"Shulamith" a Complex, Tragic Sophomore Work

Poliça’s “Shulamith” is all about layers. They’re everywhere in the record—synths hover over bass lines, while subtle tones from other synths hum in the background. Singer Channy Leaneagh’s vocals wander and meld with these multifaceted sounds, often granting the synth a prominent role while the lyrics border on indecipherable. Leaneagh’s vocals themselves are often obscured under strange mixtures of autotune, distortion and reverb. This veiled soundscape is often difficult to traverse, but with persistence a core of neurotic tragedy can be found. Those very layers create a suffocating feel that underscores the album’s poignant story. With “Shulamith,” Poliça have happened upon a compelling, immediate tone.

“Shulamith” flirts with themes that could pull it under the familiar classification of being a breakup album, but it belongs to the rare class of albums that have actually managed to capture the full complexity of said breakup and transcend it. It doesn’t allow itself to get caught up in the details, instead appealing to more universal emotional themes. “Shulamith” succeeds in painting a vivid, complicated picture of romantic desolation.

The album’s complex themes are reflected in its instrumentation and sonic landscape. These combine to create a uniquely dark sound, driven by the band’s two drummers. Poliça are commonly categorized as synthpop, but there is nothing poppy about this album.

“Shulamith” begins with a surprising amount of energy, considering the album’s bleak themes: “Chain My Name,” the album’s opener, is powered forward by driving drums, a twanging bass, and harsh, arpeggiated synthesizer. The nagging doubts that persist throughout the album are present even here, though, and in a significant way. “So are we made just to fight / All our lives?” Leaneagh’s fuzzy vocals ask at the outset. While the song is characterized by a driving beat, there is little real strength here. Instead, “Chain My Name” is dripping with nervous energy. “Chain my name beside you,” Leaneagh begs of her lover. The song mixes an awareness of impending collapse with a desperate plea for stability. It’s a captivating start to an album that will unflinchingly portray an emotional catastrophe.

It isn’t all panic, though; the record’s second song, “Smug,” trades the previous track’s neurotic angst for a deep, confused resentment. “No bother I’m through with you / It’s really quite confusing / You’re pushing me away and then you’re pulling,” Leaneagh croons. The song’s mood is quiet and confessional. Leaneagh’s vocals barely float on top of undulating synthesizers and occasionally have to struggle to the top of the mix. “You wear smug so very well / If you were in love with me I could never tell,” Leaneagh sings in the song’s chorus. “Smug,” in conjunction with “Chain My Name,” maps out the desolate emotional landscape that permeates the rest of the album.

The tragedy of “Shulamith” is unrelenting. The album avoids sentimentality altogether, replacing it with emotional vulnerability to one’s ex-lover. The ubiquitous bleakness of “Shulamith” is saved from being tiring through the compelling sense of self that persists throughout the work. Even though the album is littered with broken emotions, the consciousness behind the album is still strong and self-aware. The closest “Shulamith” comes to an anthem is “Torre” (and even that is only very remotely anthemic). “Who is the starlit, I am / Who is the harlot, I am / Who is the diamond, I am / Who is the lion, I am,” Leaneagh belts out during the chorus. These lyrics don’t shy away from flaws or strength. Instead, Poliça do something elegant and simple, juxtaposing strength and weakness in a jarringly direct manner.

The immaculate rendering of loss in “Shulamith” isn’t flawlessly successful in its execution—the album’s masked vocals, while stylistically fitting, often detract from the experience in their opacity. In describing a pain so immediate and gut-wrenching, the distant vocals are often more frustrating than intriguing.

It’s hard to fault an album for a slight deficiency in accessibility, though. Even considering the frustratingly indecipherable moments of Leaneagh’s performance, “Shulamith” reaches its goal with devastating efficacy. The album illustrates pain in a genuine, complicated, tortured way. “Shulamith” will reward those patient enough with a stunning and desolately rendered emotional landscape.