Dodie's "Build A Problem" Album Breakdown

Throughout high school and early college years, I listened to Dodie’s EPs, accumulating various favorites of “When,” “You,” “She,” and “Not What I Meant” from her EP trilogy. Shea and I saw her in concert in 2019 in which we parked illegally and had to pay to remove a boot off of Shea’s car. We also danced to all her songs when a lot of them can really only handle a gentle sway, so our behavior turned some heads to be sure. Because of her start on Youtube, Dodie has seemed like such an accessible musician as her audience has gradually increased. While Billie Eilish has been deemed a whisper pop girlie for her delicate vocal flourishes, Billie’s music stomps and easily blasts on the highway while Dodie’s music requires volume 39 to even be heard on the highway. This album is really a headphone listen to consume the clarity of her voice and subtle production quirks in the clearing of her throat or quiet “nope” in “hate myself,” the shaker outro in “special girl,”and the satisfaction of the vocal layering that indicates the multiplicity of voices we all have in our own heads, each song is it's a own chorus of Dodies. The language of the album’s title, Build a Problem evokes house language and as the house is often a literary metaphor for the mind or the self, a problem seems to indicate how mental illness or thought tornadoes impede the construction and reconstructions of the self. As romantic relationships are often metaphors for problems with oneself, one’s own insecurities or satisfaction in the pantheon of the language of music or poetry, Dodie uses romantic missteps as symbolic of character choices that complicate the self. Further, the cover art shows Dodie in the middle of two looming shadows of self, hugging her shoulders as if to cling to the tangible self, to hide from the shadows of self that lurk. I’ve related to Dodie’s lyrics that live in the dangers of nostalgia, felt soothed by her layered feathery harmonies, and loved her cinematic instrumental tracks. All these Dodieisms feel elevated on Build A Problem, in her crafting of her narrative in disc one that chronicles evolution of the self, each song feeling like a vignette portraits of the ownership of the self.

All of the disc one songs have lyrics videos that feature Dodie on car journeys, singing with captioned lyrics that are all like beautiful little foreign short films that assert the tone of each song and reiterates the album as a cohesive arc. I’m focusing on the first disc, not really analyzing disc two, because disc one disco one includes the lyric videos directed by Jack Howard while disc two is a continuation of this storyline and full of gems (“all my daughters” and the disc one bonus tracks are fantastic as well). I love the lyric videos so much because they act as a visual album that sharpens the meaning of the whole, so make sure to watch those as well as listen to the album.

Alright, now let’s go track by track.

1. The first song, “ Air So Sweet,” feels like a preface that outlines the thrill of being alive and the duality of the excitement and risk of making your own choices. “Air So Sweet,’s” lyric video begins with Dodie getting in the car in an angel costume, instructing the audience that the journey begins with her entrance into the car and further that Dodie’s angelic image of the self will slowly fracture in the forthcoming songs. The lyrics are so simple and atmospheric focusing on breath, “I run barefoot, shoes at the door/ The air so sweet, I gulp and gasp for more/ A night so still, I dance, I soar/ Oh this is what I'm living,” embodying this opening song as a meditative moment and adrenaline rush that beckons self-evolution. As she sings in the lyric video, Dodie’s face is hopeful, wistfully looking out the window trying to stifle a smile in the backseat. It’s almost as if in a meta way, Dodie is eager for the album to begin.

