It’s been 2,248 days since Phoebe Bridgers set a high watermark for indie folk on her sophomore album, Punisher, crystallizing her spectral style into a package that inspired countless imitators. It also put her over the edge into full-blown pop stardom. For a minute there, she was all over the place: opening for the Eras tour, step-and-repeating at the Met Gala, wearing matching suits with her Boygenius bandmates at the Grammys, where they took home three trophies. The mainstream coronation had all the trappings of a dream come true, but on her unruly and vast new album Lost Weekend, it’s more like an identity crisis.
Despite its constellation of contributors—from Alex G and Cameron Winter to her pug Maxine—Lost Weekend is the loneliest music Bridgers has ever made, a trek through disillusionment, insomnia, and incompatible romances that coalesces under a key life change: the death of her father. The prevailing narrative here is of rebuilding the wreckage of the life you thought you wanted and, in the process, encountering what you’re made of. It’s not all out of the blue and into the black, though. Loss may be the spine of this winding new collection, but for someone so prone to wandering, Bridgers seems to know exactly where she’s going.
Out in the Storm
While Lost Weekend is rich with the kind of spare, sticky acoustic lines that keep Stranger in the Alps in eternal rotation, it runs with the more heightened sound design we heard on Punisher tracks like “Chinese Satellite” and “I Know The End.” The album is filled with nontraditional song structures and hermetic mixing, putting you in a snow globe of distant choirs, squalls of phase distortion, and cavernous moments of silence. The first time we hear Bridgers sing, on “The Outside,” she’s dripping in vocoder, an out-the-gate power move from an artist best known for her papyrus-like timbre. But the swing heightens the sensation of Bridgers being alone in the great wide open, carried away by new undercurrents of shoegaze, psych rock, and plunderphonics.
The chief exception is “Haunted,” a rootsy, Chicks-indebted inflection point at the record’s middle. It materializes out of a synth breakdown like a country classic you come across while flipping radio dials somewhere along the Rust Belt, and boasts some of the most revelatory one-liners on the record. “You won’t have to open a heart that’s broken / Water’s gonna flow in either way”? One doesn’t just stumble into a couplet so casually profound; you have to trudge through a little emotional backcountry first.
Collaboration Station
As it turns out, making music this isolated takes a small village, many of whom Bridgers hasn’t worked with before. New recruits to her camp include Jack-of-all-trades Antonoff, who executive produced, along with Alex G, American Football’s Mike Kinsella, and a singer credited as “Son-John Johnson,” who we’ll play along and say does a really uncanny Cameron Winter impression. Alex Giannascoli’s unmistakable stylings are probably the most load-bearing new element in the mix here, but Bridges’ romantic partner, Bo Burnham, has the largest impact. Not only did he cowrite seven songs, Lost Weekend regularly returns to a “Bobby” as a subject and thematic lynchpin: the new love that holds her down, makes her vibrator irrelevant, and reminds her how good life can feel in a photo booth at Pennsylvania’s Liberty Tree Mall. Yet for all the fresh faces in the room, her core cohort remains rock solid: producers Ethan Gruska and Tony Berg, songwriting partner Christian Lee Hutson, drummer Marshall Vore, Conor Oberst, and Boygenius bandmates Julien Baker and Lucy Dacus all make appearances.
