After 2021’s rightfully and universally acclaimed album Ignorance, Tamara Lindeman found herself interviewed by the likes The New Yorker and Pitchfork as an unlikely spokesperson on the subject of climate grief. As the plaudits rained down though, little was known of how unwell she’d become behind the scenes. “These things I was experiencing; this alienation, this dissociation, this loss of narrative coherence, this loss of innocence or trust – these things felt totally related to what I saw around me” she says. Lindeman was eventually diagnosed with chronic depersonalisation, a condition where the mind cuts off the connection with the part of the psyche that holds one’s subjective sense of identity, of being oneself, of being real. Laid onto the ongoing backdrop of the climate crisis; the waves of misinformation, the conspiracy theories, the battling theories of human nature, her experience felt less personal, and almost more collective.
With this, Lindemann grew curious and when this happens, she turns that curiosity into songs. On Humanhood, you can find the same framework that brought Lindeman’s songwriting to the attention of so many. Whether it be the looping, off-kilter drums that accompany ‘Irreversible Damage’ or the rambling clarinet and softly played piano that form the bedrock of many of the other tracks on the album, Lindemann has never been someone to rest on her laurels, so she continues to push the envelope and her sound in all possible directions. She is accompanied on this journey by a stellar cast of musicians. Sam Amidon and James Elkington to name but two. The former finding himself squaring off against ambient artist Joseph Shabeson, whilst the latter lends his meticulous and considered style throughout the recordings.
Humanhood isn’t a word that is used often, despite it being one of the most obvious descriptions of us as a species. With the backdrop of advancing AI and new technology making the digitisation of the world, the songs on Humanhood lurch and stutter into life, static turning into melody, verging on falling apart sometimes before Lindeman drags them back into line with urgency and beauty. This immediately becomes apparent on ‘Neon Signs’ which rises majestically from the ashes of the opening instrumental ‘Descent’. A song that manages to combine lines about misinformation with the feeling of relentless persuasion, whether it be through advertising or in a relationship.
Lindeman songs are never simple. “I don’t make the rules / I just watch them unfurl / like smoke always rising / from the fires of the world” she sings on ‘Mirror’ to a backdrop of stop start drums and piano, allowing the words to take centre stage. Many of the songs address the grapple of pain and loss, none more so than on the previously mentioned ‘Irreversible Damage’ where an intimate conversation with a friend leads to a meditation meeting on a grassy prairie.
“People fall apart when the narrative does, but that’s also where there is an opening” Lindemann sings on the beautiful and halting closer ‘Sewing’. A song about accepting our imperfections, letting go of the fantasy and contending with darkness. Stitching together the different strands laid bare throughout Humanhood through the metaphorical act of sewing. A patchwork quilt that works both as a metaphor and an action – something that can keep you warm. The song seemingly ends as a weaving and clarinet solo is drowned out in waves of synths before the song lurches back into life again. The start of a new journey perhaps, hope for the future – “I’m walking from side to side/I’m taking pictures of the sky again”.
It’s too early to talk about the best albums of 2025, but I’ll be amazed and disappointed if Humanhood isn’t still being spoken about come the end of the year. Lindeman has long deserved a wider audience and a larger platform to display her talents and I hope that Humanhood is able to bring her all the joys and acclaim she richly deserves.
English
العربية
Nederlands
Français
Deutsch
Italiano
日本語
한국어
Русский
Español
Svenska
Türkçe
اردو
Tiếng Việt