1. Next, the second song and third single, “Hate Myself,” is an anxiety anthem, devoting an entire song to the moments of silence during conservations that spike her anxiety in social settings. The first verse are the lyrics the title derives from: “Filling in the gaps/ building a problem that neither of us need/ something wrong with me,” stating that the problem is usually self-manufactured (“I know it’s a ‘me’ thing”) or spurred on by spiraled thoughts, emphasizing internality. The lyric video pictures Dodie in the backseat with a mannequin, representative of the quiet person she wants more vulnerability from. Eventually, she throws the mannequin out of the car, with an expression of pride. In this, the dummy is a placeholder for the anxiety she is projecting on the other person. The production on this track is a little more chaotic infusing vocal manipulation of “ when you go quiet I hate myself,” the restaurant setting laughter, Dodie’s rhythmic sharp breaths after the chorus, and clarinet moments are all scattered throughout the first half of the song, adding texture and discovery for the listener. Then in the extended bridge, the harmonies and percussion are clap-along in which the band joins in singing with Dodie humming. For anxious subject material the song relishes in its own fun with the chorus from the album that chants in my head most, “ Oh, so illogical, I'm not magical, I can't read your mind/ But how can you not hear the whole conversation?/ I have, sitting still with a brain on fire/I know, it's a me-thing/ Eyes closed - isn't helping?/ When you go quiet, I hate myself,” that is more fun to sing along to with each subsequent listen.

1. The fourth single and third track, “I Kissed Someone (It Wasn’t You) '' encapsulates the feeling of trying to seek out intimacy with someone new while still mourning a past relationship. This lyric video positions Dodie inside the car (backseat again) with the window rolled up, and like the camera the viewers are on the outside of the car observing the city lights reflected in Dodie’s window. This spatial removal of being outside of the car feels symbolic of Dodie wanting to shut others out after feeling dejected. All the videos really accentuate Dodie’s acting skills in expressing each emotional turn of the song along with her voice, but she really harnesses the power of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag when Dodie smirks during the line “ I kissed someone because it’s fair/ Oh do I tell you, would you care?, ” reminiscent of in the last scene in Fleabag’s pilot, in the car, when Fleabag unveils the stolen statue from her trench to the audience in petulant glee. The self-shaming yet assertive charm of Fleabag feels very present in the lines “I kissed someone, it wasn’t me/ Locked inside a slut this eve,” as well, no doubt a partial inspiration for some of the album’s imagery. The chorus accompanied by violins, “Put me in a car, I just want to go home/ Put me in a bath, I’ll forget you are gone,” is so simple and cinematic. The slant rhyme (which is a partial rhyme that has rhyming vowels like in “home” and “gone,” but differing consonant sounds) elicits the sonic feeling of discomfort the speaker is feeling. It’s affecting and aspirational in its precision.

1. The first single and fourth track,“Cool Girl” wrestles with the expectation of self. The music video is the first that shows Dodie in the passenger seat, eating McDonalds laughing and dipping fries in ketchup. But the passenger seat still illustrates lack of control, in which the song reflects upon trying to remain cool when you feel ignored in a relationship, so the passenger is the facade of ambivalence. Throughout the lyric video, Dodie is applying makeup, smearing lipstick all over her face, using it as canvas for abstract art rather than accenting your features, proving her riotous rebellion in her ultimate rejection of cool. The first verse is instructive to herself, “I carry the time we don't talk in a backpack/ Leave it on the side with the nights you didn't call me back/ And all the ideas, and the hope I'd never ask him for/ I'll throw them away, it's okay, without a second thought” ,utilizing the image of a backpack to emphasize how childish she feels yet outlines how she will maintain the aesthetic of unbothered. My favorite lyric is the sharpness of the beginning of verse two,“ How much of a tongue can I bite until we notice blood?/ Spit to the left, carry on, just smile and say you're good,” with the sensory feeling of the taste of blood in combination with the repetitive “t” and “b” sounds that underscore the line’s harsh delivery. The outro of the songs is sweeping in the overlays of vocal tracks that are slow and almost hypnotic, as if Dodie is trying to persuade herself of her own silence. The vocals go more muffled, sounding as if they’re sinking as the song ends symbolic of the suffocation of inexpression in order to remain a “Cool Girl.”

