Charlotte Cornfield’s Hurts Like Hell addresses old memories like fresh wounds

Hurts Like Hell arguably is her quietest record to date, and most packed with ruminative observations that orbit around her haunting life moments: trekking through a tough heartbreak, forming a one-night band, dealing with the trepidations of love. She seems to have entered a new phase, and philosophical enquiries into why she is where she is now arise with an unstoppable surge. “Temporary relief,” she sings of feeling strangely fortunate on the album’s most upbeat track “Lucky”: “From the crushing weight of everything right now.” Most songs here abstain from uncovering answers; they merely carve out situations and the ensuing emotions and leave them to the listener’s imagination as to how they came to be.

The near absence of resolution here may be Cornfield’s deliberate choice. Hurts Like Hell’s gritty Americana suits this volatility as Philip Weinrobe’s patient and flowy nature manifests itself in flattened reverbs and gentle strums. In the final seconds of “Kitchen”, as she repeats the poignant and climactic “grounded and actual”, roiling synths remain unmoved to pair with her incredulity. “Lost Leader” tells the story of a distant companion in a languid, serene ensemble of guitar and drum that can sometimes feel like a drag; “Long Game” shares a similar trait. This non-progression prominent on Hurts Like Hell is frustrating, yet there’s a merit in the sense that it symbolises little moments that, together, somehow leave us emotionally drained.

The record’s strongest trait lies in Cornfield’s ever-improving songwriting. What makes it so gripping is how she addresses old memories like fresh wounds. “Living With It” is her most vulnerable song yet, diving deep into the highest moments of a relationship long gone. “I still have your number,” she confesses. “I’ll never delete it / Do you still have mine?” The “I wanna share files with you” refrain throughout “Squiddd”, a track remembering the miracle of a one-night band, hits harder as she gives more context with each new verse. The delights and pains of remembrance are rendered beautifully here, providing multi-faceted perspectives on what it means to live with the past being as mentally vivid as the present.

It’s inevitable to admit that Cornfield could’ve spiced things up a bit. “Number” might’ve made a more thrilling use of electric guitar and pedal steel. In smouldering Americana, Hurts Like Hell may feel unremarkable to some, but for those who are constantly contemplative of where one used to be, its subtle yet deeply personal storytelling will be much more touching than expected. These are ten tracks of singular sensitivity and sensibility, a collection to listen to when you’re chilling and in the mood of seemingly insignificant ruminations. Cornfield’s albums never have a staggering impression of wanting to impress; rather, they encourage the listener to dip into their own little moments and experience the arts of recalling.