Jellywish is some of Florist's most intimate work to date

Her last album, 2022’s self-titled release, offered a blend of engaging songs and intriguing instrumental forays, varying from solo performances to full-band renderings.

With her latest project, Jellywish, she largely readopts the guitar-and-vocal MO of earlier work, particularly 2019’s Emily Alone. That said, she strikes a more equanimous bearing, even as she continues to explore some of her favorite themes: relational issues, struggles with self-esteem, and concerns about her place in the world. The new set is also notably more ecopolitical, as Sprague tackles widespread suffering, including the degradation of the environment and the way in which humans seem to be primarily motivated by greed.

“Should anything be pleasure / when suffering is everywhere?” she asks on opening track “Levitate”. Her vocal is whispery, slightly restrained, as if she’s confiding in the listener. Her shift from verse to chorus is subtle yet effective, creating an understated hook. “Have Heaven”, meanwhile, benefits from a more heavily strummed guitar and light percussion. Sprague again maneuvers a relatively contained melody yet still captivates the listener. Lyrically, the piece points to impressions regarding birth/rebirth, aging, and death – and how death may be tantamount to “melting” into the universe.

On “Jellyfish”, Sprague ponders evolution’s design and our connection to other realms (“There has got to be light / hitting us from the other side”). Countering these celestial ponderings with reflections on humanity’s treatment of the earth, she considers, “Will there still be winter in a year?” Her emotional bandwidth, curiosity, and melodic flow recall Adrianne Lenker circa last year’s Bright Future. While Lenker, however, tilts toward the surreal and metaphoric, Sprague strives for immediacy and literality.

“This Was a Gift”, replete with innocent yet wise, cautious yet transparent queries and confessions, occasionally brings to mind Joanne Sternberg. While Sternberg, though, is largely self-focused, even diaristic, exploring how the world and people affect her (frequently in hurtful ways), Sprague is more analytical, dissective, addressing various relational dynamics – between people, between people and the planet, between the planet and the cosmos.

“Sparkle Song” captures Sprague in a more buoyant space. “I worry about the future”, she sings, adding, “for now you’re walking by my side”. Her voice is brighter, more optimistic, her guitar shimmery. “Moon, Sea Devil”, on the other hand, shows Sprague considering whether humans are alone in the universe, fabricating meaning in order to justify their existence. On one of her hookiest choruses, she sings, “Every day I try / then I fail”, questioning her commitments and stamina. Then again, she sustains a certain equipoise, intuitively recognizing that collapsing into despair is counterproductive.

“Gloom Days” speaks to the passing of time, the inevitability of change, and how our lives are being more and more defined by technology. Still, we crave a sense of unity and purpose that distractions can never provide. When Sprague concludes, “I want to know what exists between the veil / make some sounds that no one wants to hear”, she expresses her metaphysical leanings and bent for self-deprecation. While everything, including love and music, may indeed “blend into the sky”, for now, both will possibly enlighten us.

Sprague expresses consternation, curiosity, and gratitude via laconic lyrics, enrolling melodies, and sincere vocals. She seems instinctively and/or intuitively aware of the Zen teachings on impermanence, craving, and non-self. Jellywish includes some of her most intimate work. As a listener, it’s as if you’re being privately serenaded during an exquisite chemical sunset.