Bartees Strange puts fear under a microscope on Horror

But you’ve heard that before. What makes this album interesting is the shifting, shared, dueling perspectives from hunter to hunted.

Strange’s last records were already scary; he’s no stranger to off-kilter beats and chord progressions (“Cosigns”, “Flagey God”). This album lets the fear into the thematic aspects as well, exploring uncertainty in love, in career, in physical safety as a black person in rural America. These heavy motifs imbue Strange’s performances with a real power, and with such a pleasantly subtle but steadying hand as Jack Antonoff’s, it’s possible to see the trajectory from Strange’s previously somewhat unfocused work to Horror, which might be his strongest and most coherent yet.

Album opener “Too Much” puts a modern spin on greats like Alabama Shakes and Spoon, seemingly cementing Strange in the indie rock canon, with a rap bridge to spit in the face of genre classification entirely. He’s sometimes deflated, other times machismo, with equal vigor. “Don’t fear what’s coming / Our blood is the connection,” he sings in “Hit It Quit It”, as the guitars rise to a scream. While at moments it’s unclear what Strange is afraid of, it has a chilling effect nonetheless, like seeing someone see something behind you.

Strange has never sounded better, with crisp vocal production and genuinely emotional deliveries. He’s both demon and demonized on “Wants/Needs”, a song about the relationship of the artist to his fans. In the first ballad, “Baltimore”, he explores a quotidian problem: how does one decide where to settle down? Like his contemporaries and sometimes tourmates Phoebe Bridgers, Courtney Barnett, and Japanese Breakfast, Strange excels at pulling poetic meaning from even the most banal human experiences, “thinking ‘bout the lives I don’t have.” Where this close attention tips into thematic imprecision the record’s interesting production elements buoy it.

The standout track of the record, “Lie 95”, is buried in the middle. Kacy Hill lends subtle backing vocals, and her authorial hand is felt in the lightness of the track as well. “I wanna survive but I know the price,” the riff goes, reminding the listener that even in such a jubilant song, fear remains. Strange’s open attitude towards collaboration benefits his music while he maintains a unique sound, an amalgamation of clear references into an entirely new shape. Horror seems to ask the listener to face themselves in the way Strange has on this record, and not everyone will be ready.