Tommy Lefroy Stays Consistent on Debut Album The Precariat 

Upon arriving in New York, N.Y. for Fall Break, I opened Instagram to find a video of the indie music duo Tommy Lefroy’s Tessa Mouzourakis and Wynter Bethel hiding their new CD in my favorite bookstore, Book Club Bar. The CDs were gone when I got there, but as I sat in that bookstore writing this review, I felt deeply excited by their presence. The name Tommy Lefroy was borrowed from the man who was Jane Austen’s real-life inspiration for Mr. Darcy, and their songs stay true to the history of heartbreak. 

On Friday, Oct. 23, the pair released their first full-length album, The Precariat. The album opens with “All Things Forgiven,” a crushing piano ballad that paints a picture of a little girl on Halloween in a suspenseful tone similar to Ethel Cain’s work. It establishes a scene of the girl lying on the floor, explaining that while “nothing bad has happened,” there is an impending threat to her stability, stating “you’re the one I’m looking for,” as if to resolve her uncertainty. This miraculously works without being corny; the band is extremely successful in painting a picture that is often cliché, frequently grappling with coming-of-age themes throughout their work, without risking redundancy.

This is something that Tommy Lefroy does successfully in their EP Flight Risk, describing purchasing a lighter at a liquor store in “The Cause,” and devolving into fragmented pop culture references before they end by asking, “how could I ever be enough?” In that moment, the duo pulls off this somewhat hackneyed line, offering the listener a tether to their otherwise scattered sea of small anecdotes and images. In “All Things Forgiven,” the fragmented nature of the song stems from its changing setting—from a house, to a road, to a backyard—all while addressing an unidentified, central “you.” When the harder emotional lines appear, they function as emotionally resonant. 

The opening track is sonically distinct from their previous work until the last minute of the song, in which the guitar and drums come in, enveloping the track in a nostalgic chokehold. The next song, “Angel in the House,” which continues the album’s upbeat tone, felt like their old songs (which I love), although I craved slightly more evolution from their debut album while still maintaining their original brand. 

The band’s main accomplishment is their ability to transmute poetry into songs that feel palatable. It is not a difficult listen, despite having deeply poetic lyrics. 

“Anomie,” which is one of the most vulnerable songs on the album, exemplifies their lyrical strengths. Listening to the track feels intrusive, beginning with the speaker getting their period in a stranger’s bed, who then borrows “his amp for a chance at a chance.” The chorus, which repeats that “I let things happen,” can be appreciated for its incredible precision; the song recounts a moment of embarrassment, then of using someone for an opportunity that is presently far away. All of these things are seemingly out of the speaker’s influence, and yet they “let” these factors play out, illustrating a false sense of control. 

Unfortunately, a lot of the songs on this album feel somewhat similar upon first listen. The titular “The Precariat,” though, does differ somewhat from the other songs. It begins with a much more poignant and less diffused guitar that feels borderline hysterical: a fitting culmination of the themes of violence and instability that run throughout the album. Eventually, the song manages to enter a politically charged discussion about living in an American city, without directly critiquing or praising the country.

Mouzourakis was born in Vancouver, and Bethel is from Michigan; both places are referenced on the album in the songs “Turbulence Over Canada” and “God Made Michigan,” which appear back to back. The album ends in a critique of the general state of nations, arguing “we don’t make them as we used to.” Though thematically stronger than its predecessors, “The Precariat” is challenging to separate from the band’s previous work.  Musically, I wasn’t levitated at many points, unlike their transformative EP Flight Risk.

As a Tommy Lefroy fan, what prevented me from loving this album is the knowledge of their previous work. Without knowing their other work, this album would feel more exciting—and in the larger scheme of indie music, is it exciting—but because of how strongly it stays true to the band’s original sound, it lacks a feeling of evolution from their previous work. 

Ruby Weston can be reached at rweston@wesleyan.edu.