As she did the press rounds for this latest album, her third, Harriette Pilbeam spoke often about self-acceptance and creative freedom. The suggestion, seemingly, was that she feels ‘Liquorice’ is as close as she’s yet come to realising and expressing the exact sound that she has in mind for Hatchie. Less reliant on hooks and pop structure than its predecessor, 2022’s ‘Giving the World Away’, the record instead embraces the heady reverb and scuzzy guitars of Slowdive, My Bloody Valentine and, most notably, Cocteau Twins, serving up a sort of breezy pop reinvention of the shoegaze blueprint.
The record is arriving in late spring in Pilbeam’s native Australia, which feels apt; written in Brisbane and Melbourne and then recorded at Jay Som’s home studio in Los Angeles, this is a thoroughly sun-kissed album, unfurling hazily like a seemingly endless summer. Stylistically, she casts a wide net, even if it feels like she’s painting from a more limited palette than on ‘Giving the World Away’, which flirted with the dancefloor in its disco and new wave leanings. There’s chirpy, experimental pop (‘Only One Laughing’, ‘Sage’) as well as ventures into rockier, more pointed territory; ‘Wonder’ takes the crunching guitar of My Bloody Valentine’s ‘Loveless’ and smartly sets it to a melody that evokes Britpop.
Pilbeam has been described as writing dream pop for as long as she’s been releasing music, with certain influences worn proudly on her sleeve as far back as debut EP ‘Sugar & Spice’ in 2018, and she seems to have a sharp sense of both sides of the genre’s coin. ‘Anchor’ is pure Cocteau, leaning into blissed-out formlessness, whilst the standout ‘Lose It Again’ nods to important groups on the dream pop periphery, particularly The Sundays.
Throughout ‘Liquorice’, her lyrics meld handsomely into the sound of the songs; there is bittersweet longing and swooning romance, often in the same song – the gorgeous ‘Part That Bleeds’ takes clear inspiration from Richard Linklater’s Before trilogy. There is a consistent preoccupation with the escapism that infatuation can offer, too – at least, until the superb closer ‘Stuck’, on which Pilbeam suddenly snaps out of the reverie that ‘Liquorice’ conjures (“Seems I’m stuck with these pathetic dreams”).
Whether or not the record represents, as she’s suggested, peak Hatchie probably depends on what you’ve come to expect from her. Fans of ‘Giving the World Away’ might be disappointed to find that she’s retreated, somewhat, from the ambition and sonic diversity of that release. This kind of sound, though, is what Pilbeam does best; she doesn’t just ape her influences, but channels them with nuance and empathy. The result might be the finest dream pop record of the year.
