070 Shake hits full stride on Petrichor

Danielle Balbuena’s sweeping masterpiece cements her place as one of the most fearless and innovative artists of her generation. This towering statement stands alongside classics like Bon Iver’s 22, A Million, Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, and Pink Floyd’s The Wall. Those who dismiss it as overblown miss the point entirely. Shake’s baroque excess isn’t indulgent; it’s an immersive experience – a sensory journey and an emotional epic that demands listeners surrender to its staggering production. Petrichor thrives in orchestral grandiosity.

Shake’s earlier albums, Modus Vivendi (2020) and You Can’t Kill Me (2022), leaned on sprawling, shapeshifting tracks, but with Petrichor, she steps boldly into new territory. If Modus Vivendi was about finding her voice, Petrichor is about using it to its fullest. Each track pulses with urgency, layering lush sounds with Shake’s vocals, which shift from intimate vulnerability to commanding grit. With autotune dialed back, her voice cracks with aching humanity on “Pieces of You” and swells with glacial detachment on “What’s Wrong with Me.” In 39 minutes, Petrichor unfolds into an opus that leaves us stunned.

The album opens with the overture “Sin,” where spare piano builds into layered synths and a crescendo reminiscent of Stevie Wonder’s “As” from Songs in the Key of Life. Shake invites us in: “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my show / Are you ready?” It’s more than an introduction – it’s a declaration of the jagged, unapologetic journey ahead.

On “Elephant,” Shake channels the gothic grandeur of Depeche Mode, blending pounding drumbeats with Thriller-esque 80s synths and guitars. Her lyrics, “I can be your elephant / I remember everything,” tie the song’s dark palette to her larger exploration of memory and nostalgia – the essence of petrichor. “Pieces of You” and “Vagabond” feel plucked from a Broadway musical, evoking stomp-and-shout work song chants with flourishes of gothic Hammond organ. “Winter Baby / New Jersey Blues” shifts from sunny Beach Boys-inspired surf rock to a reprise of “Vagabond,” merging infatuation and devotion in a single breathtaking sweep.

Even in its quieter moments, the album dazzles. “Into Your Garden,” with its arpeggiated piano, is a delicate respite that stands out as one of the album’s best tracks. “Song of the Siren,” a duet with Courtney Love, reinvents Tim Buckley’s 1970 classic, drawing from This Mortal Coil’s haunting 1983 cover. Shake’s repeated “here I am” sounds like a plea or invocation, summoning Love’s enigmatic, pained voice from a fog of glitchy synths, dragging it to the forefront of the mix. True devotees of Buckley, they even restore his original lyric, “I am puzzled as the oyster,” honoring his strange sensibilities and legacy.

Shake’s production risks are most thrilling on “What’s Wrong With Me,” which ends with a pounding drumbeat haloed by Gregorian chants, and “Blood on Your Hands,” where Shake’s startling declaration, “If I die, I want you to be the one to kill me,” frames a haunting spoken word poem by Lily-Rose Depp, Balbuena’s partner. These moments – where tension meets release – are what make Petrichor so provocative.

“Never Let Us Fade,” the penultimate track, is the album’s emotional core – a gospel-infused psych opus with swelling orchestral synths that evoke The Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony.” Its refrain, “I don’t know what love is / but I know what it’s not,” brims with existential longing and celestial release, a thread carried into the finale, “Love,” a triumphant closer steeped in 80s grandiosity reminiscent of Prince’s “Purple Rain.”

What sets 070 Shake apart on Petrichor is her ability to balance contradictions. She blends pop sensibilities with avant-garde experimentation, drawing on prog rock, R&B, rap, and gospel. The result is an album that feels timeless yet immediate, sprawling yet cohesive, intimate yet epic. Tracks stretch time and sound in ways that mimic memory – fleeting, fragmented, but deeply resonant.

Upon first listen, Petrichor might seem like too much, but in 070 Shake’s hands, “too much” becomes a virtue. Shake has created a masterpiece that is raw yet expansive, bold, and unapologetically itself. Like the smell of wet pavement after rain, as its title suggests, Petrichor lingers long after the final note. This is not just Shake’s best work – it’s a classic in the making. Both deeply personal and universal, the album showcases her refusal to compromise, her willingness to take risks, and her ability to turn vulnerability into art. Its maximalism is not a flaw but its greatest strength, a testament to Shake’s boundless creativity and vision.