There are few things as nostalgic as pulling out a home movie on VHS and seeing your childhood self. Running around in dress-up clothes, with high-pitched voices or even a full set of baby teeth, home videos often conjure memories and feelings of a time when life was simpler. On Lucy Dacus’ third solo album, Home Video, she tells coming-of-age stories full of childhood memories, how religion was taught to be cherished, how discovering sexuality was confusing and how teenage relationships felt like they’d last a lifetime. She channels stories of the church and crushes on girls into poetic lyrics, paired alongside quieter tracks with ambient noises and easy electric guitar playing.

Her first album since 2018’s Matador and the collaborative EP boygenius, with Julien Baker and Phoebe Bridgers, Home Video is an achievement in storytelling and nostalgia. Emphasized by intimate lyrics and the unique perspective of a millennial still growing and learning, the songs are penned entirely by Dacus, who also plays guitar, piano and synths on each of the tracks. Her words are conversational, written in long verses and often lacking the traditional verse to chorus structure.

“Hot and Heavy” opens the album with quiet synths but picks up pace as Dacus sings of returning home and remembering a relationship that was confined to the basement of their parent’s home. “Now you’re a firecracker on a crowded street/ Couldn’t look away even if I wanted/ Try to walk away but I come back to the start,” she sings, unable to forget those intimate moments before life became a responsibility.

There’s a great deal of religious influence ingrained in Home Video that Dacus retained from her upbringing in Norfolk, Virginia. It’s most apparent in “VBS” (Vacation Bible School), where she talks about teenage angst and discovering her sexuality. “Back in the cabin, snorting nutmeg in your bunk bed/ You were waiting for a revelation of your own,” she sings, recalling a moment of solitude when everyone else was at worship.

Songs like “Christine” and “Cartwheel” lack a repeating chorus and show how well she is at composing and telling stories. A light piano leads the simultaneously dreamlike and sad “Christine.” Leaving Christine (a friend or lover; it’s unclear) to go back to her man is painful for Dacus. She admits she’d throw a fit at the alter if they married. “I’d rather lose my dignity than lose you to somebody who won’t make you happy,” she sings at the close of the song.

In “Going, Going Gone” she recounts another youthful relationship, watching a boy grow into a man and have his own daughter. During the outro, an array of backing vocals come in, including collaborators Bridgers and Baker, and even singer Mitski. It ends with studio chatter and a light smattering of applause. The engineer remarks, “that was great,” to which Dacus chuckles and responds, “I owe y’all whatever you ask of me for the rest of my life.” Moments of levity like this, situated after the melancholic lyrics, remind us of her artistry and the creativity poured into the songs. 

“Brando” is a recollection of days spent in movie houses and watching the iconic Marlon Brando and It’s a Wonderful Life. “I’m in a second story window/ And you’re yelling at me “Stella!”/ And I’m laughing ’cause you think you’re Brando/ But you’ll never come close,” she sings. The references to classic Hollywood make it one of the standout tracks on a very worthwhile album.

Lucy Dacus concludes with the nearly eight-minute “Triple Dog Dare,” where a quiet piano and a trilling synth support her vocals. A friend’s mother reads her palms and soon Dacus isn’t allowed to see her friend. It’s legitimately heartbreaking. “We still got a lot to figure out, like what was the end of the movie about, anyways?” she sings. It’s clear Dacus has more questions ahead of her, far more than she could pack into the album. Be ready to keep listening. 

Follow Domenic Strazzabosco at Twitter.com/domenicstrazz and Instagram.com/domenicstrazz.