Somewhere around Juno’s ninth or tenth track, the phantasmagoria begins to feel surprisingly monochromatic, and the idea of Wolf toning it down starts to sound appealing. In “Quiet on Set,” Wolf sings about how she doesn’t want to “be a Debbie Downer.” But it would be a shame to let a commitment to danceable music or a wacky persona hold her back from exploring her artistic range. On the frenetic “Quiet on Set,” Los Angeles is a dizzying movie lot where everything feels like it could fold up and roll away at any moment on closer “Street You Live On,” Wolf contorts her voice until a song about feeling torn apart by a breakup sounds like a playground chant.Īn appealing weariness underlines these songs: Just listen to the squeaky three-part harmonies of “Front Tooth” that squeal, “This just don’t feel like it’s supposed to.” In Wolf’s relentlessly upbeat world, where everything glows in the dark and almost every chorus is chanted, Juno finds tension when it lets a bit of melancholy seep in, as on the muted coda of “Volkiano,” or the playful production of “Sally,” whose incongruous pairing of acoustic guitar and a high-tempo electronic drum break sounds like a set-up for a punchline, but instead disarms with its earnestness. Bright and hallucinogenic as the music may be, “Liquor Store” is about Wolf’s experience getting sober, and through all the gags, Juno is an album about fitting uncomfortably into adulthood. But hidden between the wry asides and na-na-na choruses are murmurs of discontent. The lyrics are so full to the margins with wisecracks that it can be hard to discern a narrative arc––or, really, any way to engage other than sitting back, pulling on the weed pen, and sharing the giggle. Wolf has said she wants her music to be “upbeat and danceable,” and that’s certainly true of Juno: Whether soulful or playful, happy or numb, every line and note is crammed into the kooky aesthetic. Seconds into opener “Liquor Store,” it’s woven into sour-sweet harmonies with the twang of a Duane Allman guitar lick. But every ounce of sunshine is tempered by grit Wolf’s voice retains its powerful rasp even when she stretches it into absurd shapes. The first half of the album is entirely co-produced by Wolf with collaborator Jared “Solomonophonic” Solomon, whose groovy riffs and guitar shredding lend heft to the songs’ squiggly squelches. Wolf’s style manages to be funky without sounding cloyingly retro at times the production on Juno is so shiny it edges toward hyperpop fluorescence.
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