Do not be fooled by its darkly speckled, plaintive shell – hope, release, and magic abounds.

It is pretty clear that Marika Hackman has been having a really rubbish time. And it’s not altogether surprising, either. the pandemic-induced shit storm that occurred not long after the release of her 2019 record ‘Any Human Friend’ had an undisputedly profound impact on the creative output of artists far and wide. Some thrived. Others floundered. In Hackman’s case, the starkness of isolation wrought havoc on the bubbling anxiety she had so long grappled with, halting her songwriting firmly in its tracks. Emerging in long, slow steps from this heavy fog, ‘Big Sigh’ eventually came to be. She has cited as the “hardest record” she has ever made. 

‘Big Sigh’ is a wreckage, strewn with heartbreak rubble. It drifts through destroyed rooms, lingering on every ugly feeling, kicking up the dust with its ghosts and making angels where it lands, mourning with considered, vacillating reflections. This golden, fleshy debris feels palpable on opening track ‘The Ground’, upon which stillness is kindled by measured upward piano arpeggios and distorted vocal repetitions, rising like the dawn’s gentle light. That is, until the weather arrives, and filmic gusts briskly stir up flurries of string legatos until they eventually disintegrate into roaring, fuzzy grains. Use of these powerful dynamic contrasts threads firmly through the holes in the record’s tender heart, anchoring thunderous gasps of relief amidst bleak, aching lamentations. 

‘Hanging’ is another example of this use of contrast; a low, slow recounting of the trappings of a stiflingly toxic relationship. Like falling from a great height in slow motion, its churning, sparse piano and timid electro-beats hold back with despondency… until the explosive final refrain. Then, all at once, big drums and triumphant guitars thrust forth, and Hackman’s echoing words billow forth, “Yeah you were a part of me, I’m so relieved it hurts.” It’s an emancipating gut-punch, and one of many exhilarating moments where a slither of light is cast against the dark with equilibrious precision.

Thematically a far cry from the bold, playful celebration of queer sexuality on ‘Any Human Friend’ – and musically a shift from its polished synth-pop leanings – ‘Big Sigh’ bears a viscerally heavier weight, reckoning with anxiety’s darkest corners. A recurring emphasis on the piano as a central instrument throughout feels in many ways symbolic of this anxiety, most notably in ‘The Lonely House’. Known for her poetic lyricism, on this intermission Hackman manages to say so much without saying anything at all, capturing a familiar chest-squeezing loneliness in the spaces between each cavernous note.

This being said, the steamy ‘Slime’ harks back to the defining subject matter of Hackman’s previous album. With lines such as “Take me in, Open me up and spread me thin, Feel around the brain in my legs, It’s like a piece of bread”, it lays bare the feral intimacy that can engulf one’s experience in a new relationship. Hackman’s candour makes for vital depictions of lesbian sexuality in music, still relatively rare outside of mainstream pop.

In many ways, ‘Big Sigh’ feels like Hackman’s most accomplished work to date. Known for a constantly evolving sound that has veered from wispy off-kilter folk to bitingly smart indie rock, this feels like yet another major step. A cauldron of elements brimming with the leaves and stalks of every crop from her artistic past, the result is greater than the sum of its parts. It demonstrates a clear honing of Hackman’s ability to piece together captivating and sophisticated arrangements (as she does on the apocalyptic ‘Vitamins’), and craft songs that have legs when stripped down to their bare bones (like the delicate and acoustic ‘The Yellow Mile’).

Drawing upon a palette of organic instrumentation (and readers should note Hackman impressively plays every instrument on the album bar the strings and brass sections), comparisons could be made to her 2015 album ‘We Slept At Last’. Yet, with tracks such as standout single ‘No Caffeine’, upon which she cleverly likens a panic attack to an abusive relationship, Hackman demonstrates a much more grounded approach to lyricism and a knack for crafting ever catchier pop hooks. The complete result across the album is a wholly reinvigorated and freshened sound for Hackman, all the more admirable given the consternation that went into its creation.