Posthumous albums are always a delicate proposition, but especially for Nell Smith. Perhaps best known for her ongoing collaboration with The Flaming Lips’ Wayne Coyne that began when she was only 12 years old, Smith was in the process of writing and recording her solo debut when she died in a car accident at 17. That album, Anxious, has now been released by Bella Union (run by the Cocteau Twins’ Simon Raymonde) and, when preparing to listen to it, I was anxious. How do you hear the last work of a musician whose career was only beginning without being overwhelmed by sadness?
Well, turns out Nell Smith made it easy by crafting an album overflowing with optimism, beauty, and—most of all—possibility. Anxious is a collection of teenage hopes, fears, and emotions, but always expressed with a bright, “Why not?” energy of experimentation. Think Regina Spektor fronting The Flaming Lips and you’ll be close—but still not quite at Smith’s indie pop sound. Each song finds Smith playing with a variety of textures and sounds… and then saying “yes” to all of them. The result doesn’t feel overworked or messy, though. Smith’s sincere lyrics keep it all grounded in real, living-in-the-moment emotions, but even more than that: Anxious feels fun. Like, fun fun. Smith’s love of music is just that infectious.
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Take the album’s lead single and title track, which starts with a distant drum and twinkling synth before a driving guitar kicks in, followed by Smith’s exquisite voice, then horns and whispering background vocals, and then even more of all the above. A song could collapse under the weight of all this, but instead, it coalesces into a witty, poppy look at one’s future. Her refrain, “My mum says it’s just a phase / But I am older now,” reveals a songwriter who’s old enough to be clever yet also aware enough that cleverness won’t erase her panic.
Focusing on these kinds of beautiful, striking sonic contrasts—soft and hard, sparse and busy—continues throughout, and is Smith’s greatest strength. “The Worst Best Drug” captures the swooning joy and addictive pull of first love by mixing sparkling piano with moody synths for a HAIM indie-meets-R&B number. Innocence and heartbreak collide on “Daisy Fields,” as Smith layers looping guitars atop childlike chants. The bold proclamation of love on “Billions of People”—“7.92 billion people, I choose you”—could sound simple, but is balanced by the collage of environmental sounds and voices that jut in and out, as if reminding you that finding one person to love in our crowded world actually is impressive. On first glance, this could all seem almost too whimsical, except that it ultimately feels natural, like a teen simply exploring.
And in the rare moment when Smith does go sparse, on “Service Song,” it commands your attention and highlights her vocals’ ethereal beauty. So much so that one could argue that her voice is strong enough—both vocally and lyrically—that these songs would work without all the layers of accompaniment.
But then it wouldn’t be Nell Smith. Many artists, especially adult ones, can create an intimate, pretty album. Only a teenager in the throes of her first full dive into creating music would do so much on every single song. This passion keeps the album feeling like a debut and not a memorial. Sure, you can’t help feeling heartbroken by what could’ve been, but Smith’s music is so full of life and unafraid that she still feels alive in her songs.
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