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In the age of separation and global devastation, it has been extremely difficult for many of us to fully identify and deal with the emotional trauma inflicted from that time on.
In her latest single, “Immune,” former USC student Jensen McRae proves she’s no stranger to this struggle. Formerly a hypothetical Phoebe Bridgers parody of “… plugging into the car while queuing for a shot at dodger stadium,” McRae’s “Immune” took on its own form instead, with the first acoustic release receiving 2.3 Million views on Twitter after named artist retweet. Now a heart-wrenching but sweet folk-rock tale, McRae seamlessly weaves a conclusion to the emotional build-up of the pandemic, performing it as if she’s in a cloudy, hot cafe, completely alone.
She sets the scene on a gently strumming guitar: “The traffic on the east side has made me worse / Hotter than the day my brother graduated / Wait hours in the sun / In line at Dodgers Stadium.” She says briefly, “I’m not afraid of dogs or getting vaccinated.”
Now adding reserved bongos to the muffled track, his blunt disdain and boredom comes cruelly out of the second verse. She sings “With the back of the seat, turn this place into a bed / Someone is smoking in the Camry right in front / Yeah, I know the irony / I would never get lost / You don’t have to point it out / One more times.”
Immediately, it’s captivating to see how she juxtaposes the recognizable and calloused aggravation of her lyrics with the mellow nature of the instrumentals. If anything, it demonstrates her mastery of songwriting, as she quickly captures the emotion on many levels behind last year: the washed-out calm of staying at home, the numbness of the once painful events that we had to deal with and the acute and leaky nervous irritation once caused.
As we settle into the tranquility of the verse, the song suddenly grows. The sharp drums reflect even sharper vocals as the song quickly transforms into a stirring and anxious cry of clarity, questioning what follows on the endless pain we have acclimated to with so much effort. His voice soars: “What are we going to say / When the needle goes in?” / What will we be to each other / If the world does not end? “
The second verse takes us straight back to his imaginary car. Returning to the subtle, pastel nature of the instrumentals, she describes, “The radio is static through Taylor’s song / Think A College Football Game Is On.” Featuring several dramatic violin notes, she bristles once again, “God you hate Top 40 crap / But as sport warned / Your mouth in my ear / You were humming.”
Now launching into the second chorus, the urgent concern in her voice becomes much more pronounced. Using the rushed suspense of the violins, the song begins to exhibit a vibe similar to that of alternative pop-rock artists of the early 2000s like Anna Nalik or Michelle Branch. While remaining rushed and pronounced, her voice continues to convey emotional pain, like a soldier’s latest war cry before surrendering to the enemy.
Her last verse calms down as she recalls the regrettable events that have just happened with her friend. “I think the nurse who injected us is judging us / Can she say we just screwed up the friendship?” She remarks, apprehensive but omniscient: “As I leave I turn to you / I ask what it feels like to be immune / And you know what I mean a little too much.”
The song ends with a fully integrated chorus, absolutely devastating its listeners. She shouts and repeats the words: “What are we going to say to each other?” / What will we be to each other? The violins swell and she vocals softly until the dramatic and pulled back instrumentals close the story.
While listening to “Immune”, it is shocking that the song was not autobiographical. In fact, on many levels, it doesn’t feel like you’ve been imagined at all. Remarkably, as McRae sings about listening to Taylor Swift on the radio and bickering with her friend, you can feel the interior of the car, hear the crackle of the radio as the Top 40 plays, and feel the AC hitting. fight against the scorching summer of Los Angeles.
But “Immune” didn’t have to be autobiographical to get her point across. It was the real emotion that brought the story to life. The car might have been imaginary, the song itself might have been planned on a hypothetical Phoebe Bridgers album, but the frustration and anxiety it engenders is about as real as it is to anyone going through this troubled time. It greatly helps that every element of the song works perfectly to whip up the perfect storm. The deaf and subtle nature of the instrumentals brought out the scarring aggravation of his lyrics. The crescendo emotion of the choir and the added violins towards the end instilled a dramatic resonance. To top it off, a flawless vocal performance created a perfectly devastating conclusion to an even more devastating saga. All things considered, “Immune” is nothing short of a masterful and devastating storytelling.
(And I’ll almost certainly cry as I listen to it while standing in line at Dodgers Stadium to get my shot.)
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