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GRacie Abrams’ third album is a crime thriller. In all 16 songs, the US songwriter wrote knots, blades, bullets, knives, more knives, ghosts, cages, drugs, car accidents, blood, funerals, burning tires, choking, burning buildings, sinking ships, drowning, more blood, bloody knees and more knives. It’s called Daughter From Hell’s acknowledgment of how the 26-year-old messed up her parents’ views as a carefree teenager, part of a larger chapter about when to blame others for her pain, and when to accept responsibility. Obviously, there’s a lot of poetic license involved in portraying these stark revelations, but the tension between Abrams’ emotional turmoil and the music’s persistent, tremulous beauty is the real, unrelenting problem with this bloodless record.
In one sense, Abrams has had a huge influence on pop. Her first bedroom songs inspired Olivia Rodrigo to write Driver’s License, which led to the former Disney star’s rapid and continuous self-expression. However, for the most part, Abrams is the sum of his influences: you don’t have to listen hard to listen to the music of Lorde, the friendship of Phoebe Bridgers or the strong stories of Taylor Swift, who was supported by Abrams on the Eras tour. In Swift he also shares the producer in the National’s Aaron Dessner, a collaborator in Bon Iver (his jump-threatening falsetto appears on two songs here, and he plays throughout), and of course the sound of pearlescent songs of Folklore, injected with whispers of stomp-womb power. Such a mixture of melodrama and songs sung as mysteries means that Abrams’ audience confuses young people: his songs have the feeling that he is the only person in the world struggling with big ideas, as life is often in adolescence. For any adult, his music may sound a little primitive.
What does Abrams have? On the restraining stage, the indie-girl’s shrill vocals often sound like she’s singing while standing on a body shaker. As a composer, although his music is often composed of large melodies, his words do not conform to the traditional repetitive music; they like to release stories for a few minutes, distracting their self-aware mind until it’s time to run away or fight or kiss. He knows well how people hurt themselves and each other: A good reason hides the secret of why the good guys who bleed for you can be unpleasant; on Look at My Life, he sings, “I’ve been thinking hard / Taking drugs like every night”, evoking the usual tension of a generation that has never seen any reason to believe that good will ever end. His head banging eventually builds to a beautiful crescendo, as close as things get to recklessness.
Daughter from Hell elevates 2024’s The Secret of Us to more filigree songs. Rare times when it comes to rich decorations are the best. The chorus of Break My Heart has an angry attitude; The competition for Men Like You sharpens as Abrams alternates his shorthand with a jab at the character he used. At times, the scale feels too necessary for the music to work in arenas where the once-shy singer is now the headliner: Knife allows phone calls to be played, but for a good reason Mazzy Star’s Fade In You is covered in transparent glass. Just a rollicking, distorted guitar, the title track apologizes to Abrams’ mother and is obviously meant to be a show, but its beauty reflects the stability of the first episode: Abrams plays like boilerplate wedding vows, and, over the course of the album, we don’t really learn how he raised the hell.
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Of the smaller songs, Death Wish is the most touching, its sweet taste accentuating the seemingly age-defying lyrics. Otherwise, the saccharine sound is as suffocating as too much icing sugar. Drops murmur like rain on a branch as Abrams whispers about the weeds of his generation: these sentiments are valid, especially from a rare young man who talks about politicsbut it is inevitably blocked. The good world began with the eloquent statement, What If It’s Right? quickly wear thin as Abrams and guest Marcus Mumford bludgeon the head of death. When they are worried about whether the separation will be reasonable, you may want to shout just get over it already. The emphasis on 1-2-3, 1-2-3 in Mews is like seasickness.
The most interesting omission from Daughter of Hell is that of Audrey Hobert, a close friend of Abrams, who co-wrote six songs on The Secret of Us. Hobert has been emerging as a pop star for his unconventional lyrics and unconventional storytelling; apparently the separation is meant to preserve the purity of their voices while pursuing similar tasks. Hobert only gets one writing credit here, on a matchmaker called Minibar who teased him last summer. It’s a very different version of Hobert’s Bowling Alley – the mysterious scene changes as a newbie feels at odds with the conversation – and the second song of Daughter of Hell mentions that she feels weird at the party (Look at My Life), however, the sudden injection of pep from a strong, instantly recognizable voice is easy. You can see why Abrams keeps his crime shows so confusing: three albums in, you’re still hard-pressed to pick him out of the police lineup.