1. “Special Girl,” is my personal favorite song on the album. The lyric video depicts dodie in a red party dress surrounded by balloons, playing with props of bubbles, and eating cake with her hands that illustrate the song’s tone in its sarcastic celebration of a childhood superiority complex. What other girlies are writing songs about this? Her insincerity of the delivery of “I’m sorry that’s just the way that I am,” is so sour and snappish; it’s exactly what you want to feel and further elevated by the swift reply of “oh well” The song is caustic and ironic, which makes its use of the shaker simply everything. The quickness of “that’s perfect” as the response of the prior lines, “Couldn't care less if you love me/But hate me first, yeah make me work,” is hilarious and life-giving as an assertion of the fondness for a little drama. Dodies views this song as a transition song, “This leads into the more abstract, less poppy side of the album. You can think, ‘I’m broken. I’m unlovable.’ But ‘Special Girl’ is about saying, ‘This is who I am.’ The ending of it sounds like a hot mess—and that’s exactly what I am in the song,” as sort of an evolution of “Hate Myself” towards a self-acceptance. To me, it’s this nostalgia of self-deprecation, the cheeky sister of “When.” During live performances of “Special Girl”, Dodie is dancing and skipping around stage with a short clarinet solo ( a nod to her childhood instrument), changing the lyric “24, I still count everyone I kiss” to “26, I still count every one I kiss” (which is a real diarist moment on the album that we’ve come to love in Dodie’s songwriting), ending the song with the drummer, Ross Craib, joining in with her own sticks to play the set. The performance of a set of four songs for Youtube where Dodie is cottagecore-clad in a field of lavender uses “Special Girl’ as its closer in which she runs away like a child in a game of chase after the song concludes. To me, it is simply the special girl of the album with stellar lyrics like “It's not my fault/ I was raised by open mouths and teary eyes/Passive wistful lullabies, “ and “Baby I'm a funny thing/ I'm walking if it doesn't sting,” and every other lyric and delivery is my also favorite, favorite, favorite.

1. “Rainbow” explores the complexity of accepting your own queer identity. This is a song Dodie released in 2018 on Youtube, but is always impactful when heard in Dodie’s sullen yet hopeful tone that captures her struggle to embrace her bisexual identity. This is an important track to include in an album about the complexity of the self. The rainy lyric video begins with Dodie sitting in the corner of the backseat then she carefully inches across the seats to the other window to watch the rainbow city lights, symbolically inching towards assurance. Her reflection in the window, though, is the real object she’s studying, becoming increasingly pleased with the effect of the lights upon her face. Dodie, herself, is dressed in an eighties-esque puff sleeve silver dress with silver buttons and a silver headband, almost as if she’s dressed as her own silver lining.

1. “?” is siren-like calls of enticement, the instruments beckon our protagonist, closer to peril with a false sense of calm. Asking “Should I?” that leads to “Four Tequilas Down.” This lyric video even begins with Dodie looking out at the sea, then clicking the button on her keys to unlock the car, carrying a black outfit to replace her white dress, and climbing into the driver’s seat, representative of her desire to act. This is the decision to commit to action.

1. “Four Tequilas Down” relishes in destructive behaviors showcasing the self as unrecognizable as Dodie sings, “ Don’t know who I am anymore.” This song is the turning point of the album, the catalyst for self-grief. This is one of the songs that features a thirteen-piece orchestra which beautifully highlight every feeling from the spinning crescendo of “And it's wrong, more wrong, the deeper I sink/ Oh, kiss me before I start to think'' to the restricted swell of the bridge in the repetition of ‘Something in me says that this is okay,'' so throughout the song the various vocal track layered together, so it sounds as if the vocals rotate headphones as the the protagonist own internal monologue is reeling. In an interview with Apple Music Dodie describes “Four Tequilas Down,” as risky but explains that “I wanted desperately to alleviate some of the guilt I felt to my audience, who might see me as this perfect angel. I’m not,” complicating the angel of the lyric video for “Air So Sweet.” The song follows an alcohol-induced experience of sleeping with someone you maybe shouldn't. It is about coping with the complications of acting to conceal your hurt. While the context could be cheating or another reason, Dodie wants to reveal her potential to injure another with her behavior in order to provide a range of her own human psyche. “Four Tequilas Down’s” placement of the album is bookended by the instrumental tracks that articulate the emotional precursor and emotional repercussions of “Four Tequilas Down,” drawing attention to the significance of this song articulating a tone shift in the album.

