Hatchie
Liquorice
SECRETLY CANADIAN
Liquorice, Harriette Pilbeam’s third album as Hatchie, opens with an exhale—an act of physical release. It’s a brief but poignant moment that embodies the entirety of Liquorice, a lush and immediate collection of songs that give into time’s fluidity. “Maybe the world you want has to slip away,” Pilbeam gently offers on opener “Anemoia” with a slight echo to her voice. “But secretly you were happier all along,” she concludes, adding a taunting hum like a child divulging a secret. The track never really goes anywhere, no climax or big twist. She makes us sit with this content wisdom amid playful bongos and icy, incessant cymbals. Its hypnotic thrum is the sound of settling. The romance of a chase is thrilling, but exhausting. What if everything you needed or wanted was right in front of you?
As Hatchie, Pilbeam has provided spirals of shoegaze, dream pop, and synth revelries to help us get lost in love or sweeten the bitterness of discontent. The follow-up to 2022’s ambitious Giving the World Away is closer, more intimate. It feels like dancing in your best friend’s basement rather than indulging in a big night out with strangers. Instead of reuniting with ambitious pop producers Jorge Elbrecht and Dan Nigro, she collaborated with indie polymath Melina Duterte. Liquorice does have banger moments, even if they’re not as walloping as those on Give the World Away. These songs are expansive without being overwhelming.
On “Carousel,” Pilbeam transforms anxious energy into euphoric synth swells. Her voice blooms like a cactus flower during the chorus, bursting with beauty through a tunnel of reverb: “Then I knew that everything I’d ever wanted had passed / And I couldn’t help it.” It’s an intoxicating ride that mimics the thrill of liberation, bright synths shooting us off into space. Elsewhere, the pummeling power pop on “Sage” and “Stuck” and the slow-burn melodrama of the title track provide moments that feel like aural love potions—shimmery, electric, starry-eyed. The pace grows stagnant a bit with attempts to balance the album’s romantic buoyancy with its anxious effervescence via “Anchor” and “Someone Else’s News,” followed by the thorny Britpop of “Wonder,” whose sister song “Lose It Again” fits better among the bunch. Liquorice’s massive choruses and dizzying melodies are the album’s heart.
Despite this being ideal weather for listening to swirling dream pop—its atmospheric sonics as powerful as a cold wind pushing you forward on a brisk walk—Liquorice sounds like an album that will endure the test of time. There’s an irony to the album closer “Stuck” being one of the project’s strongest. On Liquorice, Pilbeam has returned to herself: Hatchie doesn’t sound stuck at all.
