Avalon Emerson’s debut, & the Charm, highlighted that the touring DJ and producer was already well-steeped in pop, electronica, and the sultriness (if not the melodic and rhythmic tilts) of R&B. While & the Charm was a memorable calling card, Emerson’s follow-up, Written into Changes, marks the musician’s consummate arrival. Whatever Emerson takes on, she embodies, making it her own. Changes is rangy, seamless, and replete with high-risk moves, each track contributing to a well-paced pop manifesto.
From the opening track, Emerson proves herself a skilled eclecticist. The fascinating “Eden” crosses funky rhythms, including slappy bass chops, and synthy pop. One imagines a Hotter Than July-era Stevie Wonder collaborating with U.S. Girls’ Meghan Remy, with Jay Som serving as producer. “Happy Birthday”, too, is built around a funky updraft, synthy accents, and crisp beats. Emerson’s vocal oozes both fatigue and smoldering enthusiasm. “Too young to die / Too old to break through”, she sings, pointing to that unsettling limbo one can often encounter as the years accumulate: you need to find a new pathway forward but can’t quite break out of well-trodden grooves and habits that have been ritualized.
The title song stirs a captivating melody, lulling textures, and dance-y beats, while “Jupiter and Mars” is a steamy yet effervescent take on the way in which a couple can lapse into apathetic drift. The latter piece also evokes the way in which we’re nowhere near as in control as we think or would like (“I locked my keys to the kingdom in your car”). As the song progresses, the singer lands in a state of reluctant acceptance (“I reckon it was written in the stars”).
“God Damn” again cranks the volume on a slappy, meandering bass. Emerson conjures the echoes of dancehall glory, the innocence of disco balls that were never removed when the 80s dawned but are now somehow perfectly in line with the timbre of the times. What era are we living in? Who knows. Hyperreality becomes mockumentary becomes just weird. “I don’t know where it started / And I can’t see the end”, Emerson sings. Yes. Resurrect the vintage sounds, mix in au courant pop, a dollop of regret, a scoop of zeitgeist confusion. Gyrate until midnight strikes and the world blows up. Or doesn’t. And we get to do it all over again.
“Country Mouse” would be at home in the 80s neighborhood bar, the 90s grunge club, or the 2000s festival. Or you could just blast it through your Wonderboom while taking a break from doing your taxes. Time has collapsed anyway, the idea of social enlightenment is absurd. Emerson captures the misnomer of past-present-future, the illusion of linearity. Ultimately we have one never-ending moment, she suggests, and we fill it with content: thesis, antithesis, new thesis. Emerson does what she wants when she wants – at once an epicure and a stoic – and it all coheres. Beats slightly pull the track, evoking a realistic optimism, a can-do attitude. God may (still) be dead, but we’re not.
Emerson has clearly absorbed any number of playbooks, but has also, for the most part, transcended them. While various comparisons may briefly come to mind – the aforementioned Remy, Robyn, MØ, Magdalena Bay, the ebullient side of Caroline Polachek – Emerson claims her own space. In fact, she claims her own corner lot, replete with acreage. She has enough room to swing her elbows or go for a walk in relative privacy. Changes is a meticulously crafted album that brims with hooks, deceptively complex vocals, and timely ambivalence; oh, add a sprinkle of hard-won morale – perfect for spring 2026.
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