Written by: Dave Cantrell
Some records arrive on the heels of a fair amount of hype which inescapably raises a healthy skeptic’s eyebrow. ‘Surely,’ our purist heart asserts, ‘a great record should be able to speak for itself.’ Whereas the vast majority of all that pre-release boosterism does end up being nothing but an over-amped rhetorical smokescreen meant to mask the relative mediocrity at hand, on occasion it turns out to be the product of label reps’ and publicists’ enthusiasms spilling in a flood of well-deserved exuberance, the album in question being at least as good as all that advance embroidery said it was. Welcome to Sprinter, the sophomore effort from young Kansan Mackenzie Scott, AKA the all-cap TORRES.
What must be addressed and immediately are the PJ Harvey comparisons and outright stylistic nods whether intentional or not. Even as her stated influences range from Nirvana to Funkadelic, Bradbury to Didion, it’s likely still the case that one cannot be a fearless/vulnerable, sharp-tongued female singer-songwriter recording an album in Bridport, Dorset with Robert Ellis and Ian Olliver as your rhythm section – working together for the first time since Dry in 1992, the same year, it turns out, that TORRES was born – without giving birth to a sound whose DNA would seem to have at least a few, shall we say, Polly genes animating its various strands. All coincidences and regrettable wordplay aside, though, there’s no denying the power whipsawing through this record with a ferocious honesty and an energized dynamism regardless of tempo and, yes, that in itself reminds of Ms Harvey (or Annie Clark, or Star Anna, or Erika Wennerstrom, or any number of other unfuckwithable females making our heads spin and our hearts jump these days), but in effect has resulted in a work of singular appeal. Native talent unable to restrain itself is everywhere evident, highlights abundant.
The at-once intimate, fiercely independent and ultimately explosive “New Skin” takes its themes of bewildered indignation and burning self-belief far beyond the boundaries generally drawn for an artist of such relatively few years and comes out triumphant; a bit scathed, perhaps, but triumphant. Exquisitely enhanced, as the entire record, by the guitar and synth work of Portishead’s Adrian Utley, it’s hard to imagine a more powerful track baring its soul like this the rest of the year, except for, well, “Strange Hellos,” maybe, opening the album with rage and sympathy equally inchoate inside an L-7-shaped shell of ruthless finesse, or maybe the quietly excoriating introspection slash romantic critique of “Ferris Wheel” that manages to wander into a slice of Vashti territory while maintaining its corrugated heart’s edge, all vaguely disorienting atmospherics and confession-rich brocade. But wait, we need consider “Sprinter” itself, churning then delicate (there’s that Nirvana influence, then), wistful in its chorus but unsettled – a little angry even – with that wistfulness, eventually making peace via a sort of mortal compromise, midway between a bruised acceptance and a residual defiance redolent of what she refers to as her “Southern conservative roots” (There’s freedom from, and freedom to / and freedom to run from everyone // But what I did is what is done / the Baptist in me chose to run)
The way the artist known as TORRES approaches the often wrenching world of internal conflict isn’t with a pinched anguish though, but rather with a (hopefully) liberating face-to-faceness, opting for an artfully wrought confrontational style that makes for a redemptive, enduring songcraft that speaks emotion-to-emotion with the listener. Sprinter isn’t background music, it captures even in passing and you listen.
That intensity of course gets applied to the uneasier, more dramatic tracks such as the naked, raw-nerved “Son, You Are No Island” with its constant, unnerving, minor key guitar ping keeping the footing perfectly off-balance, or “The Harshest Light”‘s merciless beauty and lash that holds Sprinter‘s most immediate hook inside its quiet loud push and pull and is possibly the record’s best-realized song (which, granted, is saying something), but as well the record’s lighter moment, “Cowboy Guilt,” employing a Residents-like electronic mischief, Deerhoofian surprise, and a base rhythm modeled on Native American drum patterns from classic Westerns to get its self-evident point across with as much vigor and conviction as any straight-up ballad could hope to produce.
Due the can’t-turn-away visceral drive of the songwriting, even when the pace of the album dips somewhat down the end of the tracklisting – the two 7+ minute tracks, “Ferris Wheel” and the almost painfully close-in, ruminative “The Exchange,” sandwich “The Harshest Light” – the (truly) unadulterated power remains undiminished, further representing the arrival of an artist quite suddenly and indisputably at the peak of her considerable abilities. So yeah, you will hear a lot of hype around this release trumpeting TORRES as a major new talent. Well, this time, believe it. We’ll all be eagerly following her for years, if not decades.
