Clementine Creevy of noise pop trio Cherry Glazerr is back in full force with “Apocalipstick,” which hit shelves Jan. 20. To say that the 19-year-old, who first dreamed up Cherry Glazerr in her LA bedroom, is making waves is a vast understatement. In the mere three years since her first album, “Haxel Princess,” Creevy has matured into a creative powerhouse.
Everything about the band is different this time around, from their stylistic approach to the members themselves — drummer Tabor Allen and keyboardist Sasami Ashworth have replaced Hannah Uribe and Sean Redman, leaving Creevy as the only original member.
“Apocalipstick” presents a huge jump in sound from the mellow, slow-paced tone of Cherry Glazerr’s last album. The quality of “Haxel Princess” shouldn’t be understated, but Creevy seems to have really found her stride with “Apocalipstick.” In it, she shows her more uninhibited side, allowing her fierce spirit and “fuck it” attitude to really shine through.
The album opens with the banger “Told You I’d Be With the Guys,” which Creevy has credited to her long-maintained feminist stance. The track explores her own misguided attempt to separate herself from other women, favoring the status of “lone wolf” rather than seeking solidarity.
Creevy’s dynamic vocals, paired with catchy bass riffs and fuzzy guitars, drive the track steadily forward into a free-flowing guitar solo, right before building to an eruption. Heavy guitars form a solid block of noise as Creevy drives home her socially conscious message (“Now I see the beauty/it’s necessary/to give a lady love”).
“Trash People”’s lyrics read like a page out of her diary, as they describe her dirty, messy environment in the context of a dirty, messy life. The lyrics are clever in that they characterize an entire existence with phrases like, “my room smells like an ashtray/wearing a smile and a heart on my sleeve” without spelling it all out.
Her self-awareness in the form of humorous self-deprecation speaks on a personal level that expands to abstraction (“Art is love and love is sloppy/nothing is all pure/nothing is all dirty”). Collectively, the song makes an interesting statement about the creation of art, and the mentality of those behind it.
“Humble Pro” is an irresistibly catchy tune that plays with delightfully quirky metaphors. Prominent guitar courses through the song, a notably recurrent theme throughout the entire album. Layered on top are bright, fuzzy vocals that complement the track’s lighthearted nature perfectly. Personally, I find a lot to love in a song that manages to humorously merge food (“Tapatio baked into pizzas/sometimes steak fajitas/ooh, my burritos”) with really great sex (“And I know/He’ll be down for something later tonight/Humble pro/fry that shit on low”).
The feel-good mood abruptly comes down as the latter half of “Apocalipstick” delves into deeper introspection and emotional vulnerability. In “Only Kid on the Block ,” weighty percussives bear down on Creevy’s wavering voice as she communicates her deep sense of isolation and instability while simultaneously berating herself for being “nothing but a self-conscious child,” and for so desperately desiring some sort of connection in others (“Why can’t I be alone?/ I’m like a dog at the door”).
It’s in songs like these that Creevy’s authenticity is felt the most. Her brave introspection in candid outpourings of emotion, unrestrained humor, and brutal self-awareness combine in beautiful and unexpected ways throughout “Apocalipstick,” resulting in an album that feels unapologetic, unhinged, and saturated in soul.