“Superstar, Puppy-Dog, Number One”: The Crowning of a Jewish American Prairie Princess
I first came upon what I have now dubbed the “New York Transfemme Indie Scene” when I found myself stumbling into a humble church in Queens, otherwise known as the Stone Circle Theatre. Playing on a quaint stage resting below a large stained glass window, the first band of the night introduced themselves as Horse Crazy. The group proceeded to blow me away with their sullen, yet expansive, folk/alt-country sound (best exemplified by their currently lone single, “Molehill” (2026)), along with the accompanying profound lyrics sung by Sloane McCarthy.
This scene would find me again a few months later, as I was reading about the controversy surrounding the band Airy Foist and their satirical opening performance for New York rock outfit Geese, leading me to discover two of the scene’s other members: Lex Walton and Emerson Borakove. During this process, I have found myself increasingly invested in this space of New York musicians and artists, and with the debut album of Borakove, Walton, McCarthy, and drummer Rhea Freed’s band Prairie Princess, Jewish American Prairie Princess, I believe the scene has released its best work yet.
Jewish American Prairie Princess carries a conversational yet introspective energy across its 17 tracks, due in no small part to frontwoman Emerson Borakove’s poignant lyricism. She describes her life and relationships with profound wit; there’s both humor and self-awareness in calling yourself the “lead actress of a play called girl with no hope” (“Unlimited Space”). It’s funny to compare your ex-lovers’ acts of kindness to your basil plant’s, but the lyrics “I could leave its corpse in its pot all winter / And of course I’ll leave your paintings hung / even oncе they start to make me sickеr” (“Basil Plant”) reveal a deep sadness in having outlasted them both. Her similes are odd, yet devastatingly fitting. On “Fire Hydrant,” she is so full of love that she’s “pouring water out into the street.” Even her darkest moments are laced together with humor, ending the album by singing “Having to say goodbye always fucking sucks / So even when I die I’ll try and keep somewhat in touch” (“Even When I Die”).
Despite the album’s timeless americana sound, Borakove’s lyricism also displays her grip on the pulse of our modern culture. This is most obvious in single “Lonely Eyes,” where she lists oddly-specific archetypes of America (“Dogs dressed like Deadpool and moms with OnlyFans,” to name a few), proving that she’s “in love with everyone that’s covering this land.” The song builds to a slow, euphoric conclusion as she hopes God will “sing a thousand lullabies to red eyes from blue screens”: a desperate prayer for our internet-obsessed generation. On “Happy Science,” a scientologist claims that there’s “a hell just for people who were mean on the internet.” She pleads for “One more Jack Harlow meal in a parking lot, while the sun is setting,” seeking an idealized American love story in our overcommercialized reality where music serves as a marketing ploy for fast-food chicken combos.
The soundtrack complementing Borakove’s lyricism creates lush landscapes, along with intense moments of catharsis. Songs like “Happy Science” wear their alt-country influences on their sleeves, sporting euphoric clean guitar lines and twangy acoustic fingerpicking. Walton’s basslines are infectious, exacerbating the country feel of tracks like opener “Unlimited Space”.
One of Prairie Princess’ greatest strengths is their ability to flawlessly execute dynamic shifts, taking many of their soft folk songs into incredible displays of emotion, both in the bliss/sadness of beautiful string arrangements and the devastation and anger of harsh, distorted breakdowns. With the addition of blissful string arrangements, “Basil Plant” is taken from a laid-back acoustic jam to an epic, symphonic score within seconds. Pulsing strings and guitar strums shifting rhythm are unmistakable as the unpredictable sounds of Borakove’s love spilling over on “Fire Hydrant.”
“Hold On To Me” centers its final three minutes around one repeated riff, building the melody with freestyle vocalizations, harmonica, and drums until it's overtaken by a mechanical wooshing. “Jack Harlow Meal” is easily the album’s heaviest track, with Borakove’s often-soft and slow vocals becoming fast and frantic, beckoning drums and distorted guitars to follow suit until the song collapses into a sea of harsh noise. Similarly, “Suzy” jumps into a distorted outburst of noise within seconds from its acoustic baseline arrangement. My favorite of these dynamic moments comes in the heartbroken scenes of “Powerline, Part 2.” Despite singing the loving pet names of “puppy-dog, superstar,” you can just about feel Borakove’s world fall apart as she stands “outside the Roxy in the pouring rain,” the thunder of McCarthy’s shrill guitar solo ringing out as Borakove is “watching you make love to the lightning.”
Throughout the entirety of the album’s runtime the band stays true to its name, crowning themselves as a crucial new voice in indie rock and folk music. Despite being their debut album, Jewish American Prairie Princess reads already like a magnum opus, its sonic world fleshed out and its voice unwavering from the moment they arrived. I am already looking forward to what the band creates next. In the meantime, I have not had to look far for more; the band’s members are easily spotted all over each other’s work and the projects of other hyper-confessional, DIY transfem musicians and filmmakers. Ultimately, when describing Jewish American Prairie Princess, three words come to mind: “superstar, puppy-dog, number one.”
Favorite Tracks: “Basil Plant,” “Ducky,” “Powerline, Pt. 2”
Rating: INDY
Maxine Messina is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences. She’s majoring in psych and minoring in trans girl media studies.
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