Laurel Hell

Laurel Hell follows suit in Mitski’s determined approach, and the resulting album is a sophisticated and magnetic collection of songs. But more than that, it’s Mitski trusting herself, confidently blazing forward into the next decade of her storied career.

That ‘Laurel Hell’ exists only because it almost didn’t gives it its power. It provides the space for her mastery of songwriting, and Patrick Hyland’s understated yet orchestral production places Mitski in a realm all her own.

She stated that the album's title refers to the laurel bushes that grow in the Southern Appalachians in the US, where they're just as beautiful as they are isolated. She shows us these qualities of beauty and isolation are often two sides of the same coin, and can be married to uncover the intricate corners of a person's full truth.

The songs are shinier, the arrangements more elegant, Mitski’s voice more aching than ever.

Watching the arc of Mitski’s career, you might expect bombast, but “Laurel Hell” instead highlights the singular insistence of self that made Mitski into the hero she became, even if it comes in the form of honest mid-tempo melancholy.

If Laurel Hell is anything to go by, Mitski is only getting better.

This is a record you can dance to, even if it’s also a record you can cry to. The sum is an inspiring record both for the creator and the listener.

A bit of a slow builder with an almost cinematic trajectory.

She’s constantly observing and interrogating herself. Her melodies are long-breathed and deliberate, sung with calm determination, while the arrangements, largely constructed by Mitski and her longtime producer Patrick Hyland, veer between austere, exposed meditations and perky, danceable propulsion.

‘Laurel Hell’ is a big album that demands to be known, full of indie-pop wonders and most of her most moving ballads yet.

Laurel Hell can feel, at first, like an impenetrable record, full of guarded gloss and pop production that feels more like cold caution than anthemic summoning. That’s exactly Mitski’s point. ... More often than not, the songs about personal turmoil double as self-conscious career commentary.

It’s as though she’s thrown a jumble of ideas up in the air without thinking too much about where they land. At times, this means her sixth record feels refreshingly free and at others a little too sketchy. But it’ll still make her fans think, sigh, shrug and smirk.

After exploring the isolation of feeling like a “nobody“, Mitski’s explorations of being somebody prove just as compelling.

When Mitski veers jauntier and more upbeat, the album soars.

Her balance of mesmerising, confessional intensity with sculpted pop instincts remains an unfailing pleasure throughout. [Mar 2022, p.85]

While not as conceptually taut as its forebear, the new record plays like a jolt back to reality — and a sprint toward the dance floor. It is, by many leagues, the most objectively fun Mitski album to date, anchored by the pairing of ‘80s-tastic “The Only Heartbreaker” and “Love Me More.”

The songs, reworked with producer Patrick Hyland over a three-year period, shapeshift in time to the lyrics. [Mar 2022, p.32]

Whilst Laurel Hell doesn’t necessarily feel like a new Mitski album, her talent as a songwriter is strong enough to support these new contexts to her storytelling. Her cleverly crafted lyrics captivates listeners without ruining her enigmatic persona.

The record does peter out a little with the closing few songs, and it can’t be said that Mitski has broken significantly new ground. Still, she’s as enchanting as ever.

To say that it is the least compelling of her Dead Oceans records is also to acknowledge the stratospheric standard she has set. Laurel Hell still has wrenching lines and artful melodies, proof that Mitski’s every move operates at a baseline level of virtuosity. The existence of the album in and of itself feels climactic.

Despite Laurel Hell‘s unevenness, Mitski’s persistent vulnerability makes her music inherently beautiful and honest, reminding us all of how primal and painful the experience of being human is.

She’s emerged from the thickets of Laurel Hell more assured than ever before.

While almost all of the songs on Laurel Hell, taken individually, make for strong additions to Mitski’s catalog, the melodies and production start to feel interchangeable from track to track through the album, and with relatively few curveballs thrown into the mix, there is a feeling of sameness that starts to settle in on repeat listens. ... This album shines the brightest in the moments when Mitski and her producer/collaborator Patrick Hyland lean into their more avant-garde impulses.

Mitski frequently mixes the pre-COVID love song trope about the danger of opening one’s heart to a stranger with the more contemporary fear of just going out into the world. She keeps the details vague.

For someone who has historically bared it all in her work, it’s frustrating to hear Mitski craft songs with such surface-level musicality. Still, on a lyrical level, she conjures wonderful tales of sorrow and desire, with a pointed sense of brevity and a newfound ability to just let things go.