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It has been three decades since Portishead’s Dummy secured the Mercury Prize, establishing Bristol’s trip-hop underground. Today, its hazy turntablism resonates throughout the pop landscape: the pitch-shifted sadness of Sky Ferreira, the bass-heavy intensity of a.s.o., and the ethereal reverb of crushed. The genre’s original juxtapositions and subversions continue to attract attention. The contrast between wistful vocals and harsh, computerized beats serves as a potent shorthand for nihilism, existentialism, and accelerationism. In other words, it’s ideal for deeply sighing while reminiscing about “morphine kissing” and “acid tripping,” as yeule explores on their fourth album, Evangelic Girl is a Gun.
yeule has previously harnessed nostalgia as a tool: 2023’s softscars employed the jagged edges of nu-metal and grunge to amplify their ire, while the year before, Glitch Princess infused elements of mid-2000s indie folk into its intricate digital fabric. Much of yeule’s work grapples with themes of dissociation and disconnection—decaying, tearing apart, and escaping the physical form. Their most compelling tracks use nostalgia to root that disembodiment in something undeniably human: the poignantly simple strum of an acoustic guitar on “dazies” and a bone-chilling scream on “x w x.” However, on Evangelic Girl is a Gun, yeule diminishes much of the tension that made earlier works engaging; these songs disappointingly lack distinction from their heavily referenced influences.
It’s not that Evangelic Girl is a Gun is particularly challenging to listen to—the slow, lumbering rhythms and bluesy basslines found on “Tequila Coma” and “What3vr” are easily digestible for fans of Moby and Massive Attack, while “VV” evokes the 2000s soft rock of Ingrid Michaelson and Natasha Bedingfield. With contributions from an impressive lineup including A.G. Cook, Clams Casino, and Mura Masa, the album boasts a polished sound filled with subtle flourishes—the click of a gun reloading on “Saiko,” the sound of a camera flash on “1967.” Yet, despite the marketing hinting at themes of sex and violence, it ultimately feels tedious.
At just 31 minutes, Evangelic Girl is a Gun is the briefest offering from yeule, but repetitive choices make it feel much longer. A slow, heavy beat drags the first two tracks along at a morbidly slow pace. Key moments on “Eko” and “1967” that should resonate—echoing the title with breakbeats bouncing and screaming about a lover heading off to war—fade into the background, overwhelmed by a barrage of vocal effects. “Skullcrusher” is arguably the most egregious, so painfully loud and slow it resembles a track accidentally exported at half speed. There’s no emotional grounding like the powerful “dazies” on softscars, nor a standout moment like the raw vulnerability of “Don’t Be So Hard on Your Own Beauty” from Glitch Princess. Despite its apparent complexity, Evangelic Girl is a Gun feels strangely flat.
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