Nora Cheng, Penelope Lowenstein and Gigi Reece sound like exactly what they are, a three-piece band who recorded their first album, quite literally, in Lowenstein’s parent’s basement. Between that album and this one two of them relocated from Chicago to NYU, landing them a few miles away from where Velvet Underground recorded their own debut.
The three best friends decamped back to a loft studio in icy Chicago in January 2024 to record their sophomore album, but I sense that some of the Manhattan sharpness – a clean-cut brittleness which has defined every New York guitar band from the Strokes to LCD – stayed with them. You can still hear an entire lineage of Windy City indie-rock in their music, from Loose Fur to Wilco, with a great sweep of 90s indie rock from the likes of Dear Norah and Doug Martsch in the mix too – but I go back to the Velvet Underground because that’s what I hear most of all in this new music; not their first album but their third, when all of the noise and ugliness was stripped and replaced with bright-eyed twee.
Even though they remain something of a sonic throwback, Horsegirl do sound like a new band here. Versions of Modern Performance wasn’t
the noisiest record but it was heavy by comparison; a track like "Anti-Glory" revving up with stomping drums and taut, punkish guitars.
With Cate Le Bon on production duties, Phonetics On and On
ditches the murk and take a turn towards the whimsical. Lead single "2468" has childish glee of a mid-naughties Feist single, backed with
febrile violin, lightly strummed guitar and a buoyant, whooping chorus.
They sound like mates in a room, but perhaps a little too much like that
room is hosting a Church fete.
The entire record is utilitarian by design, leaning heavily
on strummed guitars and Cheng and Lowenstein’s playful vocals. Its a sonic palette
which stands in firm contrast to their debut, where sweeping melodic
songwriting was doused in lashing of grunge-esque guitars, and cavernous
drums. A song like "Julie" is dominated by tambourine and a central
battle between "ooh-oohs" and "la di da"’s, channelling the girlishness
of Maurine Tucker circa 1968.
I do miss the grit. When some bands go this twee there’s
the inclining of a put-on, the suggestion that all of the breeziness is a
mean joke with the listener as a punchline. Horsegirl’s songwriting
isn’t distinct enough to imply any hidden tension though, and back to
back sweetness becomes a little sickly. It’s no surprise that the best
songs here are the meaner ones. Opener "Where’d You Go" ends in some
gnarly garage-rock guitar, while "Frontrunner" has a depressive bassline
which adds some much-needed longing to an overly cheery demeanour.
Largely though, the band could do with letting some more of the darkness
back in.
