flounder begins with wind chimes. Mingling with the abstract sound of children’s laughter, the soft ringing only lasts for a second before it’s swallowed by an eerier hum. The track that follows is “man,” the album’s opener and a scorching indictment of deceptive male harmlessness. “Fuck your soft boy scam,” quinnie sings in her distinctively dainty tone, “no amount of nail polish could paint you a good man.” It’s a far cry from the nostalgia and innocence of the wind chimes that start us off, but this contradiction is exactly what flounder rests on.
Indie singer-songwriter quinnie released her first single in 2018 and an EP, gold star, the following year, but she didn’t break into the mainstream until a snippet of flounder’s lead single, “touch tank,” went viral on TikTok in May of 2022. Though it’s her debut album, quinnie carries herself with the cadence of an established artist, taking risks in form and content that cement her place in the next generation of indie stars.
“man” is the album’s on-ramp, its waltzing, whimsical piano opening up into a clamorous catharsis by the second chorus. In the music video, quinnie explores a quaintly colorful house while doodles of stars, flowers and bumblebees wiggle around her, a sharp visual contrast to the explicit anger of the song’s lyrics. “security question” has a similar folksy sound, though lighter and vaguely fantastical, and its lyrics find quinnie more optimistic, longing for connection with strangers: “Could we lock eyes on the subway, fall in love today? / Or hands in pockets, forget their face and look away?”
On the subsequent “itch,” quinnie finds the intimacy she’s searching for but doubts its durability, asking, “Would I die satisfied / Knowing it could always get better than this?” The instrumental is both mystical and upbeat, with echoing finger-picking and an outro heavy on the drums. Fittingly, the lyrics find meaning in the ordinary: “A fact on a bottle cap, proof of God in your soup.” Managing to seamlessly combine the mundane with the magical, quinnie conquers another contradiction.
Things speed up with “touch tank,” a more classic indie rock love song and by far the album’s biggest hit. Driving rhythm guitar and catchy melodies characterize the verses and chorus, while a breakdown into dreamy twang at the end of the bridge gives the track a patchwork feel. Surprisingly, the mismatched rhythms don’t feel out of place, but somehow perfectly aligned — another of quinnie’s triumphs over dissonance.
Though these first four tracks revolve largely around romantic drama, they’re imbued with a larger sense of self-reflection and a critical eye for human relationships that sets the rest of the album on a more pensive path. On “promised,” over tinny, fast-paced strumming reminiscent of Phoebe Bridgers’ indie rock, quinnie expresses appreciation for the experiences that have molded her, singing “You’re sing-alongs / To Christmas songs / Or a dog at your heels.” The titular “flounder” finds quinnie comparing herself to a fish as a manifestation of her self-described longing to “enjoy life from a simpler perspective,” while its bright, poppy guitar riffs call to mind that happy-go-lucky Y2K aesthetic of Michelle Branch or even Hilary Duff.
“emblem,” another track with a more quintessential indie sound, similarly finds meaning in simplicity, with quinnie diving into natural imagery: “A wet seed wild in the hot blind earth / You forget too often existence’s worth.” Sonically, “emblem” blends seamlessly into “better,” a dusky and consistent track in which quinnie scrutinizes her own instinct to play the suffering artist, singing, “I don’t know why I don’t wanna get better, I wanna stay the same.”
The album comes to a close with “jake’s car,” a minute-and-a-half-long song that revisits the melody of “man” but obscures it, giving us the sense that something has changed since those innocent wind chimes with which we began. Soaring strings and airy guitar twang mix impressively well in a dreamy instrumental that nearly reaches a breaking point, before the song drops off abruptly and leaves us in silence.
It’s not the usual way to end an album, but then again, flounder makes itself at home in the unusual. From the long, glitchy outro of “promised” to the staccato rock guitar in “get what u get,” quinnie makes it clear she isn’t aiming to play it safe. Her lyrical content is broad and unflinching, aiming for real depth and authenticity rather than taking the path of least resistance. Her gauzy, waifish vocals and ethereal instrumentation color bitterness with nostalgia and articulate the ordinary with the inflection of fantasy. At its core, flounder is an album that captures young womanhood in all its facets, conflicting and confusing as they may be.
Daily Arts Writer Nina Smith can be reached at ninsmith@umich.edu.