1. “.” follows “Four Tequilas Down” as an expression of regret, of the uncertainty in self after a mistake. This is the point in the album were I’m always insistent that this entire album should be a ballet, the teetering notes in “Four Tequilas” and very zen sense of zeal in “Air So Sweet” need some pique turns, some pas de chats, some pirouettes—I don’t know what I’m talking about, but you feel me? It’s such a testament to Dodie’s cohesion of the arc of the album that it is primed for a ballet.

1. “Sorry” muses upon the responsibility of self, the necessity of regret. Dodie tearfully coos, “Let me go back/ Show me the eyes'' to seek the truth of the decision. The orchestral movement of these songs is almost romantic at first (can almost picture Beauty and the Beast waltzing) , then the instruments turn to faltering, sound darker than crescendo, ascending in her baptismal heartache of the self. The past tense of “Didn’t want to believe such a monster in me,” signifies that the reflection has been self-addressed. The quick transition between “.” and “Sorry” reflects the quickness of an apology. Then the transition from “Sorry” to “When” begins with the first few piano notes of “When” in the last five seconds of “Sorry,” affirming Dodie's comments to Apple Music about “Four Tequilas Down,” in saying “ I wrote this in my bedroom, but I wanted it to be swirling, like your mind is going to all sorts of places. My songs never really sit in a place for too long,” that one song swirls into another like a tornado thought pattern.

1. “When” was my favorite from the Dodie’s first 2016 EP “Intertwined” which contemplates the disconnect between expectation and memories; it’s a somber wallowing of the contemplation of self meaning. The lyric video features childhood footage of Dodie in the car window that Dodie cries through, ironic in that she is facing forward in an attempt to be future instead of past minded. The song’s thesis revolves around the pitfalls of self-nostalgia in the romanticization of one’s life that leads to disappointment in the present,” Am I the only one/ Wishing life away?/ Never/ caught up in the moment/ Busy begging the past to stay/ Memories painted with much brighter ink/ They tell me I loved, teach me how to think.” The original version is live, harnesses the emotion of frustration of the mourning of the past self and the future self , kills the present self , which Dodie nails again on the Build a Problem version. But the remastered version has a ticking clock in the background and sounds more “ooo” harmonies that have an effect that makes them sound underwater as if the self is again sinking under her own pressure. I’ve always loved this song for its expression of the struggle to have your life fit a narrative, in the disappointment in your own coming of age—how it’s not a beautifully soundtracked indie movie. In a meta way, she grafted beauty from her life to constraint it into the narrative of this album.

1. The frustration with yourself culminates on the twelfth and final song on disc one, “Before the Line.” Dodie describes this song as driven by the anger in Dodie’s experiences with depersonalization/derealisation in which she describes as "a mental health condition that makes me feel like I'm dreaming all the time.” The crux of the song is survival; it’s this self-explosion that reacts to the entire album of emotions. During a Twitter listening party, Dodie notes that there are sonic elements from all the previous songs that converge on “Before the Life,” such as “ 'Air So Sweet’ organ drone, ‘Hate Myself’ gritty vocoder, ‘Kissed Someone’ rain sound, etc. ” The lyric video pictures Dodie in the driver's seat but she is stationary, too angry to drive as smoke seeps into the frame. The fire imagery is drawn from the chorus of “Once I saw a fire/ and all I know is something happened/ did I let it go?” in which she utilizes the distant syntax to comment on the feelings of derealisation. My favorite lyric from this song is “I made a promise but I break it every day,” that memorializes the small failures of the everyday self can weigh greatly on your perception of yourself like the smoke blurring vision. In the end of the video, Dodie gets out of the car and closes the car door, forfeiting this veil of control, exiting the space of the album in search of something else.

Really, Dodie created this album as immersive in that the protagonist of ‘Dodie’ is almost a self-insert about the complications of viewing your life as the protagonist and how being your own heroine isn't always heroic, but painful and disappointing, and exhilarating, and problematic, and hubristic and funny all at once. Dodie’s debut album Build a Problem is an absolute feat of meticulous orchestral arrangement and creative production with a cohesion vision.