Trilogies often don’t end well. The Godfather Part III, The Rise of Skywalker, The Matrix Revolutions, and The Dark Knight Rises were all major disappointments, and that’s just a partial list—even The Hangover Part III failed to stick the landing. For Australian-born musician Penelope Trappes, the stakes may not be quite as high, but her new album Penelope Three, the closing chapter of a series that includes 2017’s Penelope One and 2019’s Penelope Two, does arrive with a certain amount of pressure, as it’s clear that she’s made a significant effort to level up her craft.
Before releasing Penelope One, Trappes logged the better part of a decade as one half of electro-techno outfit the Golden Filter, a group that emerged from NYC during the late-2000s bloghouse boom and impressively survived the trend’s precipitous crash. The duo found a smattering of success, but it wasn’t exactly a vehicle in which Trappes—who was then a thirtysomething mother—felt free to fully express herself. Her solo material, however, which she began developing in earnest following a move to the UK in 2014, is intensely personal and emotionally naked; it’s no coincidence that the artwork for several of her releases have revolved around nude portraits of Trappes herself.
Musically, Trappes’ work is heavily stepped in the dreamy sounds of classic 4AD, particularly bands like This Mortal Coil and Cocteau Twins. In many ways, Penelope One and Penelope Two were more like mood boards than collections of actual songs, with hazy soundscapes and richly emotive (albeit somewhat unintelligible) vocals, her reverb-soaked melodies drifting like tendrils of smoke in a dimly lit room. There was a distinct sense of intimacy to those records, and Trappes luxuriated in the quiet as she reckoned with love, loss, and the frustrations of growing older in a youth-obsessed industry.
Those issues are still present on Penelope Three, but they’re no longer swirling in the ether. Although the new LP won’t ever be mistaken for a glossy pop record, its production is notably bigger and brighter than Trappes’ previous efforts. Dazzling first single “Nervous” sounds closer to FKA twigs than Mazzy Star, and aside from being one of the most electronic tunes in her catalog, it also displays a newfound sense of theatricality that pops up repeatedly throughout the album. “Red Yellow” sounds like an updated version of Portishead’s sultry trip-hop pageantry, and album closer “Awkward Matriarch” is another big swing, with Trappes’ vocals triumphantly soaring atop a crescendo of strings and guitar fuzz before the song suddenly peters out in the final minute, leaving behind only the sound of the howling wind and an empty room.
Between the reverb and raw emotion, there are similarities between Grouper’s work and Penelope Three, but even during its starkest moments, there’s a lushness to the LP that makes albums like PJ Harvey’s White Chalk feel like a more appropriate reference. That record dealt in a sort of gothic, piano-centric chamber pop, and Trappes explores similar territory on melancholy songs like “Blood Moon” and “Fur & Feather.” The latter, a clear highlight, was inspired by both Celtic mythology—more specifically, the tale of the Selkie—and the impending departure of Trappes’ only daughter, who left home earlier this year. As such, there’s a tangible sadness to the music, but Penelope Three is ultimately more about processing than wallowing.
Trappes is now in her forties, an age when the music industry—and popular culture in general—tends to start nudging women aside, or ignoring them altogether. Penelope Three pushes back, but not by delivering facile empowerment anthems. Trappes simply takes ownership of who and where she is in life, ruminating on family, femininity, motherhood, and her own body, regardless of whether or not society is interested in those things. It’s a bold choice, and her confidence lends the album a notably weighty feeling.
The record’s fortified production also helps on that front. Album opener “Veil” showcases Trappes’ vocal range—in her younger days, she actually studied opera—while “Forest” and “Northern Light” both employ ominous strings to ratchet up the drama. Her compositions have become less ephemeral, and while there’s still a haunting, dreamlike quality to the work, Penelope Three never attempts to skate by on aesthetic alone. Perhaps some lo-fi charm has been lost along the way, but these are proper songs, and Trappes has centered herself in the narrative while solidifying a sound that was already spellbinding to begin with. It’s difficult to know how audiences will respond—added polish isn’t always appreciated in independent-music circles—but if Trappes was all that concerned with what people thought, she likely wouldn’t have finished this trilogy in the first place.
Buy: Rough Trade
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