A sense of grief permeates Daughter’s music. The English indie-folk trio’s indulgence in sadness, coupled with gauzy production and lead singer Elena Tonra’s elegiac vocals, has garnered comparisons to acts like the xx and Florence and the Machine. But where those artists have ventured into more sonically and thematically upbeat territory, loss remains pervasive and all-encompassing on Daughter’s third album, Stereo Mind Game.
The album, which embraces the connection between grief and love, begins with a set of somber but arresting songs about abandonment and staring into the void that hew closely to Daughter’s past work. But the rumbling bass and soft-hitting breakbeat of “Be on Your Way,” the intermittently horrific bodily imagery of “Party,” and the unsteady beat and call-and-response of “Dandelion” add new wrinkles to the group’s otherwise conventional moody dream-pop stylings.
“Neptune” ushers Stereo Mind Game into even less familiar terrain with a song structure that mimics the album’s recurring aquatic imagery. The song evolves with each section, making it hard to discern between verse and chorus in a way that’s intriguingly destabilizing. When Tonra unexpectedly flips into her glassy, operatic soprano, she imbues the song with a sense of urgency that serves as a contrast to the tender mournfulness of her lower register. This anticipation spills out into a choral refrain, and a moment of self-interrogation: “How could I not tear you apart?”
Elsewhere, “Junkmail” incorporates various percussive elements and textures to evoke sounds, like a cork popping, within a sterile apartment where Tonra languishes alone, deepening the sense of isolation. Tracks like that and “Swim Back” twist and layer voices and instruments to capture the effect of memory as an imperfect record, offering only echoes of the past. In a nod to this mimetic musical technique, and in a moment of illusion-shattering clarity, Tonra sings, “You can’t edit the scenery/To view it better,” resisting the urge to idealize a lost love.
Even as the album’s lyrics shift focus to the normalcy of life after loss, the production remains varied. “Future Lover” is swathed in distorted electric guitars, while “Isolation” embodies its title by stripping back the album’s emergent indietronica style in favor of a lone acoustic guitar. These shifts, however subtle, keep Stereo Mind Game from stagnating.
The album’s closing stretch is airier and less claustrophobic than its middle section, as if to simulate the process of surfacing for air. But these final songs aren’t a respite from grieving but, rather, an elaboration on it. “To Rage” engages with the “anger” stage of grief, but the song’s calming sonic palette reveals this view of loss to be reflective and distant.
Stereo Mind Games’s melancholic closing track, “I Wish I Could Cross the Sea,” wistfully buries home recordings of children’s voices under electronic fuzz, but it also offers a unifying counterpoint to the album’s initial songs. Rather than being isolated by the experience of loss as she was on “Party,” Tonra finds the ache of loss in the everyday experience of nightfall and the accompanying rituals of turning off lights and shuttering windows. But even as she dissolves into an ambience of violins and disembodied voices, the hope of having someone to share her nights with—a reason to keep her light on—sustains her.
Since 2001, we've brought you uncompromising, candid takes on the world of film, music, television, video games, theater, and more. Independently owned and operated publications like Slant have been hit hard in recent years, but we’re committed to keeping our content free and accessible—meaning no paywalls or fees.
If you like what we do, please consider subscribing to our Patreon or making a donation.
