Out in the Storm

Her signature honest, unpretentious vocals shine through on each track, conveying her struggle with each note she sings.

There’s still moments of fragility that populate the record (‘Fade’), but for the most part it’s a brazen and self-assured release, and it’s all the better for it.

While lacking the close mic’d intimacy of her early work, Out in the Storm is equally immersive, with songs that play like fiery exorcisms.

It's tough to get through in terms of lyrics, but musically Waxahatchee deliver yet another piece of art.

Painful as they may be, Crutchfield's lyrics are perfect all over her fourth album. Instantaneously direct, but not without using imagery that is both recognisable and relatable.

Even at roughly the same length as past Waxhatchee albums, Storm feels more compact. The second half sags briefly between the undifferentiated buzz of “Hear You” and delicate breathiness of “A Little More,” but in the final stretch, the band pulls through.

Out in the Storm is a deeply impressive record, one that finds Crutchfield honing the strengths we knew she had, discovering new ones, and adding another strong record a rare sort of catalog--one that is consistent but unafraid to push for something new.

There’s no filler among these 10 songs, from the summer-breezily defiant Silver, via the grungy swing and swagger of Brass Beam, to the rueful Belly-ish balladry of A Little More.

It's the more upbeat material that really stands out here, however, as ultimately this feels like a blast of energy and catharsis as well.

Out in the Storm hones that truth; it wonders about it. “You ring me up/ I tell the truth,” goes “Fade,” and “You’ll have your truth/ I’ll have mine,” goes “Hear You.” Ten songs divulge it, which don’t have sections so much as well-portioned energies.

With Crutchfield as forthright as ever and collaborators suited to drive home her position, Out in the Storm hits with as much strength as emotion.

Musically it offers some of her most robust work to date, her chiming alt-rock melodies ballasted by a full band that includes her sister Allison.

Unsurprisingly, the results are some of Crutchfield's biggest rock'n'roll anthems yet.

The elements needed to make Katie Crutchfield one of the greatest songwriters in indie rock have always been present, just not slotted together perfectly. When they do so on large amounts of Out In The Storm, the record provides of the most satisfying pinnacles of the year.

This is an unflinching, cathartic album that is concerned with looking back to help her move forward with a clear understanding that it will be the making of her. It’s also an album where the music is easily removed from the subject matter and can simply be enjoyed for what it is--a superb set of beautifully crafted and catchy rock songs.

Despite all this heavenly sunshine, however, the breathy confessionals beneath tell a different story. Out in the Storm proudly flies its flag as a break-up album, albeit one that ignores ‘woe is me’ emo-isms.

Songs are steeped in creeping '90s guitar with ear-catching lyrics, plus a sense of vibrancy that comes from the fact Crutchfield really does have something to say. [Aug 2017, p.38

Out In The Storm bares out the wound-baring pitch. The injuries remain, but its crunchy riffs, sharp melodies and forthright vocals comprise Crutchfield’s deepest, most direct emotional diagnoses yet.

This is yet another reinvention for Crutchfield, but this is the first time she’s so palpably given off the sense that she’s at peace with her own thoughts: stronger and more candid for having figured out how to best to take care of herself.

While her songwriting hasn’t quite made the same leaps that prior records have shown, Out in the Storm offers a unique perspective: that of someone happier and stronger for the pain endured.

Out in the Storm is perennially bright, with its melodies maintaining a serrated edge that ensures the sound remains robust, immersive and hard-hitting.

Each song is as grueling as it is thrilling.

Some songs feel just short of full-blown biting, like No Question, which is awfully reminiscent of the classic Breeders single Saints. Still, it feels hard to write them off as some kind of revivalist project. If anything, the band’s unshakeable determination to stay in their own lane seems like an ideological gesture. You can’t be cool if you’re worried about being cool.

Crutchfield is baring her soul and just about every song shows some signs of greatness. It comes up short, but not for a lack of trying.

Throughout, Crutchfield maintains a seething, triumphant line in catharsis that she channels into gruff college rock ad dreamy introspection. [Aug 2017, p.112]

A record that exudes the glee and relief of emotional recovery. [Aug 2017, p.93]