![](/_image?href=https%3A%2F%2Fmjk-decades.s3.eu-west-2.amazonaws.com%2Fimage%2Fx93S8O3eJK.jpg&w=1500&h=1500&f=jpg)
![](/image/allmusic.com.jpg)
![](/image/albumoftheyear.org.png)
![](/image/discogs.com.png)
![](/image/musicbrainz.org.png)
![](/image/rateyourmusic.com.png)
![](/image/wikidata.org.png)
![](/image/wikipedia.org.png)
Up to this point, Jessica Pratt’s gorgeous songs were almost translucent, their thin layers of nylon-string guitar, occasional piano, and her whispered vocals all stacked on each other like faded, see-through filmstrips. Her third album, 2019’s Quiet Signs, was her most subdued effort yet, its songs powerful and engrossing but also seeming like they might float away completely if they weren’t focused on tightly enough. Pratt deepens both her captivating song writing style and otherworldly presence while expanding her sound in multiple dimensions on her fourth record, Here in the Pitch.
Where distant guitars have been the main accompaniment for much of her work before this, opening track “Life Is” announces a change by starting with the crack of reverb-laden drums and gradually bringing in bass guitar, string-like keys, and other ephemeral sounds. The arrangement is panoramic when compared to Pratt’s usual sparseness, with clear nods to ’60s orchestral pop productions from the Beach Boys, Love, the Walker Brothers, and the like. Indeed, overt references to Pet Sounds come up repeatedly, in the bassy woodwind asides of “Better Hate,” the seashell percussion and beachy organ of “Nowhere It Was,” the accordion bellows of “By Hook or by Crook,” and several other instances. Pratt also brings in a mercurial kind of bossa nova flare akin to Astrud Gilberto’s saddest songs, the lonely longing of the Zombies, and the straightforward pop structure of ’60s hitmakers like Sandie Shaw or Petula Clark.
Even though these influences are displayed freely, that’s not to say Here in the Pitch is mere re-creation of a certain sect of sunshine pop. Pratt’s voice, song writing turns, and distinctive melancholy all remain singularly her own, and the fuller, more excitable arrangements only shine light on her talent from new angles. While her material before this was insular, these songs find Pratt opening up her private sound world just enough to let a glimpse of its depth come through. Her songs are still wounded and far away, but the expanded instrumentation gives them a prismatic glow and makes for one of the most fascinating and repeatable sets from an artist who was already in a class by herself.