Puberty 2

There are fewer moments of complete chaos, giving over instead to more detailed-oriented dissections of experiences from puberty. While this might sound like dangerous territory for an artist who’s known for searing riffs and vicious live performances that include screaming into the pickups of her guitar, Mitski uses her voice to measure the slightest nuances within complex emotions.

A visceral work that shares the immediacy of classic punk and confessional singer/songwriter fare at once, Puberty 2 takes listeners behind closed doors with the kind of no-holds-barred lyrics that are likely to leave a lasting impression.

Puberty 2 isn’t shaped like an opus; it’s jagged and slight and the auteur has already expressed second thoughts about the liberties taken with its addiction-themed coda. But it’s a high-watermark of post-irony indie, a cracked safe of perspectives previously unheard in lump-throated punk.

Mitski Miyawaki's songwriting prowess makes it into something special.

On Puberty 2, every note she's played comes together. It’s a resounding personal statement and the clearest sign that while she might be an “indie rock” artist, she currently stands apart from--and above--much of the genre.

It's sometimes easy to forget that Mitski didn't technically enter the greater music consciousness until last year, and what makes that worth pointing out is that despite her hitting her stride and turning out the most accomplished album of her career yet, she sounds like she's only getting started.

Consider the context of the odd drum machine and her monotone delivery, giving more emotional weight to her words and that pause, and the contrast provided when the riotous saxophone comes in. Other highlights include the gorgeous harmonies of “I Bet on Losing Dogs” and the Pixies-inspired “Dan the Dancer” and “My Body’s Made of Crushed Little Stars.”

Her most assured album yet and one that will undoubtedly garner her some well-deserved attention.

Mitski’s boldness is hugely impressive, and couple that with the fact the record is so expertly mixed and edited, she has produced one of the year’s more complete LPs.

Mitski’s career has been one of anonymous toil followed by intense critical promise with Bury Me at Makeout Creek, at last delivered upon with blinding clarity in Puberty 2.

Mitski may not be any taller or feel like any less of a child, yet Puberty 2 is a monument built high, visible to more and more.

The songs sway with gravitas and hit home whether you’re wrestling with innate and confounding dependence (‘Crack Baby’) or trying to pilot your own mental health (‘Happy’), Mitski feels dedicated to those who, for once, just want to set their own pace.

Puberty 2 leaves no stone unturned in its attempt to make grim tales seem even worse than you could possibly imagine. It’s a brutally tough shock to the system, one that will leave its trace for years to come.

The album is simultaneously beautiful and shocking, its razor-sharp originality infinitely relatable.

It may have been exhausting and painful to put down on record, but listening to it is anything but.

Puberty 2 is full of isolation, anxiety and loss, with the idea at its centre that happiness eventually becomes sadness and despair. Mitski switches between airy minimalism and bursts of loose, wild rock as she navigates these tempestuous waters.

Her lyrics are folk-like in that they seem ancient yet new, delivered by a voice that's both angelic and sharp as a whip-crack. [#361, p.112]

There are reminders of St. Vincent on "Happy" and "Thursday Girl," while "A Loving Feeling" boasts The Breeders' punkish brevity. [Jul 2016, p.78]

Equal amounts tender and wild, Mitski places power in vulnerability. Validating every topsy turvy emotion, Puberty 2 is a soundtrack of self-awareness and self-acceptance at its most real.

Featuring crunchy guitars, squeals of feedback and masterful melodicism, comparisons to Pinkerton are inevitable, but there's more nuance and maturity at work here.