The Cinematic Highs and Lows of Magdalena Bay

Imaginal Disk, one of my favorite albums from last year, has been reminding me why pop music is second only to film when it comes to providing an escape during these dark times.

As a proud scholar of pop music in an increasingly homogenized musical landscape, I am always on the lookout for artists who operate outside the current moment or those who are putting their Tumblr moodboards to good use to create something refential but fun in its own right. Magdalena Bay was a group whose songs first came to me in bubbly snippets via TikTok. Ironically, I don’t use TikTok very often, so it almost feels as though their music was functioning as an audio version of a website cookie, following me around. I found myself trying to emulate lead singer Mica Tenenbaum’s soft yet confident cadence while singing bits from one of their earlier singles, Top Dog –

And if you know the movie Wild at Heart
Yeah, I can be like the girl in Wild at Heart

Pop music often invites its listeners to suspend disbelief in much the same way that movies do. This is likely why they are my two favorite forms of escapism. I am sometimes, even defiantly, in support of lyrics that are clever at their highest form (see Sabrina Carpenter) and downright dumb in a way that brings me pure joy (see My Humps, If You Seek Amy, etc). The first single from their album Imaginal Disk, “Death & Romance", which is a static-filled slow burn, didn’t quite grab me. In another life, if I were to put on my A&R tin hat, I would not have chosen this track as the introduction to what I believe is a stellar album that unfortunately arrived during Brat Summer.

“Death & Romance” does give clues to what makes the rest of the album exceptional—synthesizers, pounding pianos, subtle video game sounds, distorted vocals just beneath the surface, and an unwavering embrace of romance that continues to captivate me. It was “Image,” the second single released in early August, that I found myself playing over and over and smiling at the lyrics that seemed to be poking fun at our obsession with plastic surgery and perfect presentation. I imagined dancing in a dimly lit bar with illuminated floors, drunk on Tequila gimlets and tucking my sweaty bangs behind my ears. This is the kind of pop music I adore: drops of disco, fun lyrics, a throbbing beat but with a subversive art kid slant. Was I falling in love with Magdalena Bay?

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long for the full album, which was released a few weeks later. I had a feeling this album would require my full attention, so I listened to it at near full volume through my large Sony headphones. The opening track, “She Looked Like Me,” hit me like a gut punch from it’s opening moments. Mica softly says “Hello” with vocals that evoke the sensation of an astronaut floating while contacting Earth. What follows is a song in three acts (yes, please!) that tells the story of the American Dream, from arrival to the loss of comfort and the realization of self, culminating in a pounding crescendo through its playful yet sophisticated production.

And I felt love
Just ordinary love
Let me hold you in my arms
Oh, love, that old familiar drug

A few weeks later, this song empowered me to go on longer runs during my honeymoon in Paris. I synchronized my pace with the build-up and come down and it made me feel as though I were in my own little film: dewy mornings where I sprinted across marble stones while brasserie signs and morning dog walkers blurred past my view. The album quickly establishes its rhythm with “Killing Time,” which features a breezy, almost Yacht Rock-like cadence. There are notes of MGMT’s chants (complimentary) and a lightness that brings to mind warmer nights.

I often find myself complaining about the new, seemingly required length of films. Under three hours? Not prestigious enough. Over ninety minutes? Too important to ignore or dissect objectively. Album lengths have also become part of this tug-of-war, with some stretching far beyond their intended message, while others leave me yearning for a quick flip of remixes (I promise I will not make this about THAT Dua album again). The songs seamlessly fade in and out of one another, each infused with its own striking flare.

Many songs are in conversation with one another, sharing small snippets of lyrics and samples. Some tracks are most successful than others but it feels like part of a larger narrative, reminiscent of Dark Side of the Moon and the idea of a musical suite, which contrasts the chart gaming of now. This is most effectively showcased in the opening and closing songs, which feature interpolations of each other. The opener is somber, while the finale is triumphant. This bookending of tracks serves as a reminder that this is a concept album in its purest and messiest forms (aka how I like my pop stars), and the songs that work are grand and frothy in the best possible way (see the spectacular “Cry For Me”).

Fate, lead me astray
Take me whole and wash me away

I have a strong sense that Mica and Matthew are film enthusiasts, or at the very least, they possess a deep appreciation for storytelling and world building. There are so many cinematic highs and lows that I found in nearly every track. A beautiful flare for the dramatic that is evident in the expansive sound of this album. I found myself thinking of David Lynch a lot as I’ve been revisiting this this album — his velvet curtains, soft focus, and the darker elements that lurk just out of sight. Beneath the enchantment of these bold pop songs lies a sense of darkness, longing, and fear and isn’t that true about everything right now.

Post publishing stray thought: Everything is cyclical but in the purest most romantic sense there are times when this album reminds me of being a teenager and hearing Radio Heads Paranoid Android for the first time. It definitely altered my brain chemistry.