Claud – ‘Supermodels’ review: restrained and rocky

14 July, 2023

Bedroom pop has exploded over recent years; one of its greatest strengths is its accessibility, both for DIY artists armed with only laptops and for their avid listeners, able to glimpse into their interior world. Claud, a self-confessed analyst of love, presents an even more tantalising prospect with their sophomore album, ‘Supermodels’, which sees them upgrade from recording in a bedroom into a bigger recording apartment in New York.

Unfortunately, Claud’s observations amount to platitudes which reveal little about the author or the subject itself. ‘Supermodels’ thematically builds on their debut, ‘Super Monster’, but sadly, much of their initial edge has been lost. Confessions such as “you piss me off, you turn me on” are delivered deadpan, and there’s lyrical cliches about wishing your crush happiness and feeling like an actor on the slick ‘80s-inspired ‘Wet’. They’re lyrical pitfalls that seem juvenile for the inaugural signee of Phoebe Bridgers’ label.

Claud’s vocals are hushed, sweet, with endearing croaks and cracks. That approach works well in album highlight ‘Crumbs’, the foreboding opener adorned with some interesting harmonies and well-executed scenery. That vocal style doesn’t quite gel with the indie rock tracks Claud pivots to straight after; ‘Dirt’ and ‘A Good Thing’ have some exciting instrumentation which is let down by the timidness of their vocals. That quietness even obscures the main twist of ‘All Over’: “sometimes, I think it’s all over”, Claud sighs, then mumbles: “…when it’s not”.

At times, Claud is so committed to narrating their life faithfully that there’s little room for its own introspection. ‘Every Fucking Time’ sees Claud falling for a deceitful, neglectful lover as they argue about Regina Spektor in the bar (to be fair, I’m on Claud’s side here). The scene fails to set the stakes of exactly what Claud sees in this crush and vice versa. Meanwhile, on the closer ‘Screwdriver’, Claud suppresses tears comparing themselves to supermodels – a devastating picture in its own right – but the song moves on just as quickly as it begins.

‘Supermodels’ works as a soundtrack to Claud’s life, but it does demonstrate the limits of bedroom pop as an aesthetic. It expects its own quietude to outline its emotional power, but it’s not enough to simply be honest. It’s telling that ‘Supermodels’ speaks of its own problem in ‘Moving On’: “I don’t have any conversation left to have, and/You don’t have any reservations about that.”