Japanese Breakfast’s fourth studio album makes its target audience evident from the off: after the brighter offerings of 2021’s ‘Jubilee,’ Zauner and company have returned to soft, sorrowful indie pop at long last. ‘For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women)’ does, in many ways, feel like a culmination of everything the band have been experimenting with thus far, bringing with it all the lush instrumentation, heartbreaking lyrics and wondrous production fans have come to expect from one of the most promising collectives in the genre. Perhaps that sense of familiarity may begin to explain why, despite our appreciation for each of those elements, we can’t help but be underwhelmed by the safest and least explorative record in the Japanese Breakfast catalogue.

‘For Melancholy Brunettes…’ is, undoubtedly, a highly polished record, showcasing an entirely comfortable band— even from the reserved opener, the enveloping sound design that has come to define Japanese Breakfast's aesthetic is on full display. The album’s instrumental palate really is stunning, transforming each track from a simple composition into a rich, beautiful arrangement— ‘Here is Someone’ demonstrates this well as a sweet mandolin line is slowly supplemented with all manner of synthesisers, organs, saxophones and even gamelan! Captured wonderfully by the album’s warm, immersive production, these additions do wonders to elevate every moment of the record. Though it’s acoustic guitars that often form the basis of each song, ‘For Melancholy Brunettes…’ is first-and-foremost defined by its sonic variety: peering between the bass-fuelled ‘Picture Window’ and the wistful Wurlitzer accompaniments of ‘Winter in LA,’ it’s hard to argue that the record doesn’t pull ahead of the competition in terms of style.

The greatest downfall of the album, as you may have guessed, is that these dazzling arrangements often lend themselves to songs lacking in equivalent substance. Every Japanese Breakfast album thus far has earned itself a distinct musical identity, whether it be the sorrowful writing of ‘Soft Sounds from Another Planet’ or the joyful pop shenanigans of ‘Jubilee’— in this respect, ‘For Melancholy Brunettes…’ probably bears greatest resemblance to debut record ‘Psychopomp,’ building itself around similarly stripped-back, short tracks. In many respects, it’s a favourable comparison: Zauner vocals have certainly come a long way since 2016, even failing to mention the aforementioned instrumental additions. ‘Psychopomp’ may still be the stronger record though, bolstering itself with a subtle charm and devout earnestness that the band’s newest record lacks.

Though enjoyable while they’re on, the vast majority of songs on ‘For Melancholy Brunettes…’ wind up feeling thoroughly (and disappointingly) unmemorable, offering far more on a surface level than they do upon closer inspection. Inclusions like ‘Magic Mountain’ and ‘Little Girl’ can certainly be inviting at times— Zauner’s vocals have never been more well-suited than they are to these soothing jams— but ask us to recount a memorable melody from them and we’ll have nought to respond with but a blank stare. The record leaves us questioning why so many of these cuts are so incredibly short, regularly failing to break the three-minute mark: given that the most satisfying tracks in the band’s catalogue have often been their grandest and most experimental, it’s disconcerting to see them playing it so safe. The result, despite best efforts, is an unfortunately tepid track list.

There are, of course, standouts across the record, and we’d be lying to claim that Japanese Breakfast have completely failed to craft memorable or engaging tracks on their newest release. ‘Mega Circuit’ benefits from its bouncing rhythms and digestible structure, standing out as the brightest and most fun song on offer: the choice to make it a single seems almost obvious in hindsight. By contrast, ‘Honey Water’ elevates itself above its contemporaries as the longest and most ambitious cut on the album— though the extended solo that closes the track is painfully reminiscent of ‘Posing For Cars,’ the trick has yet to grow stale for us. There’s also ‘Men in Bars,’ which differentiates itself solely via guest vocals from Jeff Bridges: though a surprising addition, his raspy baritone voice contrasts Zauner’s nicely, demonstrating a lovely chemistry between the two.

We’re also pleased to report that even the more lacklustre cuts across the record benefit from intimate, touching lyricism. ‘For Melancholy Brunettes…’ acts as a collection of touching tales concerning love, heartbreak and the central theme of sadness. There’s an endearing cautiousness to most of the perspectives shown, lending the record even more of a reserved tone than its musical aspects might suggest. Take the record’s opening lyrics:

“Quietly dreaming of

Slower days but I don't want to

Let you down, we've come so far

Can you see a life where we leave this behind?”

It’s an interesting comedown after the joyful musings of ‘Jubilee,’ plunging Zauner back into the uncertainty that defined the themes of ‘Psychopomp.’ Admittedly, the tales told throughout ‘For Melancholy Brunettes…’ rarely reach the extreme levels of crushing emotion that the band’s early output aspired to, though we’re also glad to see the group working under better circumstances. Even still, the forlorn whisperings of ‘Honey Water’ are touching, honest moments of reflection and storytelling.

“The lure of honey water draws you from my arms so needy

You follow in colonies to sip it from the bank

In rapturous sweet temptation, you wade in past the edge and sink in

Insatiable for a nectar, drinking till your heart expires”

There’s a lot to love about ‘For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women),’ and we can’t blame the group’s fans for enjoying this sweet, lush crop of tracks. Nonetheless, the album is weaker than the sum of its parts, squandering its dazzling instrumental arrangements on a pretty but unmemorable listen. Japanese Breakfast’s least interesting project is still an enjoyable one, though it’s one drowning in missed potential: at the end of the day, maybe we just aren’t melancholic enough to appreciate it.