Sometimes, Forever, the third album of the Nashville singer-songwriter Soccer Mommy (nee Sophie Allison), is the rarest of the breed: a great summer record. Anyone can make a carefree summer party anthem, but it’s very difficult to harness all the breezy and languid textures of the warmer months in service of gloom, introspection, and doubt. Dennis Wilson’s Pacific Blue is the standard bearer for this noble little movie, and Alison’s particularly boisterous and engaging summer story is more than a worthwhile addition.
Based on her previous records on Soccer Mommy – 2018’s promising debut “Clean” and 2020’s fully formed “Color Theory” – Allison has often been classified into an unofficial group of twenty-year-old singer-songwriters (Snail Mail, Lucy Dacus and Phoebe Bridgers (most importantly) who managed to channel the core elements of ’90s indie rock without sounding like a throwback. However, you can dig beneath the surface, these artists are all just as different as they are alike, and in “Sometimes, Forever” Alison drifts away from the pack, and from her own more obvious retro influences. It remains the shoegazey’s bedrock of “Color Theory,” as does Alison’s self-tearing lyrics and gentle half-psychedelic singing voice, which occupies an unexpected middle ground between Bilinda Butcher and Nina Persson. But there’s a broader sense of adventure here, and an impromptu compositional twist that can leave even the most popular tracks feeling unpredictable. Alison has developed a real talent for pop vocals, but seems content to leave her tunes only partially articulated – a trend that might be frustrating in fewer hands, but here only serves to grab your attention deeper. Even when her songs don’t always stick in your head, feelings do.
The most obvious differences between the “Sometimes Forever” and previous “Soccer Mommy” records are due to Allison’s choice of producer. Daniel Lopatin, the once-elusive force behind Oneohtrix Point Never — and most recently, The Weeknd’s elusive collaborator and recorder for “Uncut Gems” — leads the soundboards here, and the result is the most underrated music of Allison’s career. No matter how dense the vocal palate is, it rarely feels heavy or chaotic.
Their partnership is curious on paper, and he’s careful not to step into Allison’s fingers, but it’s not hard to pinpoint Lupatin’s influence throughout, from the broken tempo on “Unholy Alliance” to the helical tuning lines on “With U.” (“Newdemo” splits the difference Between their approach in the middle, switching back and forth from softly cut verses, the kind that would have been in one of the first demos of Mother Football, to atmospheric choruses that clearly bear the character of the product.) She stretches the limits of her style in a number of rewarding ways. “Bones” and “Shotgun” are two of the most popular pop songs I’ve ever produced. “Darkness Forever” and “After Eyes” are two of her darkest tones. “Feel It All the Time” is the closest I’ve come to writing a proper Nashville tune—though it doesn’t sound like a country song, per se—and “Don’t Ask Me” is an impulse showcase for guitarist Julian Powell. Blurry tones.
The record is so full of texture, and Alison’s vocals so little, that her lyrics are easy to overlook. And this is unfortunate, because she finds as many interesting ways in familiar territory in words as in music. In “Shotgun,” she and her lover craft a kind of love language from their shared bad habits. “Fire in the Driveway,” one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever recorded, takes an initially obvious part of the images of fire and ice and turns them inside out. But it’s the closest, “Still,” who displays her gifts most clearly. “I don’t know how to feel about things being small/it’s a tidal wave, or nothing at all,” she began, with minimally garnished vocal support, continuing to describe depression realistically, flirting with suicidal thoughts, and recalling episodes of past self-harm.
These may be confessions you’d be willing to hear from anyone, but what’s striking about Alison is how stubbornly she refuses to play them out for pity or amplify them in the drama. It seems frank and almost absurd: a clear assessment of darkness refuses to let it take control. And that’s true for the rest of the album, too. No matter how mysterious her look, she can’t stop a bit of sunshine at her peek.
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