Even though I was a little too young to really get into the scene, the mention of 2010s indie pop paints a vivid picture of a certain Twilight-obsessed, Tumblr-scrolling, Pitchfork-reader music fan. The cult followings of artists like Lorde, Vampire Weekend, and Lana Del Rey are something I wish I could have been around for, having fallen in love with albums like Melodrama and Modern Vampires of the City years after their release. It’s a comfort then, that I’m here to experience the release and reception of Grace Ives’ Girlfriend—a stunning alt-pop album that hearkens back to the very best music of this iconic era.

A part of Ives’ revivalist sound that sets the new album apart from other, less memorable recent attempts, is her commitment to the tiny production details. An almost-too-easy way to explain this meticulous attention to detail, is the presence of indie veterans John DeBold, credited on albums like Carly Rae Jepsen’s E•MO•TION, and Ariel Rechtshaid, sole producer behind Sky Ferreira’s Night Time, My Time, as well as the aforementioned Modern Vampires. It’s easy to see their influence on Girlfriend: the tasteful strings and pitch-shifted backing vocals on “Fire 2”, the punchy percussion and beat switches of “Drink Up”, even the polyphonic treasure trove of vocal melodies at the end of “Trouble”.

This isn’t me trying to discredit Ives’ contributions, however. It’s still abundantly clear that the album’s sonic choices come from her love for indie and art pop. “Neither You Nor I” samples the instrumental from Bjork’s “Human Behaviour” and transforms it into a deceptively unsettling pop song. Distorted guitars and a faint chromatic vocal line hum under the surface, as Ives describes imagery of a “dull little blade” and “beg[ging] like a dog.” “My Mans”, another show-stopping highlight of the album, sounds like a homage to the Lana Del Rey-esque tradition (welcome back, NFR!) of turning frustrations with men into anthemic, enchanting ballads. It opens with Ives “singing [her] loss to the moon” over a distant, almost haunting piano intro which, as the chorus begins, suddenly becomes clear and grandiose. “Every single guy I meet completes me”, she sings, infusing a hint of irony into the chorus, lamenting her lack of a “lover who can love right back”.

The songwriting on Girlfriend is where the album truly shines. As she navigates the ins and outs of her relationships, Ives alternates between powerful and powerless, sometimes even on the same song. She starts off “dull, dull and flat” on early track “Avalanche”, frustrated at a lover—partially because they “messed up the ending to [her] favourite song”—before comparing herself to the titular force of nature, “sorry not sorry for the mess” she makes. Album highlight “Dance With Me” follows a similar pattern, balancing on the fine line between flirty and emotionally exhausted. Ives’ back and forth dynamic is bolstered by the production: the verses, where she’s feeling “the weight of the world,” are more restrained, featuring chopped-up violin melodies and tiny sprinkles of piano here and there. The choruses, on the other hand, are huge, dance-y moments, filled with punchy Jack Antonoff-style drums, rapidly oscillating synths, and vocal distortion for extra drama as she calls for a lover to “come out and play.”

It’s towards the end of the album where this emotional back and forth comes to a climax. “What If” has Ives reflecting on her relationship with alcohol—a running theme throughout Girlfriend—confronting her past self-destructiveness through cathartic repetition, “It was up to me and I drank/It was up to me and I tanked.” The following moments then focus on moving forward. Ives is no longer the “little bitch” she describes herself as in “Drink Up”, she’s now powerful and unfazed— “stupid bitches can’t hurt me”, she asserts.

Much like one of this review’s sources of comparison, Lorde’s Melodrama, the final run of songs on Girlfriend are emotional titans—devastating, cathartic, life-affirming, perfect for screaming along to with tears streaming down your face. It’s the sort of album that’s absolutely begging to be listened to, to be connected with, to be the soundtrack to a late-night drive with friends, and I sincerely hope that this album becomes the classic it absolutely deserves to be.