There’s a moment in Bury Me At Makeout Creek’s “Drunk Walk Home Alone” when 23-year-old Mitski Miyawaki’s voice quavers, eventually descending into metallic, contorted howling. That’s just one of many such moments of unbridled exasperation that define Mitski’s third album. Bury Me At Makeout Creek is filled with deafening pauses like these, when all sense of caution and resignation is shed. It isn’t an aggressive record, but there’s something self-aware and almost bitingly melancholic about it that negates the sweeter tendencies found on Mitski’s first two releases. Still, each track contains some sort of ripple, a slight suggestion that things are not as serious as they may seem. It’s easy to compare the lukewarm sentiment of Bury Me At Makeout Creek to the Liz Phair of Exile In Guyville, but it’s more audacious, and more fun, to argue that the album is reminiscent of Hole’s Live Through This. Bury Me At Makeout Creek is deeply personal and in no way instructive, but it might help save you from yourself. –Gabriela [LISTEN]