Phoebe Bridgers knows what it’s like to fall apart.
Part cryptic emotional dump, part autobiographical diary entry, Bridgers’ music is fully born out of the tradition of matching heartwrenching lyrics with the swelling sounds of modern indie folk.
In Lost Weekend, Bridgers has completed a trio of albums which uncover that love and life can each be as quickly taken as they are given.
Bridgers’ music typically starts quiet. Contained whispers of angst give way to primal screams of introspection gone wild. She often places her rotating crises of faith against a backdrop of personal emotional devastation.
In the six years between albums, she’s called off a public engagement, started a new relationship, and processed her father’s passing. Now she seems ready to talk about it all.
But only on her terms. Raw, anxious, and haunting as they may be.
Bridgers provides brief moments of hope when it seems like things have temporarily settled down.
On “The Governor’s Waltz” she sings about how she realized “being me wasn’t easy,” but now that she and her partner separated she’s found clarity and peace.
On “Lost Weekend,” Bridgers utters hopefully, “It’s gonna be alright, we’ll make it through” as she contemplates the aftermath of a breakup. On the song’s reprise, Bridgers echoes the sentiment as she sings, “We’re gonna be alright/Me and You/You love me and I won’t ever let you forget.”
“I Can’t Wait” twists some of her emotional stress around into a glimmer of relief as she sings, “I’m not good, but I’m better” and “You and I forever.”
Bridgers’ dense lyrics and winding narratives invite investigation. Sorting through her labyrinth of trauma requires a close eye for the signs of a soul in distress.
For example, “The Outside” describes a “fist through the wall” leading to a Bridgers who’s “frozen in place” as she disassociates from the ongoing turmoil in her life as the guy in her life “gets carried away.”
“Lost Boys” perpetuates a Peter Pan theme of never reclaiming innocence once it’s broken. Bridgers sings of a “tantrum with a .57” that led to her friend “wishing [they] were dead.” Another troubling reference to an implied suicide with a rifle appears on the same track.
On the harrowing track “Kill Me,” Bridgers rotates around different ways to cope with death. She sings, “This is gonna kill me” and describes a hypothetical fatal poisoning, while uttering the Persian phrase: “Tamam Shud” meaning “It is finished.”
“The Governor’s Waltz” details a night out gone wrong as Bridgers and her (soon-to-be) ex-partner’s date quickly devolve into a harsh argument. It starts and ends with a vindictive line, “I know you never actually think about jumping/But do it for me,” implying her ex-partner would be better off dead.
“Lost Weekend” carries a few references to casual sex as Bridgers describes how late-night drives would often take a different turn for her and her partner.
Lost Weekend’s emotional center, “Still Standing”, details Bridgers’ relationship with her deceased dad. She sings how he was abusive (“I found her bleeding over the sink”) and emotionally absent (“trying to make me afraid…feeling indifferent”). Their relationship clearly has a lasting impact on Bridgers.
Several Bridgers’ songs arrive with a hint of the supernatural. At times they are religious remnants of a former life. And at others, the ghosts and spirits are background characters in the play of Bridgers’ mind as she sorts through her pain. On songs like “Haunted” and “Bobby”, the liminal space between reality and the afterlife carries triggering imagery for listeners sensitive to these descriptions.
Across the album, there are several references to drinking and taking pills to numb oneself.
Lost Weekend unfurls like a counseling session gone wrong. She starts timid, skeptical, and unsure. Then the shift occurs quickly.
She’s soon unafraid to share the honest, ugly, and broken parts of an emotional core rocked by loss and anxiety. By its conclusion, wounds are opened, closed, and re-opened again and she’s left wondering if any of this was worth it.
Navigating emotions this heavy are common for Bridgers in both her solo and group work with Boygenius. Lost Weekend captures her lonesome dissociation from fame while also sorting through the thornier work of figuring out what really matters to her.
Bridgers arrives at a familiar conclusion. She’s convinced that an over-reliance on self-sufficiency will help her push through the dome of pain haunting her life.
How quickly and often she dwells on death presents immediate concerns for potential listeners sensitive to the topic. For all the time spent pondering, Bridgers’ yearning for relief is no less satisfied. Sadly, this tingling disorientation does little to restore what’s been broken or provide hope she will ever be put back together again.
Jackson Greer is a High School English Teacher in the suburbs of Texas. He lives in Coppell, Texas with his wife, Clara. They love debating whether or not to get another cat and reading poetry together. Also, he is a former employee of Focus on the Family’s Parenting Department.
