Fashion Club

Listening to Fashion Club’s self-produced second album A Love You Cannot Shake feels like being caught in the crossfire of a profound beam of light. You can’t help but feel both enlivened and exposed as its aberrant synth lines, artful strings and disfigured guitars swell into larger-than-life crescendos, which evoke a divine yet probing spotlight. You can bask in the glow of a towering light with self-assured poise, but there’s also something inherently uncomfortable about an imposing light source—revealing yourself to onlookers (and oneself) comes with varying levels of anxiety and self-doubt. This is the tension at the heart of A Love You Cannot Shake, a record of lush radiance and otherworldly scope, with each track functioning as its own twinkling, transportive realm.

Pascal Stevenson, the Los Angeles-based musician behind Fashion Club, likens the experience of hearing A Love You Cannot Shake to staring into the sun, and though the record wasn’t written with religion in mind, its heavenly sonics and emotional sagacity also make it feel like a prophetic encounter. The album was shaped by Stevenson’s gender transition and sobriety journey and parses her fluid emotions surrounding these events and other personal trials and tribulations. But as much as it's a dialogue between Stevenson’s current and former selves, it’s also an invitation for listeners to join her in the work of discarding bitterness and recentering hope, especially when such efforts feel futile. Musically, A Love You Cannot Shake is an unshackling of expectations, as Stevenson’s previous stint as bassist in the L.A. post-punk outfit Moaning and her first record as Fashion Club, 2022’s Scrutiny, didn’t necessarily reflect the full range of her taste, which includes ambient, pop, classical and dance music, or embody her sensitive tenderness and femininity.

“By the time Scrutiny came out, I had transitioned, and I was making different music and caring about different things,” Stevenson says. “I felt less held back by ‘Oh I’m this kind of person, I have to make this kind of music,’ and I reached a point where I was like, ‘Let me just try to write a bunch of songs on acoustic guitar and piano, where I think the songs are good and have a solid core and then start producing them and see what happens if I don’t put any limitations in place.’”

Though A Love You Cannot Shake is the first album that explicitly addresses her transness, it’s not so much a “coming out” record or a confessional, straightforward tell-all as it is a tastefully abstract distillation of her personal experiences and identities into stirring vignettes that anyone can relate to. Whether it’s the search for self-worth in a society that only values humanity in its relation to capital (“Confusion”), the uncomfortably circular nature of self-growth (“Forget”) or the self-destructive urge to make up for “lost time” (“Ghost”), this LP is rooted in the universal truth that self-actualization is always worth pursuing. Tracks often begin from a place of discomfort and shame, but by the end, they tend to arrive at a more patient, hopeful frame of mind, as Stevenson cherishes the authenticity of a more amorphous emotionality.

A Love You Cannot Shake also thrives on a fluid sonic palette. The throttling balladry of “Faith” falls somewhere between gentle pop, glitchy industrial and epic classical music. “Ghost” has a bubbly garage-y techno thrust, and “One Day” soars with its electronic take on anthemic heartland rock. The album’s magnetic immersiveness hinges on its strange dynamic shifts, jagged production and ambitious song structures with parts that don’t repeat—choices influenced by her love of left-field electro-pop and her classical music background.

Stevenson was inspired by the movements and storytelling of classical music, and she even picked up the upright bass again for this record, despite not touching the instrument for years. While Stevenson handled most of the instrumentals on Scrutiny, this LP is much more collaborative, featuring an array of contributors who lent strings, piano, pedal steel and more. Plus, this album boasts country harmonies from Perfume Genius (“Forget”), high-pitched coos from Jay Som (“Ghost”) and gauzy whispers from Julie Byrne (“Rotten Mind”). Stevenson’s vocal evolution is also on display with this record, embracing a softer delivery that’s more reflective of her personality and identity.

With this album, Stevenson masterfully executes a daring vision and chronicles how far she’s come in several facets. Sonically, she says, “It feels like the album I’ve wanted to make for the past 10 years, but didn’t have the musical vocabulary to or was scared to,” and personally, she says, “I am, for once in my life, finally feeling something I’ve been reaching for forever, and I want to live in that feeling for the rest of my life.” A Love You Cannot Shake vehemently encourages a walk towards the edge and into the sultry glow—after all, it’s cold out here in the cynical abyss of our minds.