Jessica Boudreaux
The Faster I Run
PET CLUB
If you’ve made it this far then you’re probably at least somewhat familiar with Summer Cannibals. Led by Jessica Boudreaux until their 2023 breakup, the Portland band was temporarily signed to one of punk, etc.’s most legit labels, Kill Rock Stars—known for spreading the riot grrrl gospel with signees including Bikini Kill and Bratmobile. The Cannibals’ doo-wop fuzz and bellicose guitar flak renovated the spirit of those bands for the 2010s. And while Boudreaux’s first solo album doesn’t sound much like her back catalog, the sense of empowerment remains—if anything, it’s more pronounced—only this time she’s overcoming a battle with cancer rather than an abusive ex-partner. “The main character can’t die, so thank God that’s me” goes one of many tongue-in-cheek zingers from The Faster I Run. If that song’s title—“Main Character”—left any doubt, this album had to be made under her name.
Summer Cannibals’ music wasn’t exactly restrained, but you can feel the freedom on The Faster I Run, a weightlessness which previously felt like knots being furiously untangled. Boudreaux recorded in her studio, Pet Club, a haven in the woods that offers onsite lodging for artists. You can picture her voice carrying high above the silver firs of Oregon as she purges four years of pain and restriction in this safe setting. The driving grunge-pop opener “Back Then” and the uplifting chorus of “Doctor” give off that energy, both checking in with the past—with the “child calling home in the middle of the night at my first sleepaway camp,” as she sings on the latter.
But Boudreaux also generously discloses the routine realities of her diagnosis, like how absurd it is to just “make a sandwich and go to sleep” when your body is literally dying, and how your friends will use you to feel virtuous and grateful when it’s convenient. “I’ll serve as your reminder / I’ll commemorate your health / You can visit me in passing / To remember you’re doing well,” goes one collar-tugging recrimination from the jangly, easygoing “Put Me On,” whose sound recalls the least reverb-y offerings from Real Estate or Best Coast. It’s a sobering reminder that care isn’t always unconditional.
Boudreaux has always had an aptitude for straightforwardly presenting intense themes, and that’s true of the album’s lyrics as well as its cut-to-the-chase instrumentals. She primarily relies on a guitar dressed in a thin coat of distortion, really digging into it during tracks such as “Cut and Run,” though it never caves in to emit the monstrous tones Summer Cannibals used. But sometimes this play-it-as-it-lays approach results in arrangements that feel underdeveloped, like they’re missing a section or a countermelody or a stronger cultivation of tension and release, with the album stopping short of delivering a moment that takes your breath away.
This probably speaks to how spoiled indie rock fans have been in recent years by momentous albums centered on rejuvenation and healing, such as Bully’s Lucky for You, but there’s also something to be said for not editing yourself or your process of healing to make it more palatable for others; that’s the point Boudreaux was making on “Put Me On.” She’s deftly orchestrated her own walk over hot coals and invited us to join her—who knows what she might produce when she gets her feet in the water.
