Just as Claire Cottrill’s 2019 debut, the inviting and eclectic Immunity, bears the stylistic hallmarks of its producer, Rostam Batmanglij, the 22-year-old singer-songwriter’s follow-up, Sling, boasts chief collaborator Jack Antonoff’s inimitable sonic touch. Tracks like “Wade,” with its shifting tempos and multicultural influences, and the instrumental “Joanie,” a tribute to Cottrill’s beloved mixed-breed puppy, play like low-key jam sessions—though their ambitions stop short of the circuitous psychedelia of Lana Del Rey’s “Venice Bitch,” which Antonoff co-wrote and produced.
The spacious arrangements on Immunity emphasized Cottrill’s reverb-soaked (and occasionally Auto-Tuned) vocals, but Sling takes a page from Taylor Swift’s Folklore and Evermore, stripping away the trendy accouterments and placing the focus more centrally on the songwriting itself. Aside from isolated references to lockers (“Bambi”), parties (“Amoeba”), and graduations (“Zinnias”), Cottrill’s perspective feels exceedingly mature, evoking the stark, intimate confessionals of Elliott Smith.
The result is less commercial than Immunity but also more thematically and musically myopic. The lack of specificity in Cottrill’s lyrics makes it hard to latch on to, though two particularly germane lines point to her growing potential as a sharp observationalist: “Why do I tell you how I feel?/When you’re too busy looking down my blouse,” she quips on “Blouse.” The album, the title of which refers to the cloth strap one uses to hold an infant, also finds Cottrill pondering motherhood, if not wholly embracing it: “I’m born to be somebody, then somebody comes from me,” she sings matter-of-factly on “Reaper.”
Individually, songs like “Little Changes” and “Management” are lovely showcases for the singer’s openhearted ruminations on love, domesticity, and mental health, and they highlight her and Antonoff’s skills as musicians (in addition to piano and guitar, Cottrill plays Wurlitzer, Kalimba, vibraphone, and synths throughout the album). But while their jazzy arrangements channel the pleasant air of ’70s AM folk, Sling’s 12 tracks tend to fuse into an unassuming whole that veers perilously close to easy-listening ennui.
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