Fiona Apple has spent the better part of the last decade in her Venice Beach house, rattling the box that holds her dead dog’s bones.
On Fetch the Bolt Cutters, her first album in eight years, it’s one of many household objects Apple employs as a percussive instrument. Other items—writes the New Yorker’s Emily Nussbaum in a recent profile—include “containers wrapped with rubber bands, empty oilcans filled with dirt, and rattling seedpods that Apple had baked in her oven.”
Somehow, trapped inside on the record, Apple escapes the sadness that defines her previous albums, each song crescendoing into something angry and funny and, ironically, free. The reclusive Apple accidentally created the perfect album for quarantine, which she describes as being “no different than normal” for her and her housemate, Zelda Hallman.