Cigarettes After Sex, “X’s.”

Greg Gonzalez of Cigarettes After Sex cuts straight to the chase when it comes to the meaning of X’s. He briefly references it in an intimate verse on the album’s opening track. It calls out Bert Stern’s Marilyn Monroe crucifix photos, taken weeks before her death.

For the elusive El Paso band, even the smallest details have impact. It’s a staple on its 2017 self-titled record and 2019’s Cry. Sun-kissed silhouettes, certain lipstick colors, reflections in the rearview—such simple snapshots unravel a love like the movies. Cinematic melodies from Gonzalez, Jacob Tomsky and Randall Miller drive that feeling home.

Where past releases swell with lust and fantasy, X’s grieves the love and loss of a lifetime.

X’s introduces its heroine through allusions of Monroe in boudoir and Marvel’s Silver Sable, specifically the “swimsuit special” edition. She stars in steamy vignettes from Gonzalez’s point of view, which slip into subconscious thoughts that give away the state of the relationship.

“I always will make it feel like you were the last one…/ Make you part of my life forever,” Gonzalez sings on “Tejano Blue,” not coming to terms that he’s holding onto someone who won’t stay.

He does the same on “Silver Sable,” singing “Stay with me now, I don’t want to feel lonely, know how you feel by the way that you hold me.”

Much of the record seems to dance between fact and fiction; what once was competing with what could have been. “Hideaway” recalls seaside flashbacks a la Jean-Luc Godard’s Pierrot le fou, but quickly crosses into escapism. “Dark Vacay,” “Dreams from Bunker Hill” and “Ambien Slide” sink into desperation and distraction, drowning such feelings with vices and what-ifs.

But moments of clarity come in like light shining through the cracks. As heard on “Hot,” grief endures but is met with tenderness.

“Is it all in my head? ‘Cause I keep getting scared that you’ll always be lost forever,” Gonzalez questions. He then counters: ”But I don’t give a shit if I’m too delicate. When you hold me, it’s always better.”

X’s doesn’t seek a resolution, nor does it seek to forget the pain. It chooses to remember the relationship for what it was in all its glory, beautiful but doomed. We even hear this in the record’s composition as it explores sounds that reframe Cigarettes After Sex’s signature melancholia.

“Tejano Blue” offers a Southern swing that complements the playful sway of ’80s-esque ballad “Holding You, Holding Me.” Layered with Gonzalez singing fondly, these tracks define bittersweet nostalgia.

Then there’s “Baby Blue Movie,” a personal favorite driven by soft-grunge riffs. It breaks away from any romanticization and confronts listeners with an urgent wake-up call about appreciating what you already have: “Don’t you know the love that you want is all the love that you needed?”

But perhaps the most striking use of melodic devices comes on “Hideaway.” Beyond its haunting bass notes and atmospheric chorus, the song finishes on an unexpected chord; an unresolved cadence. It foreshadows early on that X’s isn’t meant to be the end of this story. Instead, it lets the love Gonzalez sings of exist, its bruised beauty lingering in these 10 songs.

After all, X’s are more than just the markings on Marilyn Monroe photos. They’re also an old love, an abbreviated kiss and a variable for what’s unknown.