Review: Siichaq's "Catcher" sees singer-songwriter Kennie Mason embarking on a balanced exploration through the depths of her own mind, from languid balladry to abrasive noise.

There are a lot of flavors on Catcher, the sophomore album from Jacksonville-born, Atlanta-based musician Siichaq. Following up 2024’s My Dog Ate My Patriotism, Catcher sees singer-songwriter Kennie Mason embarking on a balanced exploration through the depths of her own mind and the full range of indie tastiness, from languid balladry to sleek pop to abrasive noise. 

Siichaq is pulling back the reins from her debut, which made shreds of the American political landscape and the experience of being a woman, often beneath a seething, grungy haze. This next album takes a noticeable pivot toward how her inner world affects her experience of the outer world, rather than the reverse. Despite its varied sonic approaches to this, there’re some things happening consistently throughout; Catcher is thoughtful. It’s cool. It’s comforting in its melancholy. 

The album opens with “A Couple Bad People.” I’d like to speak more professionally than just saying I love this song, but every time it plays, I can’t help but think “God, I love this song.” There’s a sort of assuagingly boxy rhythm section, an excellent banjo part, and a combination of vocals that’s kind of Alex G-ish. Lyrically, it sees Mason apathetically releasing herself from the shackles of judgement. “I’m happier this way,” “Who cares if a couple bad people have a couple bad things to say.” Interestingly, Mason doesn’t seem to be the primary vocalist on this track. In fact, for much of the album, she’s joined in various combinations by Evan Dangerfield, Rand Kelly and members of fellow Atlanta project Lunar Vacation, having even been invited to record the album in a studio in the band’s backyard. It’s nice to know that the room was full of friends for such an introspective set of songs. This track acts as one of a few spoonfuls of sugar on the record that balance its more bitter parts, wherein Siichaq explores her anxieties and fears and perfectionism.  

That other side of Catcher, the one that earnestly delves into Siichaq’s more pessimistic side, comes through in tracks like “I Keep Getting Sicker, which is about being entirely cognizant of the fact that you’re spiraling while things just keep going downward. It presents the all-too-familiar toxic combination of a sense of betrayal and a sense of self-sabotage. The premise sounds depressing, but the song is actually quite lush. Its production is airy, and Mason’s vocals are velvety in the verses, with a chorus that rings out almost like a mantra instead of a panic. I’d go so far as to call this one the album’s resident earworm. 

The music video features a monologue written by Mason and delivered by actress Carley Thorne about feeling like you’re at a standstill in your life, like everything is wrong even though you can’t pinpoint exactly what is when you tally it up. The monologue is followed by “The Heretic,” a noisy punk track that (to my dismay) isn’t actually included on the final cut of the album, though it remains streambale as a single. Instead, the album features an instrumental two tracks ahead of “Sicker” called “The Horse and the Heretic” that feels like a distilled panic attack, yet somehow also offers a nice mid-album breather. 

Siichaq finds more grounding in several tracks that are spaced throughout the album. In soft moments like “World Equestrian Center,” she acknowledges her need to slow down to the tune of placid acoustic guitar and banjo melodies, bothered only by “expectant eyes.” In the bedroom indie pop-y track “I Should’ve Brought My Jacket,” she reflects on a moment alone, trying to appreciate it even if it’s not quite what she wants. These songs don’t overindulge in optimism, but they bring a balance to the record that keeps it from leaning too far into unease. 

Closer “22 trips” brings things to a somber end. “No one really tells you how hard it is to like yourself / Think I’m fine when I’m alone / but I hate who I am when I’m with someone else,” Mason laments in a deadpan tone over a sludgy riff and a rhythm section that clinks like chains. It seems to represent the bottom of this descent into the psyche that began with the eschewing of opinions on “A Couple Bad People” and ends with still having to confront yourself, even when others are removed from the equation. The album grinds to a halt with a wry laugh, forcing you out of its trance. The sudden snap back to reality feels fitting for such a self-aware record. It invites you to haunt the hallways of Mason’s mind for just as long as it wants, then it’s done.