On “Coast,” Deal combines blunt, end-of-the-road storytelling with a haunting mix of trumpet and trumpet, creating the image of the tropical rogue smiling through bleak moments. “Sure, all my life I've been a fool,” she sings over his midtempo sunshine pop, her rap swelling from the elaborate arrangement. “I tried to hit hard but I blew it/But it doesn't even matter/It's just human to want a way out/It's human to want to win.” What might otherwise sound like harsh reflection becomes friendly wisdom in Deal's delivery, life-saving horns blaring amid her sweet melodies. Deal said the song was inspired by her experience trying to dry out on Nantucket in the late '90s—years when the Breeders' platinum-selling momentum Last Splash derailed by addiction struggles. Dill watched young cities surf, thinking, How nice to be a man who does things outside in the daylight! Her honest storytelling makes “Coast” the most vivid song No one loves you morelike the tale of an illegal longshoreman, whose levity is his own triumph.
The best moments are when Deal slows down and stretches out like a reverie, recalling, more than any other band, her wonderful cover of Chris Bell's “You And Your Sister” with This Mortal Coil in 1991. The shocking ” Are You Mine?” it's a '50s-style doo-wop slow-burner inspired by a time Dill's mother, who was battling Alzheimer's, passed her across the hall: Her question—“Are you mine? Are you baby?”—became the song's hazy hook, the pedal steel teardrop. The languid chug of “Wish I Was” has the feel of a track, like a lost psych-pop Love tune that longs mindlessly for a return to youth. These atmospheric songs depend on tiny details: the rise of a Beatles-esque guitar solo, the heavenly harmonies that tumble down, the sudden admission that “I may find deep sorrow waiting for me at the end.” Deal mocks “Summerland” as an alt-rock Sinatra or post-grunge Gershwin wistfully: “I hear music blowing in the breeze.”
The Rat Pack style of “Summerland” and the easy groove of “Coast” carry the reassuring memory of older generations. Knowing that Deal wrote these tunes while losing her parents, you understand why she would want to immerse herself in such comforting spaces. The elegiac title track, too, feels like a sweeping ode to the way that, even as we drift through life, love becomes an anchor. Like most people No one loves you morethe statement of enduring adoration also marks Deal's final collaboration with her late friend Steve Albini, with whom she once worked on the timeless, screamingly high harmonies of “Where Is My Mind” and the Breeders' sensuous masterpiece. Peel. It's nice, even deep No one loves you more we found these unknown indie legends tracking an orchestra and a band together at Electrical Audio—a radical left turn that expands our images of two artists best known for their efficiency. What could be cooler?
All products featured on Pitchfork are independently selected by our editors. However, when you purchase something through our retail links, we may earn an affiliate commission.
