There's something peculiar about St. Vincent that just makes sense. It's strange because, on the surface, nothing about St. Vincent makes sense; there's really nothing rational about an elfin woman writing end-of-the-world waltzes and naming herself after the obscure saint of things like horses, leprosy, and Madagascar (disclaimer: there are many St. Vincents in history, but this was the first one to pop up on Wikipedia) and her first album after a line from Arrested Development. St. Vincent shouldn't work, but godDAMN does she.
Actor has much of Marry Me's lilting theatricality, although there is no single song here as powerful as breakthrough "Paris is Burning." It's a strong, idiosyncratic album, peppered throughout with Annie Clark's breathy vocals and innovative guitar work, and although it's a somewhat quiet affair, it is paradoxically epic; in many ways, it feels like an overambitious little girl putting on a play in her attic (this is a good thing). The costumes may be burlap sacks, and the seas may be painted on a sheet, but it's her passion and heart and pure talent that carry the show, all the way to the inevitable standing ovation.
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