“I feel numb, I feel numb in this kingdom” Elena Tonra sings wearily on ‘Numbers’, one of the standout singles from Daughter’s second LP, Not to Disappear. Oddly enough, this lyric goes some way towards perfectly summarising the feelings of indifference I have towards this album. In the past, I’d always relied on Daughter’s music to provide me with a kind of crude emotional exorcism during my most self-pitying and vulnerable moments: previous releases such as ‘Youth’ and ‘Medicine’ had a failsafe capacity to reduce me to a bawling, leaking wreck of a man when exposed to their haunting melodies and searingly honest lyrics. With this in mind, I turned to this record only to be shocked to find that the shoulders upon which I had always reliably wept on had turned their back on me. In their place are ten songs defined far more by disenchantment than any strong emotions: the arctic, biting misery of their first album has thawed into a kind of lukewarm cynicism.

Its opening track, ‘New Ways’, is not so much cathartic as draining, hobbling along under a limp drum patter before petering out in what is an entirely forgettable pre-amble to the next leg of the album. Then, on ‘To Belong’, Tonra grumpily shrugs off the dying embers of a relationship over a track where weary blips and pulses drift into a hazy and underwhelming guitar chorus. ‘No Care’ continues the sense of apathy, affecting tired, lazy guitar jangles and passive-aggressive lyrics delivered in an uncaring drawl. Nor does Not to Disappear finish any differently to the way it starts: ‘Made of Stone’ is effectively a static and slow-burning outro to see off an album that never really gets going. In fact, the deeper you delve into the record, the more the songs seem to blur into one another under the same sense of tired detachment.
This is not to say that there aren’t a few highlights along the way. ‘Doing the Right Thing’ is as hard-hitting as it gets thematically: it documents the decline of Tonra’s grandmother while suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. The creeping loss of her identity is steadily teased out through its lyrics: “I’ll lose my mind / then I’ll lose my children / then I’ll lose my love”. It’s one of few moments where the album suddenly starts up from its relentless moping to offer a genuine sense of agony - in many ways it is one of the most beautiful songs that the band have ever written. Similarly, ‘Fossa’ uses some of the most direct and polished images of any of their songs. Translating from Latin as ‘trench’, it explores the narrow, suffocating feeling of being trapped in romantic longing for someone else with little hope of it ever being returned: “Be what you want / I could be what you want”, Tonra repeats. However, the most interesting thing on the album by far is ‘Numbers’: through creaking, sprawling synths and roving guitar melodies, a spacious, otherworldly soundscape is created. Added to this is the genuinely striking idea at the heart of the song: “I’ll wash my mouth but still taste you”. It acts as a bitter criticism of hook-up culture and the grubby, lurking regret felt after a one night stand.

These songs, arresting in both their sound and content, are an indication of what could have been had the band not chosen to settle for tasteful yet dull tracks over riskier, experimental and more emotive ones. As technically impressive as the music might get at points, I couldn’t help but part with the album feeling underwhelmed. Where some of their previous releases used to rage tragically against their fate, this record, on the whole, quietly simmers in the background. Not to Disappear, an album which is dedicated first and foremost to being memorable and to retaining a sense of one’s identity, will ironically become entirely forgettable to me in a few weeks’ time.