Naomi Alligator
Double Knot
CARPARK
Ever since Corrinne James uploaded her first track to Bandcamp under the moniker Naomi Alligator three years ago, the songs have been trickling out of her like tears. Sometimes there might just be one—a single moment captured in time, slowly running down her cheek. At others, it was more of a deluge—a full-on breakdown in the form of three, four, or more home recordings collected together, all shimmering with quiet trauma. And while there were releases that could probably be classified as albums on her Bandcamp—all available to download for free—it was all leading up to this: the official debut Naomi Alligator album, released on Carpark Records, home to the likes of Speedy Ortiz, Cloud Nothings, and The Beths, among others.
Double Knot certainly deserves to be in such esteemed company. And while the record’s out on a real label, James hasn’t changed her methods. She’s still laying her vulnerabilities on the line in what sounds like the most intimate setting, her soft, delicate voice drifting along with her memories and lived experiences on top of her gently strummed guitar. While these songs are more confident than her earliest material, they still capture the pure essence of her feelings, her life, her heart. That’s the case from the very beginning, with the stunning opener “Seasick.” Its gentle layers build up—slowly, like waves lapping at an empty shore in the middle of the night—into a swell of broken emotion that drifts between the wistful wonders of youth and the sad awareness of reality that comes with adulthood.
The following 11 songs—mainly, but not entirely, ruminations on the past—aren’t all so emotionally heavy. “Amelia” sounds sad, but it’s infused with a tender levity, while “Makes Me Sick” is a whimsical, short-and-sweet ode to the green-eyed monster which could easily be one of Kimya Dawson’s Moldy Peaches songs. So could “Blue for You,” in fact, which both affirms and denies the melancholy of its title. But then there’s the dark portent of “Neighborhood Freak,” which merges doom-laden Elliott Smith–esque guitar with mildly neurotic lyrics to create a vivid sense of spiraling insanity, and the lethargic resignation of “What I Meant,” its tune and words both bittersweet, drenched in regret and incredulity.
It also sets the tone for the forlorn and plaintive final track, “My French Summer.” It’s a song that ends with a kind of apology (“I didn’t mean to make you feel so bad”), but it feels just as much like James is saying that to herself as to anyone else. The song, and to some extent, the whole record, feels like a letting go of the past that’s inspired her so much. She’s distilled all those tears shed in her bedroom over the years into a beautifully heart-torn debut, but it also feels like she’s ready to step out of it and into the future.
