Vita and The Woolf’s “Anna Ohio”

Is it worth revisiting past failures? And how much about ourselves can we learn from them? After all, past experiences are irreversible by their very nature, and their outcomes can feel like they’re set in stone. Bygone moments can appear less like a safe space for contemplation and self-reflection and more like a hazy backdrop where reside the shameful and embarrassing memories that jolt us awake at night.

When life feels increasingly challenging, the very notion of the past brings with it a metallic flavor that can overrun the palate. Comparing some ambiguous ‘then’ with a ‘now’ founded on the untrustworthy predicate of a ‘me’ or an ‘I’ can quickly turn into a masochistic exercise that’s justifiably out of touch with our most basic instincts of survival. This is why the idea that we ought to leave the past where it belongs for the living to go on living sounds like a moral creed we can all agree on and believe in. 

Yet, we’re also capable of understanding and accepting doses of brutal or unsparing honesty. Without self-reflection, growth -professional, artistic, and personal- remains an unlikely outcome. After all, hindsight IS perspective. And yet, when confronted with this troubling existential conundrum, it would appear as if the ability to choose nonetheless comprised its very fulcrum.  One could choose a life spent in an interminable fugue of malcontent and self-delusion, head deep in the ground and humming loudly in an effort to tune out an unexciting milieu. Conversely, one can engage in endless doubt, regret, and obsessive reflection, guided by the illusory allure of free will and self-control. 

For most of us, both of these scenarios sound alarmingly familiar, even frighteningly relatable. But what if there was a healthy middle ground instead? A way to accept things for what they are without guilt or without having to live a life of blissful, and at times, willful ignorance. Is it possible to look back at one’s own mistakes with an honest smile, not feeling any better or worse for it? And if so, is it worth the trouble?

These questions are at the heart of Los Angeles-based artist Vita and The Woolf’s second  LP, “Anna, Ohio.” Released on August 21st on Spotify by Tender Loving Empire, a Portland, Oregon-based music label, the album comes three years after the band’s debut “Tunnels.” The brainchild of Jen Pague, “Anna, Ohio,” was recorded at her home studio in Los Angeles. Producer Hope Brush was involved with the album, recording drummer Adam Shumski at Elliot Smith’s former recording studio, New Monkey Studio, in Van Nuys, and vocals were additionally recorded over a week at a rented cabin in Lake Arrowhead.  

The record is armed to the teeth with an arsenal of soulful and hard-bopping, synth-heavy power-pop numbers that dive deep into the thick of the existential mess at the heart of what it means to grow into the person that we believe or want ourselves to be. Throughout ten tracks, clocking in at thirty-two minutes, Vita and the Woolf delve into a collage of personal memories told through flashbacks and conversations with old friends and former lovers that serve as mirrors to a confused and aggrieved protagonist. 

The narrative comes off like an honest, if not acrimonious, inventory observed through the magnifying lens of self-reflection. Employing a poignant use of haunting synthesizers, melodious keyboards, funky grooves, and Pague’s superb and enviable vocal range, Vita and the Woolf put forth a polished and soulful sound that serves as an apt setting for what feels like a personal and introspective story.  

With a forward and assertive start in the first two songs, “Out of State” and “Confetti,” Pague wastes no time setting down the record’s tone and mood. With lyrics focusing on themes of distance (“maybe we’ll be best friends” and “been thinking about my east coast friends, how I miss them bad”) and resignation ( did I really think confetti would fall with my shitty plan?”), it becomes immediately apparent that we are in the presence of a listless and pining narrator. 

Opting for plush and airy melodies on the synths that ruminate over a series of brooding chord changes, Pague’s intended effect comes off like a fed-up and acerbic “I told you so.” It’s as though the songs are more of an admission to some deep-seated resignation and helplessness than an acknowledgment of personal agency. 

The next two songs are much livelier and funky, bearing strong hints of Florence and The Machine’s trademark baroque pop. Wherever we were before, that’s certainly not where we find ourselves now. Grounded on catchy and mellifluous vocals and fast and infectious beats, there is a feeling that this is the part of the journey where we just pass through, full-steam ahead and with a front-row seat to the emotional workings of the protagonist’s mind. The words and vocals provide fragments of tender and honest reflection, as memory becomes a shape-shifting backdrop against which these sporadic moments of lucidity occur. 

The song “Operator” works perfectly as the albums’ fulcrum. With a thick groove and marvelous keyboard passages, the song recounts in flashbacks stories of a sordid and decadent New York City. It’s here that we notice a deliberate change in the narrator, who confidently declares to a former lover that “I don’t wanna be your girl.” This caustic resolution born out of suffocating ennui sets the tone for the second part of the record. In the next three songs, the mood intentionally turns less passive and reflective as it becomes gradually more cathartic and declarative.

Resignation and acceptance have given way to confidence and self-reliance, which in turn, yield an increasing feeling of self-control. Lyrics like “won’t you come near me? You’re what I need”, and “I’ve gotta take my time” attest to this pivotal moment in the protagonist’s life as they are wonderfully complemented by some of the most dynamic, effective, and best-produced pop sounds I have heard so far this year. 

With a commendable sense of cunning, Pague pushes each song’s boundaries, making them seem elastic and spacious, and more importantly, inhabitable; the perfect settings for probing the themes of memory and choice, distance and loss, agency and consequence that make this such a personal and equally cerebral record. 

By the time we arrive at the last two songs, the feelings of loneliness and alienation present at the start of the album are all but gone. In two sultry and funky numbers, all cards are put down on the table quite matter of factly. We hear pleas mixed with confessions (“take me out, babe, I have a strange tendency to go too steep”) and bold declarations (“I know you fucking hate me”). No longer ossified and passive, the protagonist appears to have (re)gained her voice and composure, along with an impressive ability to stand bare in front of a jury of her listeners, her past, and herself.  

Experience has made her durable and equally malleable, even as she remains untrustworthy and rough around the edges. For Pague, life is an ever-growing collection of moments salvaged and cataloged solely out of a necessity for the clarity that can only emerge from a favorable vantage point.

In a year marked by high doses of catchy and quality power-pop, “Anna Ohio” jockeys for and successfully secures a place among its peers. With poise, honesty, and superb musical execution, Vita and the Woolf offer an honest and intimate look at what it means to learn as you go, as they simultaneously shine a spotlight on the growing pains that add spice to life.

 In the end, while managing to avoid puerile sentimentality and pretense, Pague comes to recognize past experiences as inextricable parts of the ongoing and interminable process inherent in growth and change. Bad things might happen, and one may not always end up where one initially intended. But by making peace with that truth, one might ultimately find the necessary solace to push forward.