Julien Baker's 'Little Oblivions' delivers with raw, emotional power

Julien Baker’s emotionally wrought third album, “Little Oblivions,” which was released on Feb. 26, was met with critical acclaim.

The indie singer has long had success in her niche, with her debut and sophomore albums “Sprained Ankle” and “Turn Out the Lights” being praised by fans and critics alike. Her music often deals with her past of growing up in Christianity as a lesbian woman, as well as her struggles with addiction and mental illness.

Although the lyrics of many of the tracks are personal to Baker, the album is universal to anyone who is suffering — regardless of their sexuality, addictions or religious affiliations. 

“Little Oblivions” separates Baker from her days of solely harrowing lyrics accompanied by a guitar or a piano. In this project, she switches up her style and places a full band behind her — and performs almost every instrument herself.

“Hardline” opens up the album slowly, but the buildup to the impassioned chorus is palpable from the first note. The first kick-in of drums will be surprising to previous fans of Baker, but they work with “Heatwave” too, setting up the album as much more musically diverse. 

Baker had the idea for “Heatwave” while panicking in her car in a traffic jam due to a car that exploded. A sense of selfishness kicked in: “I had the shuddering thought:/‘This was gonna make me late for work.’” The unexplained suffering detailed in the song, she said, is one of the biggest obstacles to her faith.

“Faith Healer” is one of the most obvious tracks on the album directly linked to both Baker’s religion and her drug addiction. The refrain of, “Faith healer, come put your hands on me/A snake oil dealer/I’ll believe you if you make me feel something,” paints a stark image of the pull of addiction and the desperation of vices, both in drug use and how they manifest in other ways.

“Relative Fiction” is energizing and almost inspirational, regardless of how dark the song may be. Most of the lyrics discuss how “cultivating” yourself, specifically as a kind, caring person, is useless. “'Cause if I didn't have a mean bone in my body/I'd find some other way to cause you pain” and “Do I get callous or do I stay tender?/Which of these is worse and which is better?” are beautiful, painful lyrics on a beautiful, painful song.

Meanwhile, “Crying Wolf” has sparser instrumentals and a focus shifted back to the artist's powerful vocals and lyricism.

The lyrics document the cyclical addiction of an addict, describing getting high even with a “day-one chip on your dresser.” “Crying Wolf” is a song that’s easy to lose it to, no matter what your addiction may be.

The midpoint of the album, “Bloodshot” takes an upbeat swing — you can imagine Baker rocking out to it on stage, with a full band behind her.

The end of the song swells into something hopeful, with drums similar to a heartbeat. This is also where the title is dropped: “Isn't like I do this on purpose/I just forget the second I've learned it/Looking for little oblivions/I'd do anything knowing you would forgive me.” 

The idea of guilt over second chances and inability to accept sympathy are prevalent on the tracks “Ringside” and “Favor."

“Ringside” discusses Baker’s guilt in asking for second chance after second chance, with allusions to salvation (“So Jesus, can you help me now?/Trade me in for a briar crown”).

Her claim that “nobody deserves a second chance” is toyed with on “Favor," a track she made with her “boygenius" collaborators Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus.

Taking an opposite view and posing the question of why we apply more sympathy to anything that isn’t human, Baker sings: “You pulled a moth out/From the grill of your truck/Saying it's a shame/How come it's so much еasier/With anything less than human/Letting yoursеlf be tender?”

Although “Song in E” is a slow ballad reminiscent of her earlier albums, it still manages to fit in with the more upbeat tracks of this project. The haunting piano at the end is reminiscent of a music box in a horror film. In this track, Baker discusses feeling like she’s better equipped to handle hate than forgiveness: “I wish you'd hurt me/It's the mercy I can't take.” 

Full of rich vocals and lyrics, “Repeat” captures missing something or someone perfectly. Lines like “Say I miss you like a mantra/'Til I forget what it means/Doesn't matter what you tell me/I just need to hear you speak” are easy for listeners to relate to their own lives.

“Highlight Reel” is a painfully relatable tracks on an album full of songs that specifically speak to relatable pain. In it, Baker discusses the idea of watching mistakes you’ve made on loop, a narrative that many can resonate with.

A perfectly melancholic final track, “Ziptie” is another dive into Baker’s religious insecurity. Baker struggles on this track to understand salvation for a humanity who is terrible to others. She doesn’t exclude herself from the narrative unworthiness, with lyrics describing “enemies lines” singing “Oh, I was disappointed to find out how much/Everybody looks like me.”

This album is a wonderful look into where brutal honesty and raw talent can take songwriting. Smart lyrics and heart-wrenching themes as a singer and musician make “Little Oblivions” a record worth giving time to.