When trying to come up with a list of artists who create the most “human” music, St. Vincent does not come to mind.

Experimental rock star Annie Clark, who performs under the name St. Vincent, has been breaking the boundaries of popular music since her 2007 debut album, “Marry Me.” Now on her fourth studio album, she finally feels comfortable enough with her product to self-title it.

Clark has said she wants to create a more human experience with each album she releases. So it comes as quite a surprise that “St. Vincent” is her most electronic-driven work to date, with bleeps and bloops produced by synthesizers and strange guitar tones alike.

The record kicks off with “Rattlesnake,” a danceable track that tells the story of Clark stripping off her clothes in the desert, feeling like the only person in the world, before spotting a rattlesnake and running all the way home.

The lyrics are obtuse, but that’s her style and it’s OK. The instrumentation is so complex and immersing that the words almost don’t matter. But upon closer inspection, the listener realizes there are secrets hidden there.

In songs like “Rattlesnake,” Clark’s words are often so specific they seem cryptic. Is she really just re-telling a story about running naked through the desert and being chased by a rattlesnake? Or does it mean something more? Her words are puzzles if you want them to be, or mere ornamentation attached to fantastic music if you don’t have the patience.

One of the major themes of “St. Vincent” is Clark’s examination of the digital age, and it’s usually not a flattering one. “Huey Newton” is the first obvious crack at humanity’s obsession with technology, with lyrics that compare her childhood to the lives of children today.

“Feelings, flash cards, fake knife, real ketchup, cardboard cutthroats, cowboys of information,” Clark sings on the track, describing the tangible reality of her own youth. But then she sings, “Live children, blind psychics turned online assassins” and “Entombed in the shrine of zeros and ones.” The “online assassins” line likely refers to video games, which have become a huge part of socialization for young people.

The song is one of her heavier ones, with the chorus featuring layers and layers of growling, crunchy guitars. But there’s still something about the sound that’s reminiscent of electronic music — it’s computer-rock.

The second single from the album, “Digital Witness,” follows “Huey Newton” in the track list. It is her most obvious attack on technology and also the catchiest song on the record. It features horns, a strong backbeat and a disconnected melody that makes her sound robotic.

The song’s lyrics are far less ambiguous than most of the other tracks. “People turn the TV on, it looks just like a window,” she sings. She’s tired of and frustrated by the disconnection that results from the hyper-connectivity technology allows. “I want all of your mind,” she demands.

Some of the strongest poetry on “St. Vincent” comes from “Regret”: “Summer is as faded as a lone cicada call, memories so bright I gotta squint just to recall, regret the words I’ve bitten more than the ones I ever said.”

The best song on the album, “Bring Me Your Loves,” actually has some of the weakest lyrics. The music, though, is divine. It sounds robotic, from her vocals to her signature freak-out guitar hooks, which somehow sound choppy and psychotic without sacrificing melody. The layering is brilliant; you’ll likely hear something new each time you listen to the track. This attention to detail is what makes her, and this album, truly great.

On the surface, “St. Vincent” doesn’t sound human. It sounds robotic, like Clark collaborated with a computer.

But maybe that’s her point. By calling this her most human album, Clark is making a statement about what it means to be human in 2014. Our experiences are marked by how we interact with technology. For better or worse, this is what human is now.

Published on March 4, 2014 at 2:00 am

Contact Jessica: jmcabe@syr.edu | @Jessica_Cabe