Dry Cleaning's early EPs and debut album
New Long Leg immediately announced them as one of the more distinctive and exciting bands of the 2020s. They still are on
Stumpwork, but this time, they challenge themselves not to rely on what made them standouts. Working once again with producer
John Parish at the studio where they recorded
New Long Leg,
Dry Cleaning make some slight but successful tweaks to their approach. The contrast between
Florence Shaw's hushed monologues and the cacophony surrounding her illustrated
New Long Leg's fractured stories and character studies perfectly, but on
Stumpwork, the rest of the band meets
Shaw on her level. Aside from the occasional outburst like "Don't Press Me" -- a song
Shaw wrote about her brain that's punctuated by jagged guitars and handclaps --
Dry Cleaning leaves straight-ahead rock behind in favor of calmer but more colorful sounds. The slower pace they take adds more purpose and heightens the strangeness of songs such as "Liberty Log." A foggy shamble held together by
Lewis Maynard's rolling bass and embellished with Tom Dowse's
Pavement-like guitar skronk, it turns the observation "it's a weird premise for a show, but I like it" into a hook and ends with
Shaw deconstructing the titular phrase until it no longer resembles language. Just as
New Long Leg expanded the palette they set forth on Sweet Princess and Boundary Road Snacks and Drinks,
Stumpwork's varied styles reflect
Dry Cleaning's growing confidence. "Kwenchy Kups," a chatty account of planning a trip to the water park, commits to the lushly bittersweet jangle they flirted with on their debut album; the self-explanatory "Conservative Hell" juxtaposes real-life dystopia ("they're trying to mythologize everything") with dream pop tremolos. The band pushes themselves further on the standout "Hot Penny Day," where funky bass, a vaguely Eastern-sounding keyboard melody, and saxophone sleaze mirror the heady menace of
Shaw's meditations on exposed wires, male violence, and financial ruin.
Stumpwork's spacious approach allows her more room for nuance: She's hopeful on the
Virginia Wing-esque "Anna Calls from the Arctic," connecting thoughts about the state of the world and gym shorts as easily as she talks to a friend continents away. On "Gary Ashby," she memorializes a lost family pet, breaking into offhanded singing that's as disarming as when other vocalists adopt spoken word. She uses her way of circling around feelings with precise aim on "No Decent Shoes for Rain," capturing how grief can pop up out of nowhere by couching confessions ("My poor heart is breaking/Too big for a large") in non sequiturs and conversational gaps; when she intones "rah, rah, rah" as the song draws to a close, it's both genuine and ironic. Hearing
Dry Cleaning's words and music travel in different ways to the same destination remains fascinating, and the ways they open up their music on
Stumpwork with warmth, sensuality, and humor reveal their originality even more fully. ~ Heather Phares