When Lily Konigsberg and Nate Amos began writing Cry Mfer, their debut album as the eccentric indie pop duo My Idea, they were in the trenches of a let’s say ambiguous mutual fascination that they didn’t fully understand: “We definitely were like, oh, maybe we’re in love?” Konigsberg said in a press release. And perhaps the scariest part of being in love with someone else is your newfound and mutual ability to really hurt one another. This is My Idea’s raison d’être: scrawled between its moments of whimsy, Cry Mfer reads like a journal entry of all the things you wanted to say in the throes of a relationship but never did.
My Idea formed after Konigsberg, of the arty punk trio Palberta, brought in Amos, of the experimental pop duo Water From Your Eyes, to produce her spunky solo record, Lily We Need to Talk Now. Cry Mfer is expectedly eclectic, hurdling between indie folk, electro-pop, and one piano ballad for good measure—while the differences may feel jarring, the common thread is Konigsberg and Amos’ unflappable chemistry, and their willingness to put even some of the most difficult sentiments to tape. Though they’ve made amends with one another, Cry Mfer is, almost literally, the soundtrack of a situationship that is falling apart.
Each of the songs on Cry Mfer loosely navigates the nuances of this companionship with self-awareness and brutal honesty. Konigsberg and Amos trade vocal and writing duties across the album, each putting the things that are often left unsaid in the spotlight. “I will be the one to say goodbye this time,” Konigsberg sings in the album’s opening lines, insinuating all the other farewells that have preceded and followed. Over a sleek, country-pop chug that evokes a more subdued version of Taylor Swift’s “Style,” Konigsberg has a harsh reality check: “Nothing ever lasts that feels amazing/Circumstances bury what your heart’s saying.”
Cry Mfer is full of confessions that it’s hard to imagine the band members truly wanted to share. On the minimal slow jam “Breathe You,” Amos seems to liken his lover’s addictive nature to that of a cigarette, alluring and slowly destructive: “I can’t wait for the next time I get to fuck you,” he sings through a Vocoder (Amos admittedly wrote the song while “high as shit,” poking fun at Justin Bieber’s unflatteringly earnest odes to lovemaking.) Meanwhile, on “Lily’s Phone,” Konigsberg alludes to making inebriated booty calls over a no-frills guitar riff that recalls the playful candor of early Liz Phair. That sense of humor keeps Cry Mfer from feeling too morose, a refreshing reminder that this jilted storyline is about friends, after all.
Cry Mfer is largely self-reflective, and perhaps the best example of this is “Crutch,” a burst of jangle-pop on which Konigsberg admits to her own codependency: “If punishment is a crime/Then I’m a bad guy almost all of the time,” she sings between apologies. It’s a twisted love song that appears to mirror Konigsberg and Amos’ relationship with each other as much as it does their relationship with alcohol, a substance they’ve both abandoned since completing the album. To what extent will we distance ourselves from what we really need in order to pursue what we want in the moment? And what happens when that discordance blurs our better judgment? Cry Mfer doesn’t attempt to find any clear-cut conclusions, but it’s a portrait of a mess caught in real-time. Maybe the only way to make it out is to make it through.
