So perhaps this is the new core tension of St. Vincent’s music. Less so a fixation on the contrast between what’s real and fake, St. Vincent conveys a mutual horror and wonder at the inescapability that these worlds are now intertwined. The record is burbling and anxious and, as ever, intentionally distant. It’s also the realization of St. Vincent becoming herself, much in the way we all need to in the digital era. There’s a spiritual reckoning happening there, a maybe nascent, maybe subliminal need to believe that the landscape of the internet can be made legible and manipulated in the same way as any of the other abstract rules that have governed our society in the past. Once you understand the code, you can move within it and bend it to your will. Recreate yourself. Fragment yourself, if that’s what you want; maybe the other side of dilution is transcendence, too. After all, if you bunch them close enough together, zeroes and ones can look like anything. They can look like life.

- You have no idea what I’m going through right now.
- Then tell me. That’s how this works. You talk to me about it so that I can take your hand and fucking walk through this shit with you. That is what I signed up for, okay? But I cannot do that if you won’t let me in.