Yearning softly with Faye Webster’s Underdressed at the Symphony.
Let Faye Webster’s recurrent lyrics bring you to thoughtful acceptance of loves lost.
Even as a veteran listener of angsty girl music, it took me a healthy chunk of time to fully understand the hype behind Faye Webster. Her high, whispery vocals never quite worked for me, even with the richness of her lyrics and her penchant for describing loves lost or romances existing only in the mind.
But with passing mentions and recurring recommendations from friends, along with a healthy dose of yearning, I came to know and love Webster’s smooth, sliding guitar and soft-spoken lyrics that feel like a secret or the whisperings of sweet nothings. With the right emotional state, what I had once written off as slightly whiny, indecipherable, and borderline unremarkable suddenly felt like a soothing thrum, humming in time with an unnamed twinge.
The album is reminiscent of early summer, contentment, and the fear of the unknown, clinging to memories of the past year with all its highs and lows. It evokes a longing for people once seen daily and the constant pressure of work to be done, all while golden light filters in through emerald leaves, a heavy, hot storm looming. It is freedom, ache, and the feeling of wet grass underneath your toes—but maybe I have a nasty habit of associating my well-loved albums with the summer.
So when it came to the release of Underdressed at the Symphony, I had my reservations. As a relatively newer fan, I was unsure if I could possibly interpret any changes to Webster’s sound or lyricism when I hadn’t yet absorbed her other albums like second nature. When I finally tuned in, however, I was charmed by the pleasant sense of longing that Webster weaves throughout the work and—though I was mildly underwhelmed at first—came to deeply appreciate the overall sense of loving quietly and from afar.
While remaining true to much of her signature sound on Underdressed at the Symphony, Webster also experiments with sonic identity and collaborations that initially took me by surprise. I was compelled to reach for the album time and time again, despite initially thinking I would let it collect dust in my library. Surely, no single track quite holds a candle to the more intense, desperate yearning bordering on limerence that Webster has masterfully depicted in the past, particularly on my personal favorite, “A Dream with a Baseball Player.” But it would be altogether unwise and unfair to so closely compare Underdressed at the Symphony with her other works when it seems that Webster has attempted and accomplished a different goal: capturing the feeling of reaching acceptance and contentment with or without the address of her songs, whom she craves.
With all that being said, apart from some standouts, there are some fundamental sonic differences between the songs themselves. The majority of the tracks fall into the same lyrical and stylistic motifs. Most notably, Webster consistently cuts back on lyrical variety by repeating lines, usually in choruses, or starting halfway through the song and finishing out with a lengthy, atmospheric instrumental. The repeated laments feel like fading away, waves that wash over you, and with them, another set of emotions, another interpretation of simple, unflinching statements. The more I sit with them, the more it feels like being forced to cope or come to terms with emotions we may not be ready to face, but find ourselves encountering repeatedly. It is longing without explicit lyrical direction, allowing them to expand and occupy a multitude of niches in our minds.
What could be misconstrued as lyrically lazy instead is an acceptance of pining and understanding of emotion, though perhaps mildly underwhelming for those of us who thrive on musical poeticism. “Lifetime”’s conclusion, for example, is a seemingly never-ending repeat of “In a lifetime,” evoking a feeling of drifting away, comforted by smooth bass and soft, tentative piano. It is up to the listener to come to terms with what they feel as the repetitions wash over them, twanging guitar and soft chords in the background. The meanings themselves intensify with the backing instrumentals and morph into an indecipherable emotion.
Webster was able to mark memorable tracks when she experimented with a more electronic sound, along with vocal layering to produce something sonically different than any preceding work, yet still noticeably and distinguishably a part of her repertoire.
The concept of “Lego Ring” featuring Lil Yachty took many fans by surprise—the two aren’t exactly thought to be in the same genre. Yet Webster maintains elements integral to her soundscape— prominent yet calm bass and a hint of what I can only think to describe as twang—while still managing to create something entirely apart from the rest of her body of work. Its more assertive beat in the verses is offset by periods of calm reverberation, during which Lil Yachty’s vocals are intertwined with Webster’s, neither overpowering the other, an artful incorporation of both artist’s sounds. The song closes out with a verse from Lil Yachty that somehow remains cohesive with the rest of the track through the backing instrumentals, the song’s sentiments grounding the pacing.
As for some of the more distinguishable tracks, “Underdressed at the Symphony” aptly lives up to its title track status. The song is much more reminiscent of prior works while keeping up the motif of repeated lyrics. The track is cut through with symphonic segments that lift it to new heights. The closing piano riff puts the listener into a seat at the symphony, a hopeful crescendo.
Overall, I would say that my feelings on Underdressed at the Symphony could be mirrored by my feelings on the album’s cover: initially unassuming, potentially mistaken for boring. Instead, upon closer inspection, the cover hosts a vivid chorus of blues and seemingly repeating objects that actually hold limitless complexity. It is beautiful and rich with hidden gems. Undoubtedly, Webster’s genius lies at the center.
edited by Eva Smolen.
album artwork believed to belong to either the publisher of the work or the artist.