Merce Lemon
Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild
DARLING
ABOVE THE CURRENT
When Merce Lemon released “Backyard Lover” in early July, it was an impressive and somewhat surprising play for song of the summer. There are, of course, a dozen or so pop hits that lay claim to a more objective definition of that title, but for me, this sweaty, vulnerable, sweeping ode to isolation and aching interiority felt not only revelatory, but enduring. And I still think that, some three months and three dozen listens later. And as it turns out, the record that surrounds it—one of tiny rooms and grand vistas, of tension and release, of newfound confidence and scintillating risk—is equally extraordinary.
I don’t want to be backhanded in my praise of Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild, but I didn’t think Merce Lemon had this record in her. It’s not that there was anything repellent about Lemon’s prior material, but it felt slight by nature, the workings of a young songwriter dressing only somewhat convincingly in the garb of bedroom pop. That started to change with a series of singles earlier this year, the first of which saw Lemon covering a pair of Will Oldham tunes in a style that signaled a move toward the kind of gnarled, vast gothic-country that’s very much having a moment in 2024. It’s no surprise to learn that the Pittsburgh-native Lemon has started to align herself with the bubbling scene unfolding 500 miles south in Asheville, North Carolina. This meant working with Alex Farrar, who’s quickly become the producer of the moment through his work with MJ Lenderman, Hurray for the Riff Raff, and Indigo De Souza.
The effect is clear throughout Watch Me Drive—as is Lemon’s own burgeoning ambitions, which see her escape any limiting qualifiers with a withering exit velocity. Yet there also remains a contained quality across the record. “Backyard Lover” may unfold into a sweltering, full-band showcase, but that payoff only hits because of the tension Lemon creates in the song’s earlier moments. So much of the album is contained in this interplay, the slow burn and the ash left in its wake. “I’d make a city of this ghost town, even let the crows come / Rest their necks and nest their young,” sings Lemon on “Crow.” Though not as desperately spare, the ballad brings to mind similarly avian-concerned songwriter Jason Molina, whose work has clearly inspired the branch on which Lemon rests. No one was better than Molina at forcing a listener to lean in, and “Crow,” with its simple yet effective move from a “lowly gust of wind” to a full gale force, is evidence of Lemon’s own capacity for growth. Even when the tension doesn’t quite break as you might expect it to, as on a song like “Window,” it’s not without intention, drawing out our attention like a taut rope.
Lyrically, this tension often manifests as murky ambiguity. As in the case of “Crow,” it's not surprising for a songwriter of Lemon’s ilk to explore the natural world. In fact, it can be downright tiring, a crutch meant to elicit wide-eyed wonder, but more often becoming a vacuous gumbo of vague spirituality. Lemon mostly avoids that by undercutting her own fervent sincerity. Waves crashing the beach, gentle morning light, and “soupy clouds” abound, but there’s also an extended metaphor about a bird waking you with its song and continuously shitting in your path. As she admits on “Rain,” this could easily be “a song I barfed out in the drought,” and that self-effacement is key to the subtler moments of the record. There are even times, as on “Slip Knot,” when she brings to mind the scatterbrained musings of one of our greatest country poets, David Berman: “No matter what, I’m gathering choices, and setting them free,” she sings with downcast wit.
You rarely get the chance to recognize an artist making a massive leap in real time, as these trends are much easier to identify in hindsight. If Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild had merely been the album on which “Backyard Lover” appeared, my assumptions about the kind of songwriter and performer Merce Lemon is and could be would’ve been proven off-base. As is, I’m happy to admit that I couldn’t have been more wrong. I will no longer underestimate Merce Lemon.
