Little Scream:The Golden Record

9/10 dropps

Featuring some airy, choir-like pipes, Little Scream’s Secretly Canadian debut, The Golden Record, effortlessly beckons the celestial, all while employing a range that’s equally gritty and full of some serious backbone. On one hand, she baits listeners’ ears with classical and lush piano and string arrangements. On the other hand, she pummels ears with crunchy guitars. And while she employs a multitude of backing voices and swollen reverb, do not be fooled into thinking it’s a crutch. Little Scream, a.k.a. Laurel Sprengelmeyer, is the real deal.

The Golden Record starts on a note of serene simplicity. “Amahl” is lifted to an amplified choir by a cycle of dosado stomps and an oscillating bass line. Little touches like eerie whistling and loud, percussive sounds cracking in the background add wonderful textures. Guitars, thunderous kick drums, and shimmering keyboards intensify, until the choir of voices hang over alone, giving the album a strong, looming opener. “Cannons,” picks up right from the end of “Amahl” with instant obscurity: broken backing vocals and a playful piano riff. It is driven through its verses by a backbone of distorted guitars. Before the song even gets the chance to get cute, it explodes through its verses with thick and gritty guitars, giving Little Scream a tough edge. The edge finds its way again on “Guyegaros,” an Old West tale of a snakeskin-laden savior with a pistol. On the strength of imagery like altars and themes of faith, the song becomes ripe with religious tones in the deserts of the American Southwest. The song is driven home by the words of the snakeskin pistoleer, “Guyegaros, put down your guitar and meet me in the choir.” “Boatman” is a song that best sums up The Golden Record, a mixture of absolute, classical beauty and a pummeling assault of instruments so fluid and well-crafted that the two become one in the same. It’s got a baroque kind of quality, given its playful piano and diving violins, but it soon bleeds into something dark with thick, fuzzy guitars and a turret of exploding snares. Quickly after, the pianos return and the song dissipates, leaving the listener wanting more.

There is a soft side to Little Scream that shows she is just as flooring as she is gritty. And on “The Heron and the Fox,” which features some guest finger-plucked guitar work from The National’s Aaron Dessner, there’s a sort of aching beauty that flows out with lines like, “Caroline as my witness, I never meant to cause you pain.” From start to finish, The Golden Record is an exceptionally well-woven album; each listen an emotional investment. Little Scream’s balance of beauty and grit is a major strength, and is as soothing as it is tough.

-Eric Quituqua