Score: 5/5 stars
The pop duo’s sophomore is an ambitious, conceptual journey overflowing with substance that refines their vision of storytelling through music.
Inside insect larvae lies structures known as imaginal discs, soft sacs that play a vital role in metamorphosis. During the pupal stage, the larval tissue breaks down, leaving space for the discs to expand and harden into the adult body. This process is entirely instinctual to insects, but to Matthew Lewin and Mica Tenenbaum of Magdalena Bay, undergoing metamorphosis as humans is a non-linear journey that requires more detours.
Their sophomore Imaginal Disk feels colossal, seeming far longer than its 53-minute runtime. The lyrical and musical evolution throughout the album is comparable to a film narrative, packed to the brim with ideas. The duo’s sound evolves from their previous to feel less homogenous, experimenting with a wide range of instruments that make the listening experience diverse while keeping the story’s vision singular.
The album opens quietly with “She Looked Like Me!,” sampling a computer starting up, a feature on-brand for Magdalena Bay’s description of their music as “synth pop straight from the simulation.” The track builds slowly with ample breathing room, introducing listeners to the narrator as she describes envisioning a better version of herself just out of reach.
The second track, “Killing Time” addresses the beginning stages of change. The narrator talks about waiting for change to occur, gradually feeling time slip away as she “waits for the night to creep,” living purely for tomorrow. Trapped in this cycle, she feels her self-esteem slipping as time eats away at her day in and day out, watching the world around her advance.
The narrator’s wishes are answered on “True Blue Interlude,” when she is presented with a new version of herself as an advertisement. This new self is unlocked through inserting the Imaginal Disk, which, much like with insects, will be the source of metamorphosis. The interlude assures the narrator that this new self is intrinsic to who she is. In this context, it is an external procedure provided to awaken this new self.
The appealing nature of the Imaginal Disk is swiftly quenched by the next track, “Image.” The sinister tone contrasts the hopeful, angelic chords of the interlude, painting the scene of the narrator’s first stages of their transformation. She pleads to be made in the image of “the doctor,” a character integral to the album’s narrative as a parallel to the standards the narrator projects onto the world.
Notwithstanding the societal implications of the character, there is something cataclysmic and godlike about them. They are looked at by the narrator as a saviour, someone who can provide judgment about what parts of her identity should be changed. Seeing her other, better self “through a two-way mirror” makes the narrator feel unrecognizable, only further detached from who she currently is.
The glam-rock “Death and Romance” dials away from the synth-pop sound the duo is known for, with hammering piano chords and drums somewhat reminiscent of ‘70s prog-rock operas. The lyrics describe a situation with a former lover, one the narrator gave their all, likening it to life itself. She can “give and give until it’s all that [she] has,” even if it will inevitably end.
The song transitions immediately into “Fear, Sex,” a glitchy track that depicts the narrator moments after the relationship has ended. She is left confused, represented by the disjointed production, envisioning a life where she dies alone. For this, she blames the world around her and her ex-lover.
The relationship’s aftermath is examined closer on “Vampire in the Corner,” where the narrator finds herself yearning to rekindle her former love. They begin to reflect on where things went wrong, as one does, spiraling and fearing they gave too much love, a callback to the all or nothing approach on “Death and Romance.” Their lover takes the shape of a vampire who drains her of energy and love, but this comparison is dualized by her own admittance to sucking the energy out of them as she realizes her own errors.
It isn’t until the album’s midpoint that the narrator finally realizes her desire to break free from her negative outlook on “Watching T.V.” In spoken word verses, the narrator pines for her bygone lover to “call [her] back someday”, emphasizing the broken state she’s found herself in. Facing self-error is a challenge for the narrator who constantly looks outside herself, be it poor self-image and comparison or relationship issues. By facing “the monsters inside [her],” she feels both pain and joy, reflected in the song’s melody that swings between emotions as she inches closer to improvement.
The final moments of “Watching T.V.” transition seamlessly into “Tunnel Vision,” beginning with a sustained string tone that echoes the question: what now? The narrator likens their realization to turning car headlights on a dark road. She may not know where the road leads, but her newfound awareness brings them comfort, even as the song erupts into a drum-heavy, prog-rock conclusion.
The energetic, upbeat tone of “That’s My Floor” is juxtaposed by its sinister lyrics, sung from the personification of the narrator’s sabotaging habits. Her attempts to quickly flee uncomfortable situations only cause her greater distress, comparable to “[taking] the elevator in a fire.” The instrumentation bounces carefree throughout the track, almost as if it’s trying to taunt the listener.
The ultimate standout on the track list is “Cry for Me,” a boisterous, theatrical climax in Imaginal Disk’s narrative. In an interview with Vulture, Mica revealed that the song is sung from the villain’s perspective. The lyrics come off as ambiguous, oscillating between a villain seeking sympathy and the narrator seeking forgiveness. The duo brings nostalgic sonic elements that echo ABBA but deliver an entirely original result that fits within the album’s overall sound. The song sounds like a culminating point in Magdalena Bay’s sound, skillfully blending synths with live instruments.
Unlike their debut album, Mercurial World, Imaginal Disk does not loop seamlessly between the final and opening track. This is intentional, as the final track The Ballad of Matt & Mica breaks the cycle of the narrator’s shortcomings. She no longer feels trapped in a loop of problematic thinking, and having broken free from her troubling habits, is ready to move forward; all versions of herself unified. The ending is left ambiguous: does the narrator truly move on? Or is the album meant to loop as a sign of never-ending change? Either could be true, but the finality of the closing track suggests the former as a more optimistic ending.
There is not a moment that feels unwarranted on Imaginal Disk. Its narrative flows harmoniously between tracks, each one bountiful with musical and thematic depth. The songs are lush and even outside the narrative are catchy and complex with endless replay value. No idea is left behind; everything Imaginal Disk offers stays on the table from start to finish. It is meant to be replayed, reheard and rediscovered, as all extraordinary albums are.
