Lucy Dacus finds peace on Forever Is A Feeling

Thanks in no small part to the crossover appeal of supergroup Boygenius, Dacus has gone from critical darling to full-fledged star, in the process playing to exponentially larger crowds, dancing uncomfortably with Tim Chalamet on SNL, and making the jump to major label Geffen. This being an age of parasocial celebrity fandom, much of the journalistic coverage of Dacus’ most talked-about full length to date has surrounded its subject matter: the artist’s new(ly hard launched) relationship with Boygenius bandmate Julien Baker.

In such scenarios, the most obvious cultural touchstone is always going to be Fleetwood Mac. While one would hope the indie stars eschew the coke-fuelled chaos of Buckingham, Nicks et al, the swerve towards sunny Californian soft rock is a little bit of a downer for those who pine for the gut punching guitar heroics of yesteryear. Blake Mills completes a March ‘25 treble, helming this alongside albums from Perfume Genius and Japanese Breakfast, but while the other two mostly laid back LPs feel textured and moody, this one’s a tad timid.

Dacus still brings a great deal to the table. For starters, she’s one of the finest lyricists around, and the Forever Is A Feeling’s particularly focused themes allows a deep dive on the object of her affection. On “For Keeps” she sings “If the Dеvil’s in the details / Then God is in the gap in your teeth / You are doing the Lord’s work / Every time you smile at me,” a couplet that gets away with a shade of mawkishness by feeling so swooningly sincere. The most obvious hit “Best Guess” takes things to a more secular level, with Dacus singing “You may not be an angel / But you are my girl… You were my best friend before you were / My best guess at the future.”

Forever Is A Feeling’s consistent stateliness can sometimes manifest as a certain missing oomph. Lead single “Ankles” adds a degree of variety with some tactile, romantic strings, but whatever’s layered onto the track, it never feels like it’s growing. Dacus herself adopts a passive voice throughout her performance; the end result is all a bit soft-focus sensuality, a Netflix romcom that never threatens to become especially exciting. The low energy nadir comes in the form of an unwelcome guest spot from Hozier, a man who can be dull while shouting at the top of his voice. Here, woozily guesting over a lacklustre Americana backing, he brings things to a bit of a standstill.

The stripped back songwriting means that, when the melodies hit, they’ve got the space to truly soar. The dextrous title track is a thing of beauty, with Dacus showing off a range that her hushed vocal style doesn’t always get to explore. Not coincidentally, the tune features one of the best builds, reaching rousing heights and bringing in Baker and Phoebe Bridgers on backing vocals for that Boygenius bounce. “Talk” is another highlight, cranking up the guitars (relatively speaking) for the crunch that made Dacus a bonafide axe slinger of the sad indie set. The thudding directness and stutter-step chorus are a welcome change of rhythm if not so much pace.

It’s churlish and plain dumb to suggest that anyone’s art would take a dip when coming from a place of contentment rather than pain, though in Dacus’ case she has in her oeuvre an all-time great break up song (“Night Shift”) to suggest she knows from heartbreak. Those who invest in their fave singers’ personal lives will no doubt enjoy digging deep into the lyrics. Those who fell in love with the epics and wigouts of 2018’s Historian may find engaging moments on an album too cohesive for its own good.