I’m a real sucker for a concept album, so when the new release from American alt-pop band Magdalena Bay dropped, I was excited to dive in. Not long after, I found myself transported into a wacky and ethereal world filled with perfect grooves, futuristic production, themes of love, loss, death and everything in between. Prepare for the emotional software update of your life, as we get a CD literally inserted into our skulls on ‘Imaginal Disk’.
Thrown into this seemingly perfect world, She Looked Like Me! serves as a technological introduction to Mica and Matt’s perspective on an idealised self through a synthy, nursery-like soundscape. She’s really growing up. The uneasy, uncanny valley-inspired lyrics – ‘I didn’t know her when she walked in, but I recognized her eyes’ – hint at this newly created doppelganger and the persona we’ll see feature throughout the release from start to finish. We experience Mica’s unique tone for the first time, with every word sounding like a tongue twister being forced out of her throat. The duo are not showing their whole hand on this one, but a really good preset for what to expect. World-building done right.
Transitioning steadily, Killing Time is a rich and layered track paying homage to the passage of time: ‘chasing clouds, counting sheep, I don’t know why, but we call it killing time’. Mica shares thoughts on spending years dreaming while time slips away through a track full of dissonance, accentuated by pulsating synths that welcome us in to this reductive motif over a groovy beat. While it has a bubbly driving force, the track shifts gears towards the outro to capture the feeling of being out of control as we wait for life to take shape in a delirious state. The chainsaw has been pulled. The mirror is now looking back at you…
Before we can even take a breath in this chaotic moment, True Blue Interlude washes away our doubts and offers the first established twist of the album. Insane pitch-bending happens on this one as we await the next phase. We’ve been cleansed to become the purest version of ourselves. Insert that disk into your forehead. We’re about to be enlightened.
Image places us in the centre of the process of rewiring our brains to become the perfect figure. Mica is getting there through self-assured manifestations – ‘I need confidence, confidence in medicine’. The track resembles a loading screen, building on the put-on-hold nature we’ve already experienced, while waiting for a perfect ‘image’ to be generated. Big God energy.
Mica swells, ‘oh, so hot, meet your brand new image’, but this playfulness doesn’t last long. The production quickly shifts into a new gear with a harsh composition (perhaps hinting that the project is near completion) with big, crunchy basses clipping the sound limits and contrasting lush, layered vocals. This clashing, God. Are we coming out of incubation? Is that disk ejecting?
Our new self may have arrived, but conceptual doubts linger in Death & Romance. A battle between love and desperation, this one has powerfully recognisable piano chords that shape the track as Mica reflects on being in a committed relationship whilst wondering about outer-worldly concepts. It’s a groovy and vibrant number, with the signature sound of this LP firmly becoming embedded in our skulls. I can only imagine the chords here are the closest thing to what swimming with a pool of 50 dolphins through the sunset sounds like.
Seamlessly transitioning into Fear, Sex, we experience organic production for the first time. Harajuku-styled harpists really change the pace here, and Mica makes it clear there’s been a breakup through the lyrics: ‘you said forgive and forget, then got me into this mess’. This breakdown is mirrored in the production, simplistic to highlight the emotional destruction of our persona, but with familiar melodies repeated over minor chords as we wind down before a galactic playout. Nothing is predictable here, with the duo stunningly showcasing they’re not afraid. We don’t know where we’re going until we get there, but our grasp slips just as we understand the meaning.
Vampire in the Corner is hands down my favorite track off the album. This is the “get-you-back” anthem. Our generated image gave everything to their lover – ‘my God, I think I mighta loved you too much’ – and we embark on their journey of reclaiming them. The track begins with arpeggiated synths, chimes, and a steady beat accompanied by glossy, light lyrics.
A walking bass enters in the second verse, and there’s now a sense of this light and airy earworm actually going somewhere. Building and building, desperation peaks in the bridge, with Mica exploding, ‘I, I wanna make you mine, told you a thousand times, I’m your valentine’, through screechy vocals. Her falsettos are a call for help. The compassion, build, transition, and realisation make this track feel dense and squishy. It’s the second established turning point of the release, and we’re definitely in the thick of this world now.
We get a sense of recovery in Watching T.V., as Mica opens with ‘too much watching TV, it’s gonna rot you from the inside out. If you wanna reach me, just leave a message and we’ll work it out’. Broken and fragile through spaced-out production, this one serves as a full reset moment. As systems reboot, the production flips on its head, opening up to a much wider soundscape and emotional meaning. Mica personifies our emotions as monsters, claiming, ‘it’s time to meet the monsters inside you’, before Matt’s production transforms into a monster itself, with totally glitched-out timing and jammed disc sound effects that deliver a spiralling-out style. I’ve never listened to a concept album where the lyrics so perfectly match the intricate, carefully crafted production. Slayed hard in all areas.
