Every week the ugly hug shares a playlist personally curated by an artist/band that we have been enjoying. Kicking off the new year, we have a collection of songs put together by New York-based singer-songwriter, Allegra Krieger.
Allegra’s songwriting unfolds with a unique fluidity – slick phrasings flow with both a furrowed brow and an evocative smirk that bring love, sex and rock n’ roll into fruition with a type of storytelling that is unshaken by truth, intentionality and the beauty that often falls behind. Allegra released one of the ugly hug’s favorite records of 2024, titled Art of the Unseen Infinity Machine, an album of melodic stamina where vivid tales are primped and fitted, and fleeting dreams hiss like an inflicted tire trying to hold its breath, yet these thirteen songs still lead with purpose and unlevied gratitude, filling out with the kind of compassion and introspection that has made her work so collective and meaningful to so many.
Listen to Allegra’s playlist here;
Listen to Art of the Unseen Infinity Machine out on all platforms now.
When structure is lost and life seems to forgo desire, it becomes easy to sit within observations. Like the simple pleasures from a smoke break in the middle of a brutal shift at a dead-end job, calamity slows down to personal silence. This personal silence can be just what you need to understand your place in the world. Told through whirling, soft folk songs, Allegra Krieger uses her winding words to do the heavy lifting on her new album, I Keep My Feet on the Fragile Plane, as she sits still in a superficial passage.
Hailing from New York, but having lived all over the country, Krieger has been a part of many people’s storylines. On her fourth full length release, and her debut from Brooklyn label Double Double Whammy, Krieger stays grounded in her own storyline, giving emphasis to the album’s title and the world in which she visualizes around her. There is no time wasted in getting to memorialization, and in ten tracks, Krieger muddies the concept of past and present that perpetuates the timeless struggles of young adulthood.
In a rhythm like waltz, Krieger opens the album with an apologetic line of, “I’m so sorry to say/I think you’re walking the wrong way”. “Making Sense Of”, the opening track, is a dance of sorts towards the unknown. With the simplicity of guitar strumming, Krieger’s vocal points are accented by orchestral string arrangements that create a whimsical atmosphere, yet remain receptive to the light thumping of stand up bass that steadies at the bottom of the sound. The uneasiness that comes hand-in-hand with unexplored territory is stagnant in Krieger’s songs, but in no way does it become overbearing.
Krieger’s strengths come from intersecting lines of grace and delicacy with grittiness and violence. These contradictions, so specific in their recollection, must come from personal observations that Krieger has deemed resourceful. “After work I have a drink/and walk to Matthew’s down the street/I love the way I don’t think/when he’s fucking me” Krieger sings as guitar distortion seeps in, fighting off the acoustic groove. Seeing things not just primarily good or bad, but complex to the human experience, Krieger allows many layers of consciousness to mature within her words.
There is an unconventional pull to Krieger’s song production that pushes I Keep My Feet on the Fragile Plane to stand out amongst standard folk works. With implements of French and English horns, there is a florid softness to a song of heartbreak like the track “A Place For It To Land” while the use of heavy static hums hold a layer of tension. “I Want To Be” frills out into a guitar battle of pounding strings and amp feedback, coming to an abrupt conclusion on a rather mellow track. “Terribly Free” utilizes a simple piano sound while Krieger’s vocal phrasings fizzle out into scrapes of static as she sings “fire and fog/sparkling stars/slow heavy sex/fast moving cars”. The contradictions in her lyrics reverberate within the sweet tones of the extended outro.
The stand out track, “Lingering”, is a cyclical story of doing everything and nothing at all. Beginning and ending in Krieger’s room described as having “pictures on the white walls/black mold on the ceiling”, she goes about her day as normal, but calling out the mundane that would normally go right past us. It’s a slow methodical groove that allows the listener to walk with her through Fifth and Avenue A that “smells like piss and garbage”, or sit and people watch through her bedroom window that separates her from the outside world.
Passive listening to Krieger’s words is, often, not possible. At heart she is a storyteller. And like any skilled storyteller, she warrants all ears. Her voice is both comforting, in delivery and in spirit to the subject matter. The atypical orchestration below her never feels abrasive, but more of an emphasis of priority to her soft and skillful vocal approach. There is no structured path for Krieger, instead she wonders on her own terms. This fragile plane wavers underneath her feet, cracking into noticeable gafs, as she dances around them. “I keep my feet on the ground/and my expectations low” she sings on the formidable track “Low”. Broken down into individual stories, Krieger can’t seem to stop writing. Each song on I Keep My Feet on the Fragile Plane, with its poetic and winding verses, establishes beauty in the context of observation and comfort in the context of learning.
the ugly hug 