A lot can happen in six years. In Phoebe Bridgers’ case, plenty has gone down since the release of her last solo LP, the stunning pandemic album ‘Punisher’.
There have been highs (touring and picking up multiple Grammys with supergroup Boygenius), some pretty intense lows (the loss of her father and a breakup with longtime partner and fiancé Paul Mescal), and a chance at rebirth (finding love again with her new beau, Bo Burnham).
Unsurprisingly, her third album ‘Lost Weekend’ deals with these peaks and troughs – including the devastation of a broken heart and the exploration of the delirious emotions that only blooming love can provoke.
The title of the album itself is a powerful indicator – a possible reference to Charles Jackson’s 1944 novel, adapted a year later to the screen by Billy Wilder. The term refers to a multiple-day binge resulting in lost time, one which was also famously used to describe the 18-month period when John Lennon separated from Yoko Ono. But instead of blurring existential dramas by indulging in escapist attitudes, Bridgers confronts them and creates a reckoning – one which tallies pain, appraises loss, and accounts for grief to better achieve revival.
The result is an introspective and unpredictable opus which is, in a word, remarkable.
‘Lost Weekend’ opens in a moody fashion with ‘The Outside’, with Bridgers using a vocoder to create a robotic, Bon Iver-esque delivery. “Crying in a suit and tie / But you should see the other guy,” she sings.
The tone is set, as that the “other guy” seems to be her father in his casket… She then recalls stagediving and a feeling of dissociation that refers to both the loss of a loved one and dealing with the pressures of the spotlight – something she later explores on tracks like ‘Liberty Tree’ and ‘I Can’t Wait’.
Not only is it a haunting start to the album, but one that signals the rest of ‘Lost Weekend’ will feature swirling storytelling, filled with bleak and sharp-witted humour.
Lead single ‘Lost Boys’ follows, and with it a pop confession that she seems drawn to the titular breed. Once again, Bridgers’ talent for telling absorbing stories packed with complex heart-on-sleeve emotions is unparalleled.
“That one time in East Berlin / When you threw a tantrum with a 57 and broke a rib / You told me you wished you were dead / But I still don’t believe that / I still wonder how you’re sleeping / And I don’t feel bad, but I’m sorry.”
‘Kill Me’ is an early album standout, a ballad which mentions “Bobby” (presumably Burnham) and encapsulates the whirlwind of falling in love. Most striking is the song’s finale: a silent pause follows Bridges’ “Wait” before a goosebumb-inducing crescendo brings the track to a close.
Then comes the poignant ‘The Governor’s Waltz’, which is damn close to perfection. Following on from the love swell of the previous track, Bridgers recalls being “the belle of the governor’s ball” yet “hiding in the bathroom like Shelley Duvall.” The track has already been dissected by fans who hear the lines “And she can pretend to be me / Since she took my place in my bed on that stage / I have not lost any sleep / Being myself wasn’t easy, do it for me” and establish a direct reference to Mescal and his new relationship with Gracie Abrams.
To crudely crib Henry Miller, there are only three things to be done when it comes to romantic partners: love them, suffer for them or turn them into art, spinning the emotional pain into fuel – not only to take back control of the narrative but to achieve emotional release. That third aspect seems to be out in full force here, but it never feels vindictive or petty. It once again shows Bridgers’ knack for creating musically expansive ballads and compressing layered emotions into captivating lyricism.
Bo Burnham shows up again in ‘Bobby’ and does so repeatedly in ‘Lost Weekend’ as he co-wrote seven of the 16 tracks. ‘Bobby’ is an upbeat folk gem, which once again features some terrific lyrics, including: “Now I sleep in your shirts, and you live in my house / You sing in the shower, I talk to myself / We’ve got stars on the ceiling and clothes on the floor / And a thing in a box I don’t touch anymore…” The evocative picture she paints with the welcome inclusion of a cheeky punchline is bewitching.
There’s more quiet enchantment to be found in the hypnotic titular track, which hears Bridgers oscillate between past and present (“I’m supposed to be married, but I called it off” / “I’ve been known to throw a tantrum when things are not the way I imagine them“). She ends it with the stunning delivery of “You know me, and I’ll never forgive you for that” – a line echoed in its sister song, album closer ‘Lost Weekend (Reprise), which concludes with “You love me, and I won’t ever let you forget, not yet.”
Other highlights include the catchy country track ‘Haunted’ (featuring a delightful assist Boygenius bandmates Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker); the chilling ‘Still Standing’ and its heart-wrenching references to trauma and domestic violence; and the quietly poignant ‘Never Going Back!’, which ends with a voicemail recording from Bridgers’ dad.
The funereal yet oddly sweet ‘Other Plans’ describes someone “shaking like a final girl” and is one of her most beautiful songs to date, one which gradually leads the listener to the aforementioned ‘Lost Weekend (Reprise)’. Alongside the song ‘Lost Weekend’, the final track aptly encapsulates the album as a whole: an ambitiously crafted blend of indie folk with synthy bursts, filled with gut-punch emotion decrying from droll and candid revelations.
“He’s not coming back as a bird (…) But I still live by the things he taught me / Like how to forgive when they’re not sorry,” she sings about her father. And from the past comes a leap to the present, in which she’s “gonna be alright, me and you”.
The way Bridgers manages throughout her record to vividly entangle and juxtapose so many messy relationships that have defined her – and continue to so – is astonishing. Her deadpan melancholia and gutting observations on mourning alternate with euphoric disclosures on newfound love. Her stellar penmanship makes it all mesh together to better paint the picture of how life is nothing but an arduous yet invigorating succession of highs and lows.
Phoebe Bridgers, you have been missed over the past six years. Upon listening to this dense, captivating and brilliant album, it’s clear that we didn’t know quite how much.
‘Lost Weekend’ is out now.
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