the way in which humans seem to be primarily motivated by greed.
“Should anything be pleasure / when suffering is everywhere?” she asks on opening track “Levitate”. Her vocal is whispery, slightly restrained, as if she’s confiding in the listener. Her shift from verse to chorus is subtle yet effective, creating an understated hook. “Have Heaven”, meanwhile, benefits from a more heavily strummed guitar and light percussion. Sprague again maneuvers a relatively contained melody yet still captivates the listener. Lyrically, the piece points to impressions regarding birth/rebirth, aging, and death – and how death may be tantamount to “melting” into the universe.
On “Jellyfish”, Sprague ponders evolution’s design and our connection to other realms (“There has got to be light / hitting us from the other side”). Countering these celestial ponderings with reflections on humanity’s treatment of the earth, she considers, “Will there still be winter in a year?” Her emotional bandwidth, curiosity, and melodic flow recall Adrianne Lenker circa last year’s Bright Future. While Lenker, however, tilts toward the surreal and metaphoric, Sprague strives for immediacy and literality.
“This Was a Gift”, replete with innocent yet wise, cautious
yet transparent queries and confessions, occasionally brings to mind
Joanne Sternberg. While Sternberg, though, is largely self-focused, even
diaristic, exploring how the world and people affect her (frequently in
hurtful ways), Sprague is more analytical, dissective, addressing
various relational dynamics – between people, between people and the
planet, between the planet and the cosmos.
“Sparkle Song” captures Sprague in a more buoyant space. “I
worry about the future”, she sings, adding, “for now you’re walking by
my side”. Her voice is brighter, more optimistic, her guitar shimmery.
“Moon, Sea Devil”, on the other hand, shows Sprague considering whether
humans are alone in the universe, fabricating meaning in order to
justify their existence. On one of her hookiest choruses, she sings,
“Every day I try / then I fail”, questioning her commitments and
stamina. Then again, she sustains a certain equipoise, intuitively
recognizing that collapsing into despair is counterproductive.
“Gloom Days” speaks to the passing of time, the
inevitability of change, and how our lives are being more and more
defined by technology. Still, we crave a sense of unity and purpose that
distractions can never provide. When Sprague concludes, “I want to know
what exists between the veil / make some sounds that no one wants to
hear”, she expresses her metaphysical leanings and bent for
self-deprecation. While everything, including love and music, may indeed
“blend into the sky”, for now, both will possibly enlighten us.
Sprague expresses consternation, curiosity, and gratitude
via laconic lyrics, enrolling melodies, and sincere vocals. She seems
instinctively and/or intuitively aware of the Zen teachings on
impermanence, craving, and non-self. Jellywish includes some of
her most intimate work. As a listener, it’s as if you’re being
privately serenaded during an exquisite chemical sunset.
