Julia Shapiro Gets Existential and Experimental on Her New Album Zorked
The Chastity Belt frontperson moved to Los Angeles, but her disposition isn’t any sunnier
Julia Shapiro, patron saint of the Seattle indie music scene (see: Chastity Belt, CHILDBIRTH, Who Is She?), packed her bags and moved to the sunnier climes of Los Angeles in March 2020. That same month … well, we all know what happened. Isolated and far from all that she held near and dear, Shapiro had an identity crisis that spiraled into an existential crisis, as well. “I had no friends. I was alone. I asked myself, ‘Why am I here?’ Just every day: ‘Why am I here?’” she recalls in a press release for her new solo effort, Zorked (definition of “zorked”: being in an altered state of mind, be that high, exhausted, drunk, etc.).
Her solo debut, 2019’s Perfect Version, ended with a comforting hope in the form of the notion that she had found “a lasting sense of self,” as she sang on record closer “Empty Cup.” But when writing her new record, even that had disintegrated. Like many people in the pandemic who were cut off from the activities and people that helped define their personhood, Shapiro questions who and why she is throughout her new LP.
“Death (XIII)” is a freight train of an album opener, with its chugging guitar kicking everything off with a sense of foreboding. The song is distinctly heavier and more hardcore than her previous sound—an intentional choice by Shapiro and her co-producer/roommate Melina Duterte (Jay Som). Shapiro’s voice is nearly drowned out by cascades of noise as she sings, “Holding onto something concrete / but there’s freedom in falling.” There is something freeing in being completely untethered from life as you previously knew it, she discovers: “What was once true / can now be rejected / Everything real / was just a reflection.” Shapiro’s revelations in the song are reminiscent of its titular tarot card, which, rather than being an omen of doom, can often be interpreted as a sign of new beginnings. Yes, there’s been a death, but out of burial ground, new life can grow.
This liberation and relief is short-lived, though. “Come With Me” follows, a terrifying seduction inspired by a bad mushroom trip. The song is mesmerizing and appropriately tinged with psych rock. Shapiro’s languid delivery of the line “Come with me / sink with me” is especially hypnotic. “Looking forward to my past / Sinking into what I lack,” she sings, begging the question: Who are we when we are unmoored from home and the people who know us best?
