Japanese Breakfast feeds us with For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women)
When I first saw that Japanese Breakfast was releasing a new album, I was intrigued. When I saw the title, I became obsessed.
For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women) is the band's fourth album, and comes almost four years after its Grammy-nominated record, Jubilee. Frontwoman and songwriter Michelle Zauner has led the band since its formation in 2013, and is accompanied by a number of other musicians.
Admittedly, the title is kind of corny. But I’d like to think that Zauner is self-aware enough to know that, and like she told People, “the ones that get it, get it, and the ones that don't, don't.” After listening to the album a few times, I definitely got it.
The album begins with “Here is Someone,” a soothing song that reminds me of a shooting star with the twinkling xylophone, saxophone, and organ coming together. With shoegaze-y interludes, Japanese Breakfast connects this project to the rest of its discography while also beginning to set it apart. As the opening track, this song does its job and does it well.
The first single released for the album was “Orlando in Love.” While it isn't my favorite, it was a satisfying introduction to the themes and concepts of Melancholy. In the music video, Zauner plays Orlando, a young man who falls in love with an ocean siren. As the siren dances, Zauner sings “She came to him from the water / Like Venus from a shell.” The vocals are sweet, and while not exactly sad, they explore the overarching themes of desire and tragedy. Venus is the first mythological reference in Melancholy, but it isn't the last.
After the dreamy vocals and instrumentals of the album’s first two tracks, “Honey Water” provides a refreshing change. Zauner explores themes of betrayal, questioning, “Why can’t you be faithful? / Why can't you believe?” The distinct dissonance throughout the song seems to be more angry than melancholy, feeling out of control at times. “The lure of honey water draws you from my arms / You follow in colonies to sip it from the bank.” The lyrics Zauner writes tell a story, and whether or not it's her story, listeners can understand why the song feels this way. As she loses control in the relationship, the instability felt is reflected in the lyrics as well as the long, unpolished outro.
“Mega Circuit” and “Little Girl” fit together in many ways. Exploring themes of toxic masculinity, “Mega Circuit” has a bit of a country twang to it. The music video stays true to the lyrics, featuring Zauner “barreling ‘round the mega circuit” and “Kicking mud off ATVs.” If “Mega Circuit” is about a bad relationship, the next track, “Little Girl,” examines that relationship on a deeper level. Halfway through the album, Zauner takes a beat to consider the relationship, her childhood, and possible future motherhood. With stirring acoustic instrumentals that reminded me of Adrianne Lenker, she ends the relationship from “Mega Circuit,” singing: “Rounding muddy corners until I found the strength to leave.”
“Picture Window” is shaping up to be an early hit off the album, and I can see why. It features upbeat vocals and instrumentals, with lovely acoustic and electric guitar, strong percussion, and one of my favorite things in the whole world: steel guitar! Paired with the beautiful backing, however, are more on-theme, melancholy lyrics. While I enjoy singers like Phoebe Bridgers and Adrianne Lenker just as much (and probably more) than the next person, I find it refreshing that sad lyrics aren't paired with sad-sounding music in “Picture Window.”
In her memoir Crying in H Mart, Zauner writes about her tendency to assume the worst. She recalls the intense paranoia that plagued her throughout childhood, often leading her to the conclusion that her parents were dead if they weren’t home on time. “Picture Window” examines this same feeling, but this time, she writes about a romantic relationship, wondering, “Do you not conceive of my death at every minute / While your life just passes you by?” It's often easier to feel anxious than comfortable, illustrated through Zauner’s repetitive line, “All of my ghosts are real / All of my ghosts are my home.”
Greek mythology once again finds its way into the album, this time with “Leda.” In W.B. Yeats poem “Leda and the Swan,” Zeus rapes Leda, forcing her to give birth to Helen. Zauner draws inspiration from Yeats’ adaptation of the original Greek myth, comparing the tragic story of Leda to modern relationships. The underlying synth line mimics crying and adds a new layer of emotional depth to the album, in which we see Zauner share her vulnerability with listeners.
This track draws an interesting comparison to “Men in Bars,” in which Jeff Bridges portrays the man as the victim in the relationship, while in “Leda,” the woman is the victim character. While “Men in Bars” is my least favorite track, I do enjoy its slight country twang and the continuation of the steel guitar. I can imagine the ballad over a montage in a cheesy movie about a woman who cheats on her partner with a man in a bar.
“Winter in LA” perfectly encapsulates the feeling of melancholy. The lovely instrumentals represent the happy setting, Los Angeles, but the lyrics represent random feelings of sadness. Zauner sings, “I wish you had a happier woman / One that could leave the house / Someone who loves the sun.” The track tells the story of a woman who feels guilty about her sadness. There isn't a reason for her to feel this way, because winter in California is still “sweet and warm.” She knows this, but still can't help it.
The transition from “Winter in LA” to “Magic Mountain” represents, to me, the growth that Zauner has experienced through the songwriting process. “Magic Mountain” might be my favorite from the album. It’s a charming, self-reflective ending to the record, and the dreamy, orchestral instrumentals are a majestic conclusion. After nine tracks that explore themes of desire, tragedy, and heartbreak, it's refreshing to hear Zauner sing sweetly, “You and me, and soon ours / Bury me beside you in the shadow of the mountain.”
After a deeply personal, bestselling memoir, it might have seemed like Zauner and Japanese Breakfast had nothing left to say. For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women) proves just the opposite. It's a personal and self-reflective record, but still grounded in themes that everyone can understand.
After writing a memoir about what it means to be a daughter, this album examines what it means to be a partner, and possibly a parent. Zauner writes sincere lyrics, and as a person who is often struck with random feelings of sadness, uncomfortability, and guilt, this album speaks to me. If the album were filled with slow, sad songs, it would come across as cheesy and I would have written a different review. It’s not one of my all time favorites, but I believe that everyone could benefit from giving it a listen. While For Melancholy Brunettes has been described as an “artist’s record,” I would argue that it's a record for anyone – maybe that was jbrekkie's goal the whole time.