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The Punisher lays bare a calming rot of depression, manifesting itself in aimless drifting atmospheres. With internal frictions, social worries and self deception explored, the record seems harmless in its meager meanderings. Instrumentals wade through the minimal and ambient with spells of swelling pushed on by the breathy motions of Phobe's voice. As a folksy Indie Rock singer, her plain voiced resonance and murmurous singing plays into this sleepy state. The music looses itself in pained vulnerabilities, deceptively feeble and soft yet oddly harrow and hopeless.
Is it the lack of gusto in her voice? She leans into a gentle tone to express hurts, such a contrast. To my ears, the album plays like a subtle oxymoron of sorts. Its timbre and temperament at odds with the difficulties its lyrics explored. Conceptually its a charm but in execution the music drifts by in limbo, unsure of itself, one foot in the morose and an other in dreamy illusions. Aesthetically gorgeous but emotionally confusing.
Punisher has been on my playlist for months now. The lack of hooks or keen melodies, not a crime of course, makes for a dreary experience of unsettled lingering. Its creeping moments of Americana bring about a grounded footing but these influences are brief at best. Otherwise I'm stuck with its lack of oomph. The perpetual meandering of the music comes across bleak, vague and restless. This may be more down to my preference in vocals as I rarely vibed with Phoebe's singing.
Rating: 5/10