The album details the downward spiral of self-destruction.
The album details the downward spiral of self-destruction.
Perfume Genius’ “Glory” is less like an album and more like a tense conversation between old friends. It ebbs and flows, searching for solace in wordless instrumental breaks, resulting in a reflective, fluid listening experience.
“Glory,” released March 28, centers itself around Biblical references and imagery of broken bodies. It’s the seventh album from alternative indie act Perfume Genius, a solo project Mike Hadreas began in 2008 on MySpace.
Hadreas has long played with religious themes — including the Noahic landscape of 2012’s “All Waters” and the prayerful canticle of 2017’s “Slip Away” — but “Glory” turns the dial up to 11. From the swarming locusts within “It’s A Mirror” to the stable halo of the serenade “Me & Angel”, faith is a driving factor in the record’s conceit.
“It’s A Mirror” meditates on pandemic-induced depression. The titular “it” isn’t clear — Hadreas variously calls it a chorus, a siren, a diamond and a “holy terror,” still tinging his words with religion.
Hadreas’ friend of 10 years, Aldous Harding, features vocals on “No Front Teeth.” Harding softly sings about better days and light breaking on a dove’s wings, contrasting the symbol of peace with splintered guitar.
“Clean Heart” repeats “it’s only dust” in a mantra reminiscent of Genesis 3:19 — “For dust you are, and to dust you will return.” Hadreas’ signature warbly voice is shaky but sure, like a kite trying to catch the wind.
Somber, bare piano leaves center stage to Hadreas’ vocals on “Me & Angel,” a similarly faithful track insistent on a belief in something bigger.
“There’s a halo that’ll always hold its shape / That’s the core I’m leaning on,” Hadreas sings.
In “Left For Tomorrow,” Hadreas sings of carrying the weight of grief on his shoulders, becoming a sort of Atlas as the drums build and build, culminating in a swirl of sound. The song’s floral imagery sounds like it was ripped straight from a Romantic era poetry anthology — phones get buried in clover, light streams down from above and white irises ease tears.
Gay sexuality is a hallmark of Perfume Genius lyricism, largely driven by Hadreas’ experiences with homophobia and his own relationships. In the harp-like strums of “Full On” — one of the album’s strongest tracks — he considers the depth of masculinity, juxtaposing the testosterone-laden archetype of a quarterback with limp wedding veils and wilting violets.
“Capezio” captures the ominous haze of anxiety and insecurity, whirring with whistles and the rattling of creaky floorboards. Hadreas balances deep bass with sky-high vocals, singing about tucking a note in a friend’s Capezio — a brand of ballet pointe shoes.
Hadreas’ real-life friends inspired characters throughout the album — Angel, Jason, Tate and Dion, the latter lending their name to the piano ballad “Dion.” The album uses lyrics sparsely, preferring to focus on sweeping, sad instrumentals. So when Hadreas sings, he’s not just singing, he’s commanding attention.
“In A Row” returns to self-isolation, detailing feeling locked inside a moving car and trapped in a basement. Hadreas delights in wordplay, changing “choking on spit” to “turning on a spit” by the thrilling, thunderstorming end.
Lyrics switch again on the distorted, dissonant “Hanging Out.” Mastication bookends the song, with the first verse’s “gnawing a bone in the dark” mirroring the end’s “chewing on his face like a hog.” Contorted, confused bodies allude to Hadreas’ experience with Crohn’s disease.
The album comes to a close with the faded echoes of the title track. It’s the shortest song on the album, just scraping by the two-minute mark, and consists of only one verse half-hummed in a high pitch.
“Loosened, roving stray / Guest of body / Now in quiet glory / Glory / Finding shade,” Hadreas sings.
“Glory” is available to stream on all major streaming platforms.
Mao Reynolds is a fourth-year majoring in Multimedia Journalism and Italian Studies. He is Deputy Arts Editor and Crossword Editor for The Phoenix. When he’s not writing about the diversity of Loyola student life or reviewing neighborhood spots, he likes bragging about being from the Northeast and making collages from thrifted magazines.
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