Mitski, “Laurel Hell.”

Getting a new Mitski album in 2022 feels surreal. The indie rock star was catapulted to fame following Puberty 2 (2016) and Be the Cowboy (2018). The intensity and size of her following led her to a decision both grueling and necessary: she announced in late 2019 she was taking an indefinite hiatus and fell off the face of the earth. 

Mitski took the time between then and now to reconnect with her passion and her name. She’s now reclaiming an identity that was slipping away and deconstructing the mythos that was built around her enigmatic figure. Named after Appalachian flowers that grow out of an inextricable mass of twisted branches from which there’s no escape, Laurel Hell sees Mitski dive deeper into the melancholy-drenched dance pop in which she immersed herself on Be the Cowboy.

“Working for the Knife” marked her official return to music back in October. The track was written not long after Mitski started contemplating starting a whole other career. “I used to think I’d be done by 20,” she sings “Now at 29, the road ahead appears the same.” The song details her reluctance to keep the machine running to avoid stagnancy at all cost. It hints at a larger critique of societal pressures and consumerism that help shed light on why Mitski chose to step away from the limelight for some time. 

The outside world is put on pause as she formulates her reaction to that very same unfortunate conformity in “Everyone.” In it, synths are a sizable ominous presence reigning over an illusion of defiance. It’s only when Mitski acknowledges the dark truth (“Sometimes I think I am free/ Until I find I’m back in line again”) that the music turns triumphant and the wheels of time pick up the slack.

The album plays to Mitski’s strengths as both a songwriter and a performer. She delivers lines like only she could have written them. When she sighs, “When today is finally done/ There’s another day to come/ Then another day to come/ Then another day to come,” on “Love Me More,” she does so with a characteristically theatrical cadence that maximizes the effect those words could have on the listener.

Throughout Laurel Hell transpires a definite will to break binaries and to delve into new narratives Mitski had yet to explore in her art. Where she indulged short-fused analogies for feelings of loss and longing in her previous work, she’s now adamant on residing in a gray area that more accurately reflects who she is as a person. 

The temptations of dichotomy are strong, and she occasionally flirts with its reductiveness—such as on “The Only Heartbreaker,” when she discloses, “I’ll be the loser in this game.” But more often than not, she adopts new perspectives and refuses black-and-white narratives. In that same track, she accepts the role of the bad guy in a relationship as the guitar plows away–at first glance. She’s in fact playing into the blaming game, accepting that role as the only person of the two who’s really trying.

On Motown-inspired “Should’ve Been Me,” she understands why a partner would cheat and even apologizes for her part in leading them there. “Must be lonely loving someone/ Trying to find their way out of a maze,” she admits. The whole shebang feels celebratory and grandiose, making the pill all the easier to swallow.

Another euphoric moment erupts on “That’s Our Lamp,” as Mitski dances on the grave of a now-defunct relationship. She finds comfort and joy in the fact she was ever loved at all and closes an album-long pattern of rejoicing in the coming to an end of something that has run its course. The possibilities now seem endless and as she moves on into the unknown, she can always look back with fondness: “That’s where you loved me.”

Follow writer Red Dziri at Twitter.com/red_dziri.