Melina Duterte arrived onto success somewhat accidentally. After making a name for herself in the Bay Area, California DIY scene, she dropped a collection of nine songs on Bandcamp on a tipsy whim, without much thought. Suddenly, she was signed to respected indie label Polyvinyl (who claim Japandroids, Alvvays and Beach Slang amongst their alumni) and said collection of "finished and unfinished" songs (2015/2016's Turn Into) was getting the reissue treatment. This attention is, of course, absolutely and unequivocally deserved for such a stellar act. 

Jay Som’s first proper album Everybody Works is, hands down, one of the best debuts I’ve heard in forever. Everything about it oozes character (there’s a song called “1 Billion Dogs”, for heaven’s sake), and its studio mastery betrays its creation within a literal bedroom. It makes me feel a lot of things simultaneously.

The entirely self-performed and produced arrangements highlight Duterte’s exceptional knack for making the complicated sound effortlessly cool. Duterte has highlighted Tame Impala, Pixies, Phil Elverum and Carly Rae Jepsen as influences, and somehow in the world of Everybody Works that all makes perfect sense. Take, for example, “One More Time, Please”, which features a dreamy soundscape and pop-radio worthy vocal melody hidden in the haze, before a soaring guitar solo comes out of nowhere and steals the show. The whole album is full of heart-stopping moments like this, giving her work a uniqueness despite her unabashed genre-hopping. The album is best appreciated in one sitting, though each song works well when taken separately also: “The Bus Song” might be the obvious “single” here, but without the stirring “Lipstick Stains” to lead into it, you’re not getting the full experience.

These songs work on so many levels. It wouldn’t offend too many people if it was played in a café, and it’s easy to lose yourself in its dreamy vibes. At the same time, it rewards close listens, especially if you really dwell on its intricacies and quirks. When lyrics cut their way through the atmosphere, they punch you in the gut: “I’ll take what’s left of my strength and get on my feet again,” she murmurs on “(BedHead)”, a relatable sentiment for anyone. Whether she’s commenting on her love for bus rides or contemplating relationship failures, there’s plenty to sink your teeth into here.

This isn’t even a review. It’s more of a public service announcement. Listen to this album if you know what’s good for you. Every time the dirge-like “For Light” gently concludes my listening experience with trumpets and a murmured mantra that embodies the entire spirit of Jay Som (“I'll be right on time, open blinds for light, won't forget to climb…”), I feel compelled to play the whole thing again from the start. It’s basically all I’ve been doing since I discovered this album, and I feel no shame about it. This is something truly special, right here.