Torres, or Mackenzie Scott to her schoolyard friends, is raw and biblically conflicted like Tori Amos, has the left of center weirdness of St. Vincent, and a vocal approach somewhere between Nico and Marissa Paternoster. Her words feel like they’ve been not so much pulled from diaries, but pulled from the place in between her brain and the pen.
I was all for being real/ But if I don’t believe then noone will/ What’s mine isn’t really yours/ But I hope your find what you’re looking for – “Strange Hellos”
There’s nothing in this world that I wouldn’t do/ To show you that I’ve got the sadness, too… I talk about you like you’re mine/ My friends just laugh and roll their eyes/ When I tell them I don’t mind the way it feels/ To ride an empty ferris wheel – “Ferris Wheel”
The Baptist in me chose to run/ but if there’s still time to choose the sun/ I’ll choose the sun/ I’ll run it back/ I’ll choose the sun/ I’ll run it back to everyone – “Sprinter”
I am afraid of disintegration/ If you’re not here I cannot be here for you/ If you’re not here I cannot be alone/ Mother, Father, I’m underwater/ And I don’t think you can pull me out of this – “The Exchange”
Behind all of that vocal and lyrical beauty are music arrangements that can soar on stadium winds, like epic album opener “Strange Hellos,” tap dance around digital demons and daisies (the playfully creepy “Cowboy Guilt”), or run a feather down your spine as with the beautiful ache of “Ferris Wheel.” I can imagine her listening to Muse, or listening to Mazzy Star, or listening to rain fall on sheet metal rooftops while knitting sweaters for dolphins. The pool from which Torres appears to draw inspiration from is vast and complicated.
What all of that top tier influence culminates in is an album that I can’t seem to stop listening to, Sprinter.