Queen of Jeans – All Again | Album Review
/
Memory Music
In my head, there are only two possible outcomes in a relationship: marriage or a devastating breakup. Some (my therapist) might call that black-and-white thinking, but it feels real to me. That worry is enough to keep some people from ever forming a deep connection with someone. But is that something that should even be considered? Is that thought process just dooming the relationship before it even gets started? Breakups often taint any good memories shared between a couple, leaving a bad taste in at least one party’s mouth when they look back at everything. Are the relationship’s good times erased because of the last moments? Were the butterflies and giddiness worth the devastation of the end result? I guess it all depends.
Photo by Brooke Marsh
Philadelphia’s Queen of Jeans tackles these thought spirals on All Again, their first full-length LP since 2019. On the record, Miriam Devora and Mattie Glass recall memories of a lost love, looking back at all the tumults of a modern love story with both rose-tinted nostalgia and near-insurmountable regret. The memories are chronologically scattered but immersive and moving nonetheless, covering everything from the fatal attraction of the hook-up stage to not being able to cut off communication after a breakup. All those gritty in-betweens are dissected in a way that leans into emotion while propelling the story of the album (and the relationship) forward. The erratic storytelling throughout All Again mirrors how memories of turbulent relationships often come back to you: a few good, most bad, but all leaving you with an unsettling feeling deep in your gut.
The record has a song for just about every emotional state you could find yourself in throughout a whirlwind romance, offering a little bit of everything in terms of genre, tone, and instrumentation. Producer Will Yip worked with Devora and Glass to create massive sounds with a more experimental lean which included bringing in Patrick Wall on drums and Andrew Nitz on bass. This results in an LP that utilizes everything from blown-out post-rock to twangy indie folk to build out the pieced-together world of this tumultuous relationship.
All Again opens with “All My Friends,” an unexpectedly heartbreaking track that drips in good old-fashioned longing. It comes through as a jolt of reality, with the hook “All my friends around / but I’m not home,” emphasizing the type of loneliness that permeates all facets of your life after a breakup. The whole thing has a boygenius-esque sad rock spin (very “True Blue”) with chorused instrumentals that add a consuming intensity. Devora’s vocals cascade through the windy synth textures and warbling guitars, depicting the heartbreak that lingers for the rest of the record. With this first track, it’s clear that All Again begins at the end, tipping their hand and letting the listener know where this relationship ends before even giving you a chance to root for it. The certainty of heartbreak adds context to the songs that follow. It’s like a reminder to listeners: ‘Don’t let any of the following songs fool you, this all ended badly.’
“Horny Hangover” immediately throws us back to the true beginning of the romance, speaking from a voice of anger and regret, like looking back and kicking yourself for not noticing all the red flags. The song has a grungy pop lean (like Veruca Salt’s anger mixed with Linda Ronstadt’s heartbreak) that gives Devora space to show off her wailing vocals, as if yelling at her past self. Yet no matter how many times the line “I don’t want you and I can’t stand you” is repeated, there’s something in the delivery that hints these words aren’t as emotionally detached as they may seem.
The album continues in this ping-pong format, adding a frenetic energy of never knowing exactly where the next song will lead you. Sonically, “Karaoke” gives off all of those sweet feelings of new love until you realize we jumped forward in the relationship timeline again with lines like “The cart’s lighter at the grocery store / I can’t deal with people anymore,” and the idea of being so lost in your own heartbreak that you forget where you are and what you’re doing. It’s a ripper of a track that leans into the post-breakup crazies of trying to move forward without the person you thought would always be there. The shattering line “I’m a stranger to myself” is a gut punch, emphasizing just how much was given to this failed relationship.
Mid-album cut “Neighbors” is a devastating look at insecurities and a need for reassurance that wasn’t being met. The lyrics “I want it clear / You still feel like we’re okay / That there’s no change” depict an image of someone sheepishly asking their partner if they still love them. Devora highlights a desperate need to be seen and validated that is not being met, yet one song later on “Let Me Forget,” we see her swiftly giving that assurance to her partner after a betrayal. This track paints a picture of someone willing to forgive their partner for just about anything because they’re scared to be alone. Strings, twangy acoustics, and haunting vocals make this one of the most excruciating yet beautiful tracks on the record and left me speechless, mouth agape at the amount of emotion put to one song.
“Bitter Pill” provides a rocking emotional release of all the pent-up anger caused by the relationship’s torment. There’s a clear power imbalance at play that has come to a head. Lines like “I don’t wanna bend my mind to anybody’s will / I don’t need you to know what’s real” make it clear that Devora has separated herself from the relationship’s toxicity, something that can only be done with the healing powers of time. It’s a hard rocker with an explosive guitar solo from Glass that complements the angst and vengeance in the vocals. Not to mention, the hook is catchier than catchy: “I don’t want that bitter, bitter, bitter pill,” which I can already envision helping others release themselves from the grip of an unhealthy relationship.
Closer “Do It All Again” mirrors the opening melodies of “All My Friends,” highlighting the powerful cycles these memories hold and our inclination to repeat these unhealthy relationship patterns. The hummed melody of “All My Friends” is even more haunting on “Do It All Again,” sounding like it’s playing through a radio that adds distance and creates even more of a dream-like note to end the album on. The song’s sole lyric, “If I got to do it all again / I’d find you there like I did back then,” shows that even in hindsight, love and desire squash any anguish from the certainty of heartbreak. Maybe it was all worth it in some twisted way? We might have to cycle through the memories all over again to find out.
Cassidy is a music writer and cultural researcher currently based in Brooklyn. She loves many things, including but not limited to rabbit holes, Caroline Polachek, blueberry pancakes, her cat Seamus, and adding to her record collection. She is on Twitter @cassidynicolee_, and you can check out more of her writing on Medium.
