If ever there were any doubt that Trevor Powers’ efforts as Youth Lagoon presented his own inner-workings in a genuinely vulnerable light, Savage Hills Ballroom acts as a visceral offertory to the remaining doubters.
Powers took up a two-month residency with Bristol, London based producer, Ali Chant (Perfume Genius, She & Him), recording and adapting his solitary narratives into more relatable motifs than albums past. It suggests an emotional actualization brought upon by the drowning of a close friend in Powers’ native Boise, Idaho in 2013. Understandably so, the death had great effect on Powers, propelling him to cancel a string of dates.
Where Youth Lagoon’s first two albums, The Year of Hibernation (2011) and Wondrous Bughouse (2013), played into the solitude of Powers’ being, Savage Hills Ballroom presents a more extrinsic aspect of Powers’ psyche. SHB’s opening track, “Officer Telephone” initially acts as a misdirect for the album’s course. The Wurlitzer-y ambling paired with Powers’ noticeably post-production-less vocals harkens to Youth Lagoon days of old with a slight twist. A minute into the track, however, Powers turns the track on its head in the best of ways with a psych-folk rock breakdown and layered vocals ushering in an irrefutably divergent Youth Lagoon, only marred by an abrupt fadeout come far too soon.
“Highway Patrol Stungun” continues the startlingly in-your-face emotionalism that would seem to be the SHB norm. Powers offers unfamiliarly inclusive lines, such as “remember when no one danced the same / we all had a voice/we all had a name.” The composition of the track mimics the expressive lyricism, with less post-production wizardry and more warmth from strings and keys.
Other songs on SHB continue the remarkable deviation from introspective opining to highly associative accounts of what can only be assumed to be aspects of Powers’ emotional navigation since his friend’s passing in 2013. “The Knower” offers particularly familiar tones of sorrow and personal delusion: “oh, everybody wants to think they’re good at heart when they’re full of hate/oh, everybody wants to think their luck will change, when there’s no such thing.” Disconcerting realities of the everyman are prevalent throughout, but none more familiar than the opening line of “Rotten Human”: “How are we supposed to know what’s real?” Whether or not Powers’ intentions for lines such as the one referenced are intended to be highly relatable or not, the motif is beguiling nonetheless.
Appetizing lyrical and composition departures aside, SHB is not without the familiar dream pop musings that garnered Youth Lagoon its praise. Songs like “Doll’s Estate” and album closer “X-Ray” offer highly introspective glimpses into the soul of the album, despite both songs’ lack of lyrics.
Savage Hills Ballroom is an excitable coping mechanism framed with universal themes and existential crises. It is Youth Lagoon at its core, but vigorously distinct from preceding records. The change is good, if not grand, presenting Powers’ musings and idiosyncrasies in a more performative state.