Lucy Dacus -- Forever is a Feeling
Lucy Dacus has never been sharper than on Forever is Feeling, a meditation on love's daily maintenance -- a soothing listen that will deftly kneecap you.
I'm just gonna be brutally honest here – I haven't ever been that enamored of the kind of airy indie rock that Lucy Dacus and her boygenius colleagues sling. Micah Schnabel of Two Cow Garage described 2000s indie rock as "apathetic melancholy" and I'm not inclined to disagree. I'm listening to alt-country because I'm already sad, right? I need my music to be a little more red-blooded. But Forever is Feeling has such a clarity of purpose that it just bowled me right the fuck over. It's already on my list for top albums of the year.
Forever is a Feeling examines the many aspects of love – not just the gushy thrills of a new crush, or the sorrows of heartbreak. Rather, Dacus explores those in-between moments: the everyday moments that lead to a relationship's long-term growth – or its faltering. Compansionship, bad romance, the friends who get left behind as life takes us in different directions, those distances you can never quite figure out how to bridge. Dacus' arrangements are undulating, sweeping the listener up in the undertow of her softness – until a gorgeous line absolutely kneecaps you.
"Big Deal" details that moment of standing aloof from a former lover, that moment when you know you need to move on, but you've become so used to comforting each other. The narrator tries to comfort their partner, even with the knowledge that it's an impossible situation. "Best Bet" reminds me of the central thesis of Madi Diaz's Weird Faith: we never know where a romance can lead, nor do we know what the future has in store, but starting a new relationship is a stab at trying to imagine it going forward. And "Ankles" continues a small revolution of Sapphic imagery in pop music that is certainly not coy about what we do together. The song is an easy, jangly, groove but it makes me want to take a cold shower.
However, it's "Bullseye" that will linger for me for a long time. It's a song that takes the past, present, and future account – the hopes we have for the time we spend together, and the ways those futures become altered as a result of diverging paths. There is regret, but mostly tenderness. Hozier's duet unquestionably elevates the song, but it's Dacus' ability to serenely guide us through these complex emotions that makes the song transcendent.
So, if like me, your walls are a little too high, let Dacus tunnel under them so you can get in touch with the sadness you're trying to avoid.
