With his early singles and 2019 debut album
Where Polly People Go to Read, Brooklyn bedroom pop artist
Gus Dapperton wrapped warm hooks and synth-dotted arrangements in a carefully stylized persona. Songs about detached relationships, longing, and quirky, soft-spoken characters were meticulously built around
Dapperton's self-produced dream pop instrumentals and breathy vocals. The music was sometimes catchy, but more resonant was the painstakingly manufactured atmosphere of soft and self-reflective melancholy, with every aspect of
Dapperton's approach congealing into the musical embodiment of a wistful, exhausted sigh. Second album
Orca arrived a little over a year after the debut and finds
Dapperton's blue-tinted and ever-chill indie songwriting lighter on the synths and a little rougher around the edges. This might be due in part to
Dapperton handing over mixing duties to Spike Spent, relinquishing a little control in his previously self-contained workflow. "First Aid" starts out with acoustic guitar strums and flowing melodies that are familiar from
Dapperton's earlier work, but opens up into a propulsive bassline and heavier drumming, pushing into a place less dreamy and more agonized. "Post Humorous" is similar, replacing the synth accents of
Where Polly People Go to Read with bright overlapping guitar leads and walls of layered vocal harmonies. The punky outbursts of "Grim" reach new levels of aggression for an artist known for his normally woozy and subdued demeanor.
Orca was written when
Dapperton was touring, and most songs hold hints of the monotony and isolation that come from weeks or months spent away from the stability of home. This shows up in both the relatively angstier energy of the previously mentioned songs and the floaty, dream-like sadness of "Antidote." For all of
Orca's nods to heavyhearted ennui, its expressions of despair, regret, and disappointment fail to rise above vague, superficial levels. The building power of the piano loop-based "Medicine" is saved from complete predictability by a few interesting arrangement choices, but the pained vocal delivery and arena-ready melodic ascension are almost anonymous despite their well-constructed bluster. While
Orca is bleaker and more depressing than
Dapperton's previous work, it's emotionally hollow, with moments of both joy and despair only suggesting the outline of feelings they can't quite communicate. There's a point in almost every song where
Dapperton's voice breaks out of controlled crooning into an unhinged growl. It's a scripted signal that the sentiments of whatever he's singing about are overpowering the performance with a flood of raw emotion, but like the majority of
Orca's substance-less expressions, it's more tedious than it is moving.