St. Vincent

Like a multiracial student, St. Vincent would have trouble checking off her proper category on a SAT test. Her third LP, Strange Mercy, is hard to box: Art rock? Orchestral pop? Indie? Her lyrical approach is even reminiscent of American folk in its deceptive simplicity.

With her multi-layered album opener, “Chloe in the Afternoon,” St. Vincent, also known as Annie Clark, sets the tone for a genre-bending album. Light, angelic choral voices are foiled by bursts of rough electric guitar, with St. Vincent’s clear, feminine voice layered in between. St. Vincent demonstrates her knack for using simple instruments in complex ways, creating a rich, if overwhelming, panoply of sound that screeches to a halt after a disorienting two minutes and 55 seconds.

Which isn’t to say that Strange Mercy is, in its entirety, too amoprhous to be enjoyable. “Cruel” has a more recognizable rock vibe, while “Dilettante” is particularly catchy—St. Vincent’s sweet, controlled voice carries the tune through a maze of electric guitar contortions. Some songs, such as “Cheerleader,” are also intensely personal: “I’ve played dumb/ When I knew better/ Tried so hard/ Just to be clever.”

The title track, which expresses gentle, even maternal, melancholy, conveys a clear emotional counterpoint to the surrounding songs. Her lilting voice features prominently, interrupted only by a pining instrumental break midway. She delivers food for thought in a sort of thesis summarizing the tug and pull between her demure demeanor and confrontational guitar: “Oh little one, I’d tell you good news that I don’t believe/ If it would help you sleep/ Strange mercy.”

Strange Mercy’s unabashed alternativeness causes some discomfort, but the carefully crafted tension between the sounds and words yields an engaging and immersive album.