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It found her transitioning from relatively minimal and euphonic work to more complex sonic layering and grittier gestalts. The albums that followed – 2016’s Retribution, the 2019 EP Toothsayer, and 2022’s Tongues – made further use of Animism’s templates, Tagaq employing noise and confrontive poetry to address the blights of corpocracy and colonialism.
With her new album, Saputjiji, Tagaq continues to mine hardcore proclivities, stepping fully into the role of devoted subversive and guerilla artiste. Opener “Fuck War” is built around a prickly bass line, metallic drums, and sharp electronic accents. Tagaq moves between grunts and groans, bringing to mind a cross between Moor Mother, Pharmakon, and someone undergoing an exorcism.
“Foxtrot” is pure vocal aggression, as Tagaq embraces a dystopian vibe: the world in flux, humans warring over space, resources, and power. In this way, Saputjiji is notably modish, a critique of the antienvironmental and antihumanitarian trends of the 2020s.
While Tagaq is no stranger to the essentials of horror – her 2005 debut, Sinaa, is frequently panic-inducing; 2008’s Auk/Blood brims with ferocity – her apocalyptic take here is as pointed as ever, conjuring images of a ravaged city, toxic smoke rising from rubble, displaced citizens cowering in fallout shelters and hollowed-out tenements.
“Razorblades”, too, captures a hazy, militaristic vibe. “I accidentally sliced you way too deep”, Tagaq offers, playing the coyly volatile protester ready to make a stand, come what may. The track grows busier, featuring plangent vocal sounds and a glitchy instrumental mix that evokes instability, precariousness, and vulnerability.
While the album makes abundant use of hellish discordancies, it also includes starker and moodier atmospherics. “When They Call” features reverb-y string sounds and echoey drums. Tagaq pivots between lupine howling (a romantic yearning for wholeness) and poster-ready activism: “We stand together with our lives / We raise our fists up to the night”. “Exit Wound” is even more austere, a pensive ode to “the bullet” that would appeal to Chelsea Wolf and Preacher’s Daughter-era Ethel Cain. A diaphanous piano part is contrasted with what sounds like the propeller on a rescue helicopter.
Tagaq’s spoken-word approach on “Lichens” is sultry yet disturbing, transmitting a charisma that one associates with cult leaders, spies, and killers. “Black Boot” is sinisterly tantric. Closer “Imiq” embodies vastness, evoking infinity, while also exuding an anxious undertone, as if to remind the listener that life is unpredictable and uncontrollable: anything can happen at any time.
With Saputjiji, Tagaq uses her poetry and sonic skills to world-build and expose the predatory side of human nature. While her view leans toward the misanthropic, implicit to her work is an acknowledgment of the individual’s ability to make a difference. Even if greed runs the show, we can stay true to our values, protect the people we love, and hold to the belief that a better world is indeed, somehow, possible.
English (US) · 