Collapsed In Sunbeans
As I’ve previously written about, I discovered Arlo Parks through hard life’s 2019 collab Sangria.
Two years later and after the release of just a handful of solo singles, Parks emerged with her very own debut full-length LP, Collapsed In Sunbeams. A 12-track heartfelt indie project, Collapsed In Sunbeams found it’s way into my life at just the right time. By no means a perfect record, it was the warm hug I needed navigating the long, lonely days of high school.
Under a coffee shop-friendly neo-pop disguise, Arlo Parks pulls apart issues of mental health and queerness with delicacy and groove. This background music sound of the production is what turns some people off about Collapsed In Sunbeams. But I personally have loved always being able to play the record in the car with my parents just much as I have loved crying to the record on my own. With memorable melodies, the general tone of the album is uplifting with pockets of raw, gut-wrenching honesty. In this sense, it really is the perfect pick-me-up album.
The writing, while a liiiittle complicated at times (something that Parks smoothes out later in her career), is definitely what made this album feel special. Parks’ style is poetic, and the theme of poetry helps to tie the record together in a hyper-coherent way (while still giving her wiggle room to hop between indie, pop, and jazz influences). Specifically, the spoken interludes and intro track help to make the album feel like a contained piece of work - an element that demonstrates a lot of maturity for a debut album. “Wearing suffering like a silk garmet or spot of blue ink.”
Black Dog has been, for many years, one of my favorite songs about mental health. Parks writes about supporting someone through their suffering in a beautiful, nuanced, and honest way.
“I’d lick the grief right off your lips.”
“Let’s go to the cornerstore and buy some fruit. I would do anything to get you out [of] your room.”
“I take a jump off the fire escape to make the black dog go away.”
Likewise, For Violet is about the (exhausting) process of trying to keep someone alive: “I could picture terror swirling in your iris.” It is truly one of those songs that resonates on a deeper level if you have experienced a similar situation with loved ones who are in pain. While the repetitiveness on the album is occasionally problematic, I believe it works well here to create the atmosphere of hopelessless we can feel when in this kind of situation.
A point of dispute among critics on this record is Park’s heavy use of names (she directly references at least four different people). On the one hand, it is a bit distracting. On the other, it helps the album feel not only more intimate, but cultivates the sensation that Parks’ songs are being addressed to her loved ones. They all feel so rooted in real lived experiences that it only makes sense to directly mention/address the people involved. It is a personal choice, but the names always helped the album feel cozy and close to home for me.
Eugene, particularly, has not only stood out as one of the most personal songs on the record but also as one of the best indie songs about WLW queerhood. That second verse is just unbeatable: “Seeing you with him burns, I feel it deep in my throat, you put your hands in his shirt, you play him records I showed you, you read him Sylia Plath, I thought that that was our thing, you know I like you like that, I hate that son of a bitch.”
Of course, Parks’ poetic style shines when she sings about love - having it:
“I had a dream we kissed and it was all amethyst. The underpart of your eyes was violet. You hung a cigarette between your purple lips.”
Or grieving it:
“Won’t deny I miss your choice of words, but I can’t go back.”
“You held me so hard I went bluish.”
“Never had the chance to miss you.”
“Heart in my out, please let me out, please let me out of you.”
“You look like me when you lie; Boiled blood, star shifts in the window of my eye; You put warm salt to the stich; And I suffer for the sky that you shook nine times.”
