Remi Wolf
Mud
ISLAND
On the cover of Remi Wolf’s new album Mud, there’s a glint in her eye. Her skin is smeared with mud, erasing her arm tattoos and blue eyeshadow. Only the artist’s big eerie smile cuts through the smudged dirt. It’s a creepy, memorable image suggesting to her audience that Wolf isn’t trying to escape the bad or the ugly—she’s embracing it all. And welcoming the mess has led to her most in-your-face, punch-to-the-gut album yet.
Written in the aftermath of a breakup, Mud perseveres as Wolf’s self-described “Saturn return record.” It’s both volatile and precise as the alt-pop star finds herself haunted by that inescapable, nasty feeling of being unwanted. Over the years, Wolf’s bedroom-pop albums have morphed into a neon game of paintball, splattered with joyous disco-funk earworms and silly, hyperspecific one-liners that consistently made her stand out. On her third album, she doesn’t sacrifice her songwriting’s quirky details, but instead contorts them with a newfound, steely severity. As she sheds her fizzy, happy-go-lucky anthems (with the exception of “Wine Drunk”), Wolf takes a sharp turn away from droll absurdity and straight into brash vulnerability. From the shameless, twangy “Covered in Mud” to the (ironically) tear-jerking “I Won’t Cry” to the confessional “Champagne,” she dives into discomfort head first without losing any of her storytelling’s signature color.
Opener “Bottle” might be the best she’s ever sounded, with her circling-the-drain contemplation met with sludgy live drums and an inescapable melody. Hearing Wolf retreat from her reliable synths might surprise listeners, but with this new minimalist, guitar-driven style, Wolf has never sounded more self-assured. The sonic shift also allows her powerhouse vocals more space to breathe or to build up with intention. Standout “Twiggy” leans into the latter, counting memories like matches on dating apps—from glimpses of a heart-shaped birthmark to hollow Bud Light cans rolling down the road—before the final chorus explodes into a supernova of pure fury. While Wolf’s stories of recklessness spiral with helpless desire or even toxicity, her rawness remains sharp, conscious, and magnificent.
The most unusual song on the album is “Jamie.” At first, it drifts with gentle, spoken-word verses: we watch hydrangeas bloom before a blizzard, Wolf crafting a quiet emptiness through a simple portrait of “bones and a blue Solo cup.” Much like the titular figure, the outro is addictive, dissolving into an endless cycle of hot yoga, Zyn, and dancing. Sometimes falling in love can feel like a soft, mindless trance, and with growling candor, Mud snaps us out of that dissolving daydream.
