Inspired by a restaurant menu item, Jess Smyth’s Biig Piig tag became a retroactive nickname for the artist and her messy life. She has changed cities as readily as lovers and employers, while a trail of singles and EPs since 2017 didn’t truly show an attention span until 2023’s Bubblegum mixtape. A Cork native who left aged four, the most Irish thing about her is that she’s an emigrant: a member of the diaspora, perpetually unmoored.
Her official debut album, 11:11, attempts to reckon with the chaos. The title refers to an “angel number” – a ‘the universe is telling me something’ superstition that might not have come from her Catholic upbringing, but nonetheless reassures her on her pursuit of normalcy. Craving routines and domesticity is usually the opposite of artistic endeavour, but this collection has gotten tired of loose and open ends. It’s electronic pop, so naturally Smyth devotes several tracks to blossoming love. But as someone with sonic similarities to and who has been endorsed by Billie Eilish, sadness and confusion also take their places.
It begins with a door closing so that another can open. “4AM” deals with the aftermath of a late night out and burning candles at both ends. She whisper-sings like someone trying to stay awake, telling (possibly) herself “I know you don’t want to be alone/’cause no one does”. The distant thump of the evening’s French club music slowly builds like wakefulness succumbing to a vivid dream though it’s clear the lifestyle has lost its appeal. Later, on the bittersweet, guitar-based indie-pop of “One Way Ticket”, she imagines a conversation with a long-lost companion from a town or scene that had gotten too small-time for Smyth. On the very next track, “Brighter Day”, it sounds as if she’s saying goodbye to the version of her from “4AM” and watching a new sun rise: “Watch you fade away / I’m no stranger to change.”
Those three songs are cleverly sequenced like bookends for (interlude aside) a mirrorball electro-pop party. The pulsating “Ponytail” has echoes of “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head” and poses the question that touches off this sequence of love songs: “Why does it feel like we’re floating / When it’s so clear that we’re falling?” Its long, breathy breaks overflow with infatuation and lust while disguising the build to a climax that seems a little early given it’s only the second track. Its glitchy effects spill into “Cynical”, a brazen foray into Eilish funk pop that dispenses with all but the most minimal percussion. “Favourite Girl” shows what happens when you sprinkle the clubby side of Phoenix with “Levitating” Lipa handclaps and understated bossa nova flair.
Of all the singles released in advance, “9-5” was surprisingly not among them. 11:11’s centrepiece, it opens deceptively with a guitar drenched in chorus effect. It quickly springs to life and seems to be headed for Sabrina Carpenter territory, but instead it keeps developing and dealing fresh cards. Gone in a spry 155 seconds, it sets up the second half to be as strong as the first. “Decimal”’s intimidating bassline begins a descending sequence of tempos – the metaphor being Smyth’s increasing comfort. While the 80s loom in 11:11’s background throughout the album, on “Silhouette” they manifest as a modernised Debbie Gibson or Exposé. “Stay Home”, on the other hand, relies on a cymbal-heavy trip-hop referencing beat to underscore its blissful sensation.
Finally, the bookend arrives: a neat and tidy ending to what had previously been a happy mess.
