The latest album from Philly songwriter Zoe Reynolds embraces the synths and glitter of pop music, but it feels most luminous when it’s raw.
Under the moniker Kississippi, Zoe Allaire Reynolds makes gleaming pop music that exudes a sense of triumph over heartbreak and playfulness over pain. The Philadelphia songwriter doesn’t cover up the hurt so much as dress it with glitter, making it easier to reflect on. She works primarily in the tradition of pop acts who find a way to dance among the emotional wreckage, using confessional lyrics to outline the carnage, twisting heartbreak into a hook. On her second album, Mood Ring, Reynolds isn’t interested in stewing in sadness; she finds joy in feeling so much in the first place.
On earworm highlights like “Moonover,” Reynolds sounds right at home over pumping percussion and glittering keys. Empowered by the music, her lyrics suggest that caring too much can be a sign of strength, even wisdom: “I couldn’t let you go,” she sings. “I know I was yours long before you were mine.” Elsewhere in the track, she shakes a can of yerba mate for percussion while producer Andy Park joins in with a Lexapro bottle. It’s a fitting accompaniment, using these everyday objects for healing as a kind of rhythm in songs that seek the same results.
This music is a swerve from the gruffer indie rock of Kississippi’s 2018 debut, Sunset Blush. In place of that record’s moody electric guitars and unpolished vocals, these songs lean closer to Taylor Swift circa 1989, especially “Around Your Room,” which pairs poppy ’80s synths with tongue-twisting lyrics about the early mythology of a relationship: “Keeping your hands to yourself in the backseat/Carefree, windows down like we’re 16.” Sometimes, as on the sedated, surf-dazed “Dreams With You,” Mood Ring relies too heavily on the serotonin-boosting synths: The mood starts to feel repetitive and formulaic as opposed to celebratory.
The dilemma that Reynolds confronts throughout these songs brings to mind some crucial questions about darker pop music: How long can you dance when your world is crumbling? How much glitter is too much? Occasionally, Reynolds succumbs to her emotions, and her delivery is less refined, emerging as a strained yodel. She embraces this quality on the closing “Hellbeing,” where she lets the highest range of her vocals cascade into the ether over the staticky strums of an electric guitar. Verging on an emo cadence, it feels like a guttural cry after the rest of the album’s blissful shimmer. In these moments of imperfection, when Reynolds reveals some rust among the gold, she is most luminous.
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