Remi Wolf Finds Clarity in the Grime in Third Studio Album
Remi Wolf for “Twiggy.” Photo by Zachary Gray.
“WE’RE ALL COVERED IN MUD!!!!!!!!!” From album art, to track names, and music video imagery, it doesn’t take grasping at straws to uncover meaning in Remi Wolf’s third studio album. On Mud, the unapologetically bold indie pop star embraces life’s grime before washing it away, finding her inner twang and unleashing her full vocal capabilities in the process.
The California native’s early (and distinctly 2020) hits like “Photo ID (with Dominic Fike)” and “Disco Man” endeared the masses to her bubbly grooves, with festival appearances and a Tiny Desk Concert post-2024’s Big Ideas helping cement her status as a major player in the alt-pop scene. Now, Wolf is exploring a more thematically heavy foundation without losing the eccentricity that fans have come to expect from the freshly 30-year-old artist.
“I made an album about all the things that hurt me, and somehow making it was one of the happiest experiences of my life,” she shared in an Instagram post.
The record’s lead single, “Twiggy” — a track about people that “lack both butts and emotional availability” — was a clever introduction to this shift in tone from Wolf. The song’s immediate relaxed pace combined with Solomonphonic’s rustic, clunky production and Wolf’s signature tongue-in-cheek lyricism establishes a false sense of musical security that quickly becomes undone in the track’s bridge. “You don’t fucking miss me / You just miss your mother / You forgot I raised you,” she sings, her voice becoming less restrained with each train-of-thought lyric delivery, until her tangible anger is absorbed by a distorted guitar solo.
As a record rooted in cleansing, this sense of sonic devolution is threaded throughout Mud, taking on different symbolism with each track. In the semi-titular “Covered In Mud,” it arrives in the form of a densely orchestrated chorus, packed with ToneWheel organ syncopations, fuzzy walls of electric guitar, and heavy drums. After two demure verses supported by a groovy bassline at the forefront, a relentless shaker, and a country-accented Wolf, the cathartic chorus ensures that Mud’s thesis is received: “I’ve seen all that crap / But still, I don’t feel right / Dear God, I’m covered in mud.”
Yet perhaps the most vehement arrival point on the album is in the sultry, noir “Jamie.” Her flirty speak-singing in the verses backed by a slow, swung groove distinguishes the track spiritually and allows for Wolf to push her already powerful vocals to a breaking point, her soulful belting turning into lovelorn wails in the last half of the song. Besides Wolf’s tangible passion, what also makes “Jamie” addictive is the way she pairs old-school soundscapes with distinctly modern storytelling, singing, “Let’s do hot yoga / In the building right below your apartment / Let’s go get Zyn at the market,” over a jazzy chord progression.
“Jamie’s” romantic counterpart is “Burn Me Blue,” another true standout on the record. The poppy track takes on an airy ’90’s indie rock feel with the imagery to match: “I blow bubbles in my cheetah-print enclosure.”
Watch the music video for “Bottle” on YouTube.
But on Mud, most of Wolf’s storytelling looks inward, as she candidly deals with topics of addiction, depression, and self-worth. August-released single and opening track “Bottle” paints a vulnerable picture of drinking and mental health problems, Wolf bluntly singing, “I can’t get the bottle if I don’t get up,” as the track’s main refrain. Where “Bottle” harnesses a sort of easy-listening je ne sais quoi sonically, “I Won’t Cry” is a full on slow-burn power ballad, with Wolf professing, “In this nowhere bar / I black out like a dying star / And in the wretched dawn I miss you / And I can’t move on.” Wolf has always demonstrated remarkable range, but these two singles showcase the seemingly limitless bounds of her talent.
After a country-infused dance party in the form of the aptly-titled “Wine Drunk,” Mud closes with “Guess” and “Yellow Rose,” two tracks that continue her experimentation with genre and double down on dealing emotional blows. “Guess” adopts folksy finger-picking as Wolf refuses to beat around the bush when writing about depression: “And I can’t eat / And I don’t sleep / I just dream awake / ‘Til I splash the water on my face.” While metaphors can depict depression artfully in song, it’s refreshing and intimate to hear a musician put the disorder plainly.
To end the clarifying journey that is Mud, “Yellow Rose” floats with a tainted ease. Though Wolf sings about being too dependent on someone else in a somewhat somber tone, the track returns to a familiar sound rooted in an unburdened, downtempo jazz groove and laden with blithe layered backing vocals. It’s telling that each time she sings, “My yellow rose,” she does it in pairs, the first over a minor chord and the second over a major one. Though in healing setbacks occur, Wolf reminds us that one speck of vibrant color can overtake the surrounding mud.