Photo of Lucy Dacus by Shervin Lainez
Lucy Dacus excels at naming the thoughts and memories that linger in the creepy-closet backs of our minds. Her songs drape perceptive observations about queer identity, wincing sepia-toned sleepaway camp awakenings, and general-grade emo longing in a slowly enveloping gothic indie-folk grandeur. It’s no surprise that her natural emotional intelligence, and ever-increasing songwriting prowess, has led to Forever Is a Feeling, a record that wastes no time in diving headfirst into a pool of all-consuming desire.
After a brief (and in my case, cat-startling) orchestral intro, the lush strum of “Big Deal” cuts straight to the thematic heart of the album: the feeling of wanting someone so badly that it may immolate you in the process. Its lyrics detail two friends confessing their feelings to each other on the eve of one of their weddings; it’s filled with the nervous tension of agreeing to pretend it never happened, and believing that things can go back to the way they were, even though they so rarely do. This is a vibe that’s echoed later on in the loping, ethereal title track, where Dacus sings “I crossed a line, and you followed close behind.”
“Ankles” creeps along on staccato strings reminiscent of Lou Reed’s “Street Hassle,” before being joined by early 1990s synth pads and a rollicking beat. It’s a song equally about building detailed fantasies about being with someone as it is letting your guard down enough for the chance for that fantasy to ever have a shot at becoming reality in the first place. The album closing “Lost Time” radiates the shuffling, resigned heartbreak of late 1980s Springsteen. But instead of mourning what’s been had and lost, it mourns what wasn’t exactly had in the first place, but feels the devastating loss of just the same.
The alluring “Limerence” has the stately romantic chords of an old pop standard, and lyrically, the racing internal monologue of a person torn between the object of their titular feeling and someone (a partner? themself?) they’re trying so very hard not to betray. The hair-raising way Dacus sings “the stillness might eat me alive,” over trilling piano, is enough to break anyone’s heart. Meanwhile, the twinkling “Modigliani,” which boasts an infectious, almost Peter Gabriel-esque rhythm, has a subtext that’s difficult to miss given Dacus’ recent revelation that she’s in a relationship with her boygenius bandmate Julien Baker. Lines such as “I like watching you win over a new crowd, you can make ‘em go wild, you can leave ‘em spellbound, but you will never be famous to me” could be about anybody. But they probably aren’t.
Forever Is a Feeling’s best moments are so dense with graceful melodies, big feelings, and keen observations that it can make otherwise lovely songs like the Hozier duet “Bullseye” feel a bit slight, almost like a quarter that slipped out of a pocket and under the couch cushions. Despite clocking in at a standard 44 minutes, the album is almost exhausting in its examinations of desire. But I suspect that’s on purpose. Dacus has a knack for wrapping the lyrical grace of a poet in modern vernacular, and uses it to put the listener inside the tortured head of her narrator. It’s no easy task to make something so personal feel universal enough to sustain interest, and it makes for a record that’s equal parts elation and dejection, guilt and certainty. Anyone who’s ever been crushing hard, let alone felt the unshakeable obsessive attraction of limerence, will be to Dacus’ chronicle of an experience that vacillates between never wanting it to end and wanting it to end right now. As she sings in the almost jaunty “Best Guess”—“but I don’t want to be fine, I want you, you, you.” Every romantic hangup needs a soundtrack to see it through. Forever Is a Feeling is a worthy, and occasionally engrossing, addition to that canon. | Mike Rengel
Lucy Dacus just announced a summer/fall tour in support of Forever Is a Feeling, including a September 15 date at Stifel Theatre. See her full itinerary below!