Our persona then ‘turns [their] headlights on, and suddenly […] can see’ in Tunnel Vision. The car is ignited, the engine is fired up, and the real mistakes come into focus. A rocking synth maintains a condensed, narrow-minded sightline… kind of like a… tunnel? Then, relief sparkles in the pre-chorus, with Mica realising ‘I forget with love as my witness, I can stand on my feet’ as the production expands. It’s not where you expect it to go. We’re out of that tunnel and onto the highway at 400 mph, at this point, with Mica reunited with herself. Matt’s production takes over in the outro again with a complete, sonic, wild, electronic breakdown that loses rhythm, falls unsteadily, and leaves us feeling uneasy and somewhat lost. Recovery isn’t always linear folks.
Placed somewhat humorously after the self-destruct moment we’ve just heard, Love is Everywhere is a liberating joy. This next flip sees Mica frolicking along with, ‘the fallen days bring tears to my eyes, heaven’s always watching’. There’s newfound belief here, filled with hope and a sense of improvement. We hear warmer synths, major chord progressions and a 70s-inspired psychedelic groovy bass line that enhance the hippy vibe. All this combines into a glorious celebration of love with a stunning key change to finish. It’s the most comfortable listen on the LP.
A fun play on words, the interlude Feeling Diskinserted? features a similar melody as we hear Mica still attempting to better herself. Each interlude on this release has an applause amongst such a expanse of space, as if we’re entering the next act of a theatrical performance. Perhaps an address to the artificial happiness prior, she’s ‘glad [we] found [her].’ Us too, Queen.
Bringing back indie sleaze, That’s My Floor is an infectious bop that injects a brand new energy into this release. The bass slaps around like a fish out of water, and the overall production is crunchy to encapsulate a new and blazing attitude. Ultimately, it’s a party banger. Mica wants the best-case scenario in any situation, saying they ‘took the elevator in a fire; pressing the alarm just took me higher’. Fearless boss energy. The production shares this new lease of confidence with intense, rockified guitar riffs and undeniable ‘wet’ sounds, which really create a feeling of self-fulfillment.
A similar confidence appears in Cry For Me, Magdalena Bay’s simulated, psychedelic, evil sister to ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’. There’s a slick 70s groove hidden alongside a nightmarish energy here. Embedded with strings, we’re entering a new perspective as Mica sings, ‘I’ll take all your thanks and all your sympathies… cry for me’. We’re getting a stern talking-to. It’s a controlling and manipulative at its core – think live camera feeds on our caged emotions or an end-game final boss battle – but you can’t help but succumb to fate through Mica’s pristine and catchy melodies.
That ABBA vibe is ever-present in the sing-along chorus, ‘share a little kiss, and that’s forever, think of me when you remember me’, before we depart this haunting dream on nothing less than a space rocket. So much texture on this one with a gorgeous fade-out. I guess we’re storytelling among the asteroids now?
Filled with swirling winds and organic instrumentation, Angel on a Satellite starts as a ballad before morphing into a new realm. But this time, it feels expected. The transition isn’t as brash or overly confident as previous tracks. Instead, it’s suited and booted with strings over Fiona Apple-inspired lyrics: ‘a thousand eyes turn to stone in monochrome’. A true return to form (with bongos!) offer a new and healthier outlook on life on this penultimate track.
To finish, we hit the celebratory ‘welcome home’, The Ballad of Matt & Mica. Serving as their victory lap on this musical journey, this one is the ultimate farewell the record. Infectious and joyous chords from an organ ride over the uptempo beat as the duo manifest their success: ‘is it my turn? small-time fame, bang-bang and a happy ending’. It’s very cute, very demure. Ballad where? Not allowing a full resolution though, an unnerving synth enters which is deliberately off-key, sending a stark warning. Time to get off this ride.
This release strongly showcases a significant shift in the duo’s sound. The triple threat of harrowing lyrics, 70s grooves, and futuristic production is a masterclass in progressive pop and how Magdalena Bay are not afraid in anyway to break boundaries. It takes everything it knows from the pop sphere and leaves just a sliver of a fine thread. In a way, the nuanced sound of this release makes it as much art as it is science. It’s music that makes you think.
And it’s not just a collection of songs – it’s a striking cinematic experience with music straight from the simulation. We had a chip implanted in our brains to exist in the world of ‘Imaginal Disk’ for 53 minutes. The album questions you and who you are… but not how you remember you were.
Glerbie 