Allegra Krieger, Greg Mendez

Allegra Kreiger“On the ground level of an apartment building in Manhattan’s Chinatown, multiple lithium batteries combusted in an e-bike shop. It was just after midnight when songwriter Allegra Krieger awoke to a banging on her door. She made it out, fleeing down eight flights of stairs and a “wall of grey smoke,” which she recalls in her song, “One or the Other.” Throughout the song, Krieger cradles gratitude and conjures a universe in which she responded differently to the fire. Ultimately, she leaves us with two questions: “What do we know about living? What do we know about dying?”It was in the months following the fire that Krieger wrote much of Art of the Unseen Infinity Machine, her second full-length album with Double Double Whammy, a collection of 12 songs that pick at the fragile membrane between life and death.Krieger’s previous album, I Keep My Feet on the Fragile Plane, hewed more closely to the domestic spaces of city and mind. Rolling Stone regarded the album as “ten songs of heady philosophical meanderings packed with emotional dynamite,” and likened her “finely phrased lyrics” to those of “Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, [and] David Berman.” Krieger’s existential meditations remain on Art of the Unseen Infinity Machine, however her meandering melodies have taken on a stronger sense of direction. She narrates candidly and assertively; the full-band arrangements never overpower, only offer a robust platform on which Krieger’s voice reaches new heights.The full band brings a heightened sense of drama to the album’s arrangements, which contrasts the quieter approach of Krieger’s previous LP. There are noisy interludes, jazz-inflected discursions, impactful stops and starts, and occasional spaces for Krieger to stretch out her impressive vocal range (most prominently at the dazzling climax of album stand out “Came”).Lead single “Never Arriving,” from which the album’s title is derived, is thrilling in its compactness. Alluding to biology, sex and death in a series of sharp phrases, the song manages to address a whole worldview in a few short lines.“Into Eternity” introduces a new stylistic wrinkle, taking on a sprechgesang narration over an uneasy guitar motif. In a stream of consciousness delivery, Krieger presents a series of seemingly disparate vignettes - the chaos of a New York street, a memory of an interaction with a grieving ex-boyfriend, a homeless woman, a butterfly - and pulls at the common threads that connect them. Like much of the album, the song is invested in transfiguring the commonplace; examining events big and small and in doing so trying to take hold of their significance.In Art of the Unseen Infinity Machine, Krieger invites us to a place where transfiguration is not only possible but actively happening. From this place, the beautiful and the banal and the terrible are all laid out before us. And Krieger asks us not to look away. Instead, she invites us to stare down the beautiful and terrible in the world, and to realize that sometimes the only way out is through.”Greg MendezFor Greg Mendez, reflection doesn't mean a static image in a mirror, or even a face he recognizes. It's more a kaleidoscopic mirage, where paths taken shapeshift with the prospect of paths untread, and the subconscious merges with the intentional. On his self-titled new album, the Philadelphia-based songwriter and multi-instrumentalist investigates the shaky camera of memory, striving to carve out a collage that points to a truth. But there isn't a regimented actuality here; instead, Mendez highlights the merit in many truths, and many lives, and how even the hardest truths can still contain some humor.While this is technically Mendez's third full-length album, his back catalog boasts an extensive range of EPs and live recordings. He's a prolific and thoughtful songwriter, understanding the joy in impulse, and shying away from the clinical sheen of overproduction. 2017's "¯_(ツ)_/¯" and 2020's Cherry Hell garnered acclaim for their quiet, lo-fi urgency, exploring themes of addiction and heartbreak with an intentional, authentic haze, and it's this approach that has solidified Mendez as a staple in the DIY community for years.Greg Mendez was written in fragments, some stretching across more than a decade, with Mendez reworking old ideas and arrangements, and others blossoming much more recently. The weight of time — — and perhaps the anxiety in running out of it — — clouds the album, as Mendez prods at some painful experiences from his childhood and early adulthood. The common thread connecting the characters is their evident imperfections, and the various degrees of damage they cause, both knowingly and unknowingly. But where do we draw the line between a good person and a bad person? For Mendez, it's never been that easy."There's a lot of pretty bleak memories in the songs but one thing that I hope comes through is that nothing is ever fully dark," he explains. While recognizing the severity of certain situations, Mendez is also careful to showcase the absurdity of our reality, and how that can often highlight a softness around the edges. Opener "Rev. John / Friend" begins with a cartoonish organ, like a sermon waiting to start, correlating with the album's artwork: a Virgin Mary staring at Mendez's name. It's a smirk at the serious, where earnesty can still be encouraged, and the light and the dark can effortlessly co-exist.Throughout the album, Mendez extends an empathetic and relatable hand. The scrappy-pop of "Goodbye / Trouble" waits for "the sound of God," searching for a sense of love or purpose, but the searcher falls apart in the process. The stripped back, finger-picked "Best Behavior" probes the spite and immaturity that can arise when we feel hurt or wronged, and how lonely that can leave us. "Maria" mimics those moments when we reach back to a story and find ourselves immersed in its scenery, using melodic swells to charge like a memory that floats in front of us, creating a gauze until we manage to tear ourselves out of it. "Everytime you say you wanna know me I get anxious, cause I would probably tell you about some dumb shit," the song begins, glancing at those who also feel wary to show their full selves.Mendez encourages us to look beyond the rigidity of a one, true self. Some of the "I's" on Greg Mendez are not Mendez at all but someone unknown, a person formed to explore the shadows in his periphery. Writing from a different perspective doesn't happen intentionally, and Mendez only tends to notice it after sitting with the song for some time. "It's kind of like dreams, where they end up being the stuff that your brain is processing, but you're not aware that you're doing it," he says. It's an exhale, where Mendez allows his instincts to flourish.Greg Mendez is an intimate dialogue between the chapters we've experienced, and how they can inform the reality we perceive. It's a reminder that we are constantly shifting, ever-changing selves and that if we ruminate too long, we may find ourselves stuck in the seriousness of it all. Here, Mendez allows us to take the time to notice what happens outside of the framework we may have built for ourselves, and the beauty that can occur when we finally do.