Sophie Walker extolls the beauty of Arlo Parks’ debut album, Collapsed in Sunbeams, which has now been recognised as the pinnacle of British music. It is a study of silver linings, of learning to find poetry in the prosaic, but most of all: of comfort.
When Annie Macmanus stood before the people of Hammersmith Apollo to announce the winner of the 2021 Mercury prize, she described the artist as one with “a singular voice, who uses lyrics of remarkable beauty to confront themes of mental health and sexuality, and who connects deeply with their generation in doing so”; an artist who is “quietly strong in a world of extrovert noise, who expertly reflects the plurality of British life in their songs.” That artist, of course, was 21-year-old Arlo Parks, who accepted the award on the stage of the venue she used to cycle past every day on her way to school.
Her debut album, Collapsed in Sunbeams, which has now been recognised as the pinnacle of British music, is a study of silver linings, of learning to find poetry in the prosaic – but above all, of comfort: listening to Arlo Parks is like returning home, the feeling of being held by familiar arms that welcome the weight and leave you feeling lighter, a little less alone.
Though Parks rightfully shrinks from the burden of being declared the voice of Gen Z, Collapsed in Sunbeams is a series of kitchen-sink vignettes that offer glimpses, rich in butterflies-inducing depth and detail, into her own coming-of-age story. Like any poet, Parks is an observer, crafting lyrics that leave you breathless with the devastating way she captures the divinity of her ordinary world.
“Eugene”, an ode to her best friend who Parks has unrequited feelings for, glides from moments of sheer poetry (“I had a dream we kissed and it was all amethyst”), to uncomplicated relatability (“I kind of fell half in love and you’re to blame / I guess I just forgot that we’ve been mates since day / Yeah, I don’t know what to say”.) Her voice spills like mist over a mountainside, whispering secrets in the chorus that dips into London-accented conversation, over swooping rhythms meant to tie your heart in knots.
The lovelorn ballad might be Parks’ most popular track, but it’s far from the only string to her bow. Though her lyrics can be incredibly intimate, almost like reading her diary entries, she has the ability to step back and tap into the universal.
“Black Dog” details the pain of watching a loved one suffer with depression, the sense of helplessness: “Let’s go to the corner store and buy some fruit / I would do anything to get you out your room.” The strings unspool like a daydream, so gentle and mellow, which only makes Parks’ voice hit all the harder when she sighs: “It’s so cruel / What your mind can do for no reason.”
As much as Collapsed in Sunbeams is Parks’ story, it’s also the story of her friends and the world she moves through. The nocturnal “For Violet”, with its inky, distorted bass, tells the story of a friend living in an abusive household, as Parks sings, “I could picture terror swirling in your iris” as she offers empty reassurance to her friend, once again helpless at the world’s indiscriminate cruelty as a person who empathises so deeply. “Caroline”, too, is an exercise in idle people-watching as Parks waited for the bus one afternoon, seeing “a fight between an artsy couple escalate”. She inhabits their story with her devastating attention to detail as the song mounts to a point of catharsis masked as defeat:
“Shards of glass live in this feeling /
Have to somehow stop her leaving.’”
Yet Collapsed in Sunbeams is uplifting, too – as prone to bouts of light and dark, joy and despair, as life itself. “Hurt” is a lifeline, funk-driven and ridiculously catchy, as you’ll find yourself humming Parks’ assurance: “Just know it won’t hurt so / Won’t hurt so much forever.”
That, coupled with “Hope”, a silky track just as fit for a jazz lounge as her bedroom, is a reckoning with our inner demons, an admittance that at times, we all feel like we wear suffering “like a silk scarf or a spot of blue ink”, but that ultimately – and this is something Arlo sweetly refrains – “you’re not alone like you think you are.”
There is not a winner more worthy than Arlo Parks, because Collapsed in Sunbeams is a reflection not simply of the artist, but of ourselves.
