Japanese Breakfast returns with ‘For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women)’
Michelle Zauner has had a crazy five years. She released her first ever novel, Crying in H Mart, in 2021, topping the New York Times’ bestseller list for 60 weeks. The memoir centers on Zauner’s mother’s battle with cancer and her experience as a mixed Korean-American woman. A few months later, Zauner released Japanese Breakfast’s third album, Jubilee, to rave reviews. The album was nominated for two Grammys, and is the group’s most successful album commercially. A few days after that, it was announced that Zauner’s memoir would be adapted for the screen, with Zauner writing and creating the soundtrack. In 2023, she moved to Seoul to study Korean, returning with plans for a fourth album and a second book.
Like Crying in H Mart, much of Zauner’s discography explores grief; Psychopomp is visceral and raw, Zauner’s first album after her mother’s passing; For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women) portrays a softer melancholy, a yearning that underscores rather than loudly and brashly rearing its head. Zauner tells NPR that some of its tracks are autobiographical, while others tell the story of fictional figures: "All of these characters [in the songs] succumb to some sort of temptation or disrupt a balance in their lives and are then grappling with the consequences or regrets of that decision-making.”
Dreamlike and longing, the first track perfectly exemplifies these themes – the speaker craves a softer life of “slower days,” but fears disappointing their partner after they’ve come so far, of disrupting the balance they’ve recently found: “Can you see a life where we leave this behind?” The instrumentals personify this slow, meandering life, interspersed with discordant piano, artfully symbolic of the speaker’s doubt. Despite this, the song ends on a hopeful, loving note: “Life is sad, but here is someone.” There’s a kind of beauty in having these kinds of problems, in having a person to share your life and yearn for simpler days with.
“Orlando in Love,” the album’s first single, is, in Zauner’s words, “a hodgepodge of odd references.” The title comes from an unfinished epic by Matteo Maria Boiardo called Orlando Innamorato, which ends at 68.5 cantos as Italy had been invaded by France – but that doesn’t sound good as a lyric; Eduard von Grützner’s painting ‘The Connoisseur’ inspired Orlando’s background as a friar. This track, too, epitomizes the album’s themes – Orlando succumbs to a siren’s temptations, “singing his name with all the sweetness of a mother,” and it ultimately dooms him.
Fans have also interpreted the titular Orlando to be from Virginia Woolf’s novel of the same name – it follows a nobleman who suddenly undergoes an overnight transformation from male to female, living for centuries as they experience love, loss, and fluid identity. Those fans believe the siren to be Orlando’s female form, “the ideal woman.” In drowning Orlando’s male form, they complete their transformation.
“Little Girl” is told from a father’s perspective. The narrator grapples with alcoholism, overwork, and bridging the gap with his estranged daughter – desolate and haunting, Zauner’s breathy timbre perfectly accentuates the lament. The end is interesting, though – the narrator says he “meant no harm,” and longs for his daughter back, yet the final line reads, “pretty girl, all I own.” Despite being apart for so long, the narrator still believes he has some claim over the girl – we’re sympathetic to his plight up until the final line.
“Picture Window” details the struggles and peace of having anxiety, and being with a partner who doesn’t experience those same worries. From the jump, we can feel the difference – “Picture Window” is the first faster-paced track on the album, and it kind of puts us on edge. “Heart breaking like a punch card / Keeps his mouth shut / Keeps his mind fixed and well hidden / You dream enough for two, dear,” Zauner croons – her lover’s lack of anxiety is a blessing and a curse, both lets her live vicariously through his recklessness and almost puts a barrier between them. There’s a kind of disconnect, where she can’t figure out how he lives as carefreely as he does – “Do you not conceive of my death at every minute / While your life just passes you by?”
All throughout the record, Zauner’s lyrical prowess is crystal clear – her words are undoubtedly poetry, a fact that shines on the albums closer, “Magic Mountain.” The title is from the Thomas Mann novel of the same name, following a German engineer who visits his ill cousin in the Swiss Alps. It’s soft and hopeful despite the underlying melancholy, the final guitar pickings a sweet lullaby: “Playing king, playing bride / Blooming in my leisure, slipping hours left uncounted / You and me, and soon ours / Bury me beside you in the shadow of my mountain.”
You can catch Japanese Breakfast on tour this summer, and hear For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women) on all streaming platforms.
