Sprained Ankle was an album about addiction and depression. As with Sprained Ankle it feels like we’re getting unvarnished, almost uncomfortably personal pieces of realness from someone courageous enough to share what’s going on in the darkest parts of her mind. But those contributions, important though they may be, aren’t what matters here. Matthew Gilliam, Baker’s old bandmate in her high-school emo band Forrister, sings harmonies on “ Hurt Less,” the song about finally deciding that it’s worth the effort to wear a seatbelt for the first time in your life, about learning to care whether you live or die. Sorority Noise’s Cam Boucher, a guy who walks similar scorched-earth emotional ground in his own music, plays clarinet and saxophone on “Over” and on “ Appointments,” the shattering lead single.
Camille Faulkner plays strings on four proper songs, as well as on “Over,” the halfway-to-ambient intro track. But even though Baker made Turn Out The Lights without a whole lot more help, it feels like a vast leap forward, a major statement of an album.īaker’s not the only musician on Turn Out The Lights. On things like the swelling, cathartic conclusion of “Rejoice,” Baker channeled all the grand, demonstrative force of the church bands she played in as a kid and the post-hardcore that she played as a teenager. Baker produced that album, and she was the only musician who played on it, but it didn’t sound like some sketched-out, home-recorded lo-fi demo. That’s an album of remarkable sophistication, especially coming from someone who was just 19 when it came out. There were a few, too, on Sprained Ankle, the debut album that Baker released back in 2015. Turn Out The Lights is full of moments like that. I hear that part of that song, and I feel like I’m flying. But the effect is like a whole orchestra coming crashing down on you. Baker is the only musician on the song, and she’s just making it sound bigger through the power of effects pedals and multitracking. But now she’s just wailing it at the top of her lungs, and that guitar sound is building a whole cathedral around her. She’s singing that line again, the one about turning out the lights and finding only herself there. Then Baker’s voice comes back in, howling, roaring. Baker is singing quietly and gently, almost muttering, when she gives us these lyrics: “I just wanted to go to sleep / But when I turn out the lights / When I turn out the liiiiights / There is no one left between myself and me.” And then, for just a second, Baker’s voice goes quiet, while that churchy-organ sound draws itself up and out. There’s a minimal, reverby guitar strum with a hum in the background that sounds a bit like a church organ. There’s a part in “ Turn Out The Lights,” the title track from Julien Baker’s second album, that I wish I could grind into dust, dissolve into liquid, and then inject directly into my bloodstream.
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