Eleven years ago, when Purity Ring released their breakout single, “Ungirthed,” the pairing of dirty South-style rap beats and twee synth pop was remarkably novel. Even during the heyday of witch-house artists like SALEM and oOoOO, nothing quite compared to the contrast between producer Corin Roddick’s whimsical grit and Megan James’ macabre yet sweetly sung lyrics. The Edmonton, Alberta, duo had captured lightning in a bottle, and they continued to harness its spark across three albums.
That’s not to say Purity Ring have never tried new things. In 2015, their sophomore album, another eternity, seemed meant to counter any accusation that the 11 songs on 2012’s Shrines were all variations on one great idea. Roddick added fluorescent EDM synths and stately piano to his 808-driven rhythms; James began experimenting with a more explicitly pop-oriented cadence and elocution. WOMB, their moodier third album, was in many ways a beefed-up return to form—girded with rich atmospherics, heavier synths, and processed vocal hooks on par with contemporary chart-toppers.
Two years after WOMB, the graves EP is firmly rooted in the same subtle reconfiguration that comes with each new Purity Ring release. Some songs even sound outright regressive, which isn’t always bad. James has said that the title track “has been haunting us for eight straight years,” and its bouncy trance chords and glowing piano clearly recall the euphoric rushes on another eternity. The touches of 2010s nostalgia are charming, but less so when “nthngsfine” and “unlucky” evoke an overproduced and undercooked Shrines. When James breathily sings, “How lucky you are to be so unlucky, breaking onto the rooftops over Waikiki,” amid clouds of effects and reversed synths, it sounds both convoluted and ill-fitting. Simple compositions and evocative lyrics were integral parts of Purity Ring, and without them, the music feels more like a glittery spectacle than an immersive pop world.
With every layer of polish shellacked onto their core sound, the people behind Purity Ring’s genre tropes and dark poetics grow increasingly obscured. James has always favored evocative abstractions in her lyrics, but there’s less to grasp here than before. Small illustrative moments appear (“You sailed away on a sunken boat,” goes a memorable line in “neverend”), but they’re often undercut by non-sequiturs (“This city’s fucked but how’d you know about the side road”) or throwaway refrains (“Spinning like you never end, just do it again let’s do it again”). “watersong” is a fine little ditty with an interestingly choppy synth line and sticky melody, but it’s riddled with vocal quirks and half-baked lyrics that interrupt the song’s easygoing flow. At best, James’ angelic lilt can elevate her words beyond meaning. At worst, her over-pronunciation, heavy vocal processing, and awkward word choices can kill a track’s momentum and leave it thematically barren.
