January 19th, 2017 | Album reviews

Secretly Canadian

Clementine Creevy, the woman behind the gracefully phrased vocals and angular guitar tones of Cherry Glazerr, has managed to straddle a crucially zeitgeist-pertinent line between ‘90s nostalgia and elementally millennial subject matter on Apocalipstick. The album is the second full-length from the young trio, and Creevy remains the only presence from 2014’s Haxel Princess. She sounds like a survivor. As the western world grapples with a precarious shift in societal paradigm, the apocalyptic world she describes—from underwear worn three days straight to the land that’s supposed to be free—sounds achingly current. Hell is now. Fuzz bass and heavy drums (over which one can picture Killer Bob sprinting) lay a foundation for her Dolores O’Riorden-esque urgency, and even as she laments and snarls, everything sounds so perfectly articulated. She sings teasingly of trash people and of those who know they are hypocrites on the internet, surfs her way through Tapatío baked into the pizza and steak fajitas on “Humble Pro”, and bears her raw heart on the mournful “Nuclear Bomb”, a particular high water mark for its melodrama, with the lyric “All the souls are swimming in a bathtub” particularly soothing for any soft heart pining for the days when MTV played music videos. The title track nails the coffin shut without any vocals but rather a metalloid sludge through the end-times detritus we recognize from our newsfeeds. The end of times are upon us, or so it feels, and Clementine has captured them for us.

— Christina Gubala