Adrianne Lenker’s 'songs' and 'instrumentals' Emerge from the Woods

As the lead singer and guitarist of Big Thief, Adrianne Lenker spins elements of folk rock into a delicate but visceral sound without compare. Big Thief’s two most recent studio albums, released just months apart last year, showcased a quartet of compassionate musicians with a deep reverence for their art. On Oct. 23, Lenker once again dazzled listeners with a duo of albums — except this time, without her bandmates. Recorded in a secluded New England cabin in the early stages of the coronavirus pandemic, “songs” and “instrumentals” contend with the idea of finding closeness in isolation.

With the help of recording engineer Philip Weinrobe, Lenker let the newfound quiet amplify her creativity. In an interview with the New Yorker, she described the cabin itself as “like the inside of an acoustic guitar” — the instrument that takes center stage in both albums, accompanied by minimal percussion and the occasional burst of thunder or birdsong.

As Lenker’s music plays, snippets of ambient noise envelop her voice and guitar as naturally as if she had asked the woods to contribute a backing track. Her connection to her surroundings is at its strongest in “instrumentals,” two songs whose pristine tranquility somehow feels both improvisatory and deliberate.

The first of these two songs, “music for indigo,” moves along at such a leisurely tempo that it draws attention to the gaps between motifs more often plucked than strummed, where the sounds of the cabin gradually replace the decaying notes. Its soothing lilt is no coincidence — Lenker intended the track as a lullaby for her former partner. The next track, “mostly chimes,” remains true to its name as a brief guitar intro gives way to a chorus of jingling wind chimes.

Lenker wrote the albums while still reeling from a breakup, and her determination to explore the newfound emptiness in her life may explain her focus on the silence between notes. “Now there isn’t anyone to text; there are no love messages coming through. I feel so empty,” she told the New Yorker. I want to understand—what is this feeling of emptiness? Is that me? Am I just hollow and empty? Or is emptiness actually something beautiful?”

Lenker’s voice, hovering between vulnerable fragility and self-assured precision, adds another layer of magic to the 11 tracks of “songs.” The album opens with the up-tempo guitar flourish that forms the foundation of “two reverse,” its quickly ascending notes reappearing to introduce each verse. The chorus cycles through a kaleidoscope of colors that evoke the memory of a loved one: “Light blue, dark blue, grey / Crimson trail,” she sings, her voice rising and falling as she names each hue.

The album’s third track and lead single, “anything,” captures the agonizing complexity of a lost relationship in its forthright lyrics. Warm memories of doing laundry and shopping for groceries are interspersed with sharp, violent images — a Christmas Eve dinner that spirals into a fight, a dog bite that leads to an ER visit. “I don’t wanna talk about anything,” Lenker starts each chorus before repeating the phrase a step lower as the impossibility of her wishes sets in.

Several other songs attempt to portray Lenker’s constantly shifting perception of romance as her attitude fluctuates between devotion and disappointment. Her description of her partner in “forwards beckon rebound” embodies her uncertainty: “Villain and violent, infant and innocent.” On “half return,” she reckons with how someone who once meant so much to her caused her immense pain. “Honey in your mouth when you gave me my name / Tears in your eyes when you pull it likе a chain,” she sings in the second verse, lingering on the same note as if refusing to let go of the memory just yet.

Sung from the perspective of a dying parent to their daughter, “come” approaches death with hauntingly straightforward acceptance. “Don’t be afraid, my girl,” begins the chorus. Despite containing just one verse and chorus, the track is the album’s longest at over five minutes — exemplifying how Lenker harnesses emptiness as so much more than a simple lack of sound.

The final track, “my angel,” concludes the album on a gentle note. When Lenker starts to sing halfway through the track, she exalts the titular angel as a savior whose presence brings safety and love. “She kisses my eyelids and my wrists,” Lenker sings, bringing closure to the longing to “kiss, kiss your eyes again” that she expresses in “anything.” As her music blurs the boundaries of song and silence, she finds the beauty that lives where they meet.

—Staff writer Clara Nguyen can be reached at clara.nguyen@thecrimson.com.