Wicked Jaw is Locate S,1’s Confrontational Pop Diary

Christina Schneider’s music has always been an oddity. Whether the subject of analysis is her litany of previous projects—with curious names like Jepeto Solutions and C.E. Schneider’s Genius Grant, or her current, most circulated project, Locate S,1—Schneider’s not one to simplify her music. Across two albums as Locate S,1, her striking admiration for pop music is apparent, but so is her need to wrestle with her intellect. On her last record, 2020’s Personalia, Schneider’s sonic palette was diverse but centered on variations of synth-pop, twisted and restrung with elements of punk, new wave and more. Now, on her third album, Wicked Jaw, the stylistic and subjective floodgates are wider than ever.

“I was in hell…and loving it,” offered Schneider on the subject of her childhood. While the phrase “there’s so much to unpack here” is often uttered for albums that are, in actuality, narrow in scope, Wicked Jaw is an interdimensional trip through Schneider’s past, present and future. There really is a lot to unpack. All the while, her appreciation for all eras and approaches to pop music arrive through forays into bossa nova, doo-wop and soft rock—all with head-scratching complexity. Sophisticated, twisted embellishments to her pop hooks interrupt the sunshine with interjections of personal and generational trauma, all wrapped up with a healthy existentialism. Whether she is processing something from childhood or something that happened yesterday, she examines it best through intricate, pop-inspired sonic webs.

Wicked Jaw opens with “You Were Right About One Thing,” a smooth-sailing country-rock song whose swaying rhythms reveal a path of emotional devastation. Schneider is at her strongest when she’s looking back, framing her observations with pop expressions both sweet and jagged. “Go Back to Disnee” is even more polar. Draped in the glamorous textures of bossa nova, “Disnee” speaks to examine the sources of her PTSD. She more candidly discusses her illness’s manifestation on “Heart Attack” over groovy synth-rock production. Schneider is candid about her sources of trauma: familial sexual abuse in childhood, challenges in the music sphere, a viral pandemic that rendered her even more precarious.

Even for traumas that Schneider is fresh to confront, she gazes at them with enough distance to gain control over their presentation and share them with a sobriety only she can deliver. “Blue Meaniez” is a stark example of that, a track dedicated to more recent experiences. The Tim Burton-reminiscent lullaby repeats “Season finale: 2020 death machine” with vignettes of police brutality, conspiracy-touting liberals and other characters—from the last days of Trump’s reign at the height of the pandemic —who made organizing on the left a frustrating experience. “Blue Meaniez” has a texture that is especially stark compared to the uptempo “Have You Got It Yet?” or the guitar-forward “The Hard Way.” What tethers these tracks together is Schneider’s hypnotic voice, which sits most comfortably in the higher range of a treble clef.

“The Hard Way” is one of Wicked Jaw’s standouts, darting between late ‘50s and early ‘60s pop aesthetics, undergirded at times by handclaps and tambourine, as she recounts a harrowing relationship with a figure who constantly withholds kindness: “I thought we were friends but you broke me open.” Ebbing between discordant and harmonious, “The Hard Way” is a bait-and-switch exercise, not unlike the relationship she’s describing. On “Danielle,” Schneider sounds like Alaina Moore singing math-rock, pairing the beach and sophistication together with the help of a bright, fuzzy guitar oscillating up and down with a complex but memorable hook. While sunny rock isn’t limited to just sand and vibes, Schneider’s version is extra dark, betraying the horrors of when the titular character, Danielle, came along.

On Wicked Jaw, there is no shortage of aesthetic palettes or difficult memories to explore. Schneider lays them bare, finding value in excavating her past and processing it through stylized musical exercises. Each track is exciting to explore, but their listenability varies. As interesting as “Blue Meaniez” is, for example, the repeated lullaby and monotone verses are hard to listen to—especially when they are undergirded by nightmarish, droning instrumentals.

A song like “Daffodil” has interesting components that clash too intensely. Others, however, are deeply charming: “Pieta,” despite being under three minutes long, is so bright and mysterious it warrants repeat listens. Wicked Jaw is a mixed bag—mixed in both genre and source material, which only exemplifies Schneider’s growing range. After frequent overattribution of Personalia’s creativity to Kevin Barnes (of Montreal), Schneider’s creative and romantic partner, it only makes sense that Schneider’s newest album—which she produced on her own—would showcase all that she has to offer. It’s an exciting, exhausting, stimulating tour.

Devon Chodzin is a critic and urban planner with bylines at Slumber Mag, Merry-Go-Round and Post-Trash. He is currently a student in Philadelphia. He lives on Twitter @bigugly.