“Into Your Garden” Is the Most Fascinatingly Weird Song on 070 Shake’s Proggy New Album
How about a classical piano ballad about cunnilingus featuring City Girls’ JT threatening to scrap?!
Petrichor, the latest full-length by New Jersey pop outlier 070 Shake, is majestically weird: Moody prog-rock influences land aside Depeche Mode-infused melodies. Beach Boys-esque harmonies explicate lyrics about humping. Synth melodies worthy of John Carpenter horror soundtracks backdrop raspy hangover raps. Oh yeah, and there’s a cover of a Tim Buckley song via This Mortal Coil that features Courtney Love wailing in her Courtney Love-iest wail. Throughout the record, Shake charts the time between a somewhat dramatic-seeming breakup to the moment of meeting her soul mate. (The latter subject appears to be Lily Rose Depp, Shake’s current partner, who recites a very serious love screed amid the industrial clatter of “Blood on Your Hands.”)
For a musician whose moody trap leanings once fit seamlessly into Kanye’s GOOD Music universe, Shake sounds like she’s fully given herself over to her more inquisitive musical impulses here. It’s music nerd shit of the ’70s variety, when major label releases were more likely to include tinkering experimentation than one homogenous sound. While that leaves room for missteps and sometimes-questionable choices, it also means she’s no longer chasing trends. Beyond interesting songs like “Lungs”—which unfurls from an EBM chant into the realm of Catholic church music—and “Never Let Us Fade,” which puts the California country singer Cam on an oceanic, ’80s-style power ballad—the purest representation of Shake’s intent here is “Into Your Garden.”
The song opens on an autumnal bit of classical-inspired piano by the Canadian composer Todor Kobakov, over which Shake sings with clarity and intent: “Would you let me put my hands on it?/Won’t let it get out of hand, promise.” I mean, is she singing about cunnilingus? Definitely. But it’s more an expression of love than a seamy bit about going down, as evidenced by the pureness within her voice, a kind of wide-eyed approach that echoes through the way she eschews her rasp on the chorus. It’s a lullaby across gentle arpeggios, immersed in the lushness of her devotion and amplified by Phil Collins-style drum fills. Then, when she drops her voice an octave and sings, “The grass is greener over here, shawty,” you get a sense that the mood is about to shift. Aaaand… in comes City Girls’ JT, layered behind reverb, talking a bunch of shit about how she doesn’t like your ex and maybe will even beat her ass.
Is it jarring? Just a tad. But more so, it’s surprising—a moment that breaks you out of the dreamworld and makes you laugh. Alongside JT’s gritty sassing, Shake coos “into your garrrrdeeeen,” letting you know that it’s serious but not that serious. It embodies the whole spirit of the album, with its experimentation and theatrics, and its willingness to take a chance on an idea that most other artists of Shake’s ilk would be too scared to attempt. Petrichor isn’t exactly cohesive, but I can’t stop listening to it. It’s odd and brave, and possesses the kind of imperfect messiness that comes with splashing paint on a canvas—and it’s worth appreciating for that alone.
