To say Arlo Parks’ second album has big shoes to fill would be an understatement. In many ways, Collapsed in Sunbeams is the perfect debut; a clean and distinct sound paired with sharp, personal lyricism won it the Mercury Prize in 2021. At times, My Soft Machine lives up to the sparkling potentiality of Parks’ first album – but often, I found myself glancing out the window, apathetic towards its opaque sound.

“The tender, yet gently desperate lyrics of ‘Dog Rose’ make it the highlight of the album”

Born and raised in London, 23-year-old Arlo Parks became known for her songs ‘Eugene’ and ‘Black Dog’, which explore sapphic yearning and mental health, and quickly became lockdown anthems. Citing Sylvia Plath and Haruki Murakami as major influences, Parks recently announced the publication of her first book, The Magic Border: poetry and fragments from My Soft Machine. Clearly, what makes Parks exceptional is her love of poetry.

Fittingly, My Soft Machine, like Collapsed in Sunbeams, opens with a poem. A window into the album, ‘Bruiseless’ encapsulates many of Parks’ thematic interests: mental health, nostalgia, and love. I struggled not to think of Canadian Instagram-poet Rupi Kaur upon hearing the bluntness of “Almost everyone that I love has been abused, and I am included,” but the beauty and simplicity of “Like a peony ripped by the chain of a dirt bike / I just wish I was seven and blameless” undercut the song’s otherwise direct tone.

Indeed, the lyricism of this album otherwise delivers, although it doesn’t stray far from the world of Collapsed in Sunbeams. The lyrics feel familiar: images of artichokes from ‘Collapsed in Sunbeams’ are swapped for cheese in ‘Bruiseless’; from ‘Black Dog’, a Robert Smith reference is traded for Juliette Binoche in ‘Impurities’; the amethyst, indigo, and violet of ‘Eugene’ are found in the purplish images of ‘Purple Phase’.

The tender, yet gently desperate lyrics of ‘Dog Rose’ make it the highlight of the album. With its bright electric guitar and catchy hook, this is an easy addition to any soft summer playlist about sapphic yearning; “The sky is dog rose / And I keep getting pangs when I look up” is a line that speaks for itself, panoramic in its visual and existential scope.

Indeed, Parks knows her audience well. ‘Pegasus’ features American indie-pop artist Phoebe Bridgers, with whom Parks practically shares a fanbase. The tune anchors the record with a muted, plucked electric guitar accompaniment. While the heavy synths of the other songs often overwhelm Parks’ gentle poeticism, this track offers a rare moment of balance.

“Like a blurry Polaroid, this album is a heady snapshot of Parks’ artistic life”

Yet, even here, the sharp potential of Parks’ lyricism is occasionally obscured by the album’s sound, which is best described as Conan Gray’s Sunset Season meets lo-fi study beats. Only ‘Puppy’ and ‘I’m Sorry’ challenge the aural marsh of My Soft Machine. Using cool, clean drums and a swung, bassy motif, these tracks break away from the album’s comfortable fuzziness. Like a blurry Polaroid, this album is a heady snapshot of Parks’ artistic life; it’s a collage of her poetic influences, building on the textures of her first album.

Although the record is sometimes lukewarm, it never once led me to doubt Parks’ creativity. Whereas Collapsed in Sunbeams is named after a line in Zadie Smith’s On Beauty, My Soft Machine takes its title from Joanna Hogg’s 2019 film, Souvenir. Citing Olga Tokarczuk, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and Annie Ernaux as just a few of the novelists who shaped the landscape of My Soft Machine, Parks has demonstrated her ability to create a tapestry of literary influences through her music.

Thus, Parks’ poetry scaffolds what would otherwise be a monotonous album. Its departure from the cleaner sound of her first album is somewhat disappointing, but its fine-tuned images and poignant lyricism make me excited for what’s coming next for Parks. It’s certainly a strong album overall, and one that I will continue to explore in the weeks and months to come.