Explosions in the Sky – The Wilderness

9.0/10

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If you’re an Explosions in the Sky fan, the first thing you’ll notice about The Wilderness is that the track lengths are considerably shorter than those on their previous albums and there’s roughly twice as many tracks, and then you’ll think “Oh ok, they’re spacing it out a little bit this time around.” One one hand, that assessment will prove to be correct, but on the other you will also find that Explosions in the Sky have accomplished much more than that with The Wilderness.

Known for their emotionally-driven, narrative-like songwriting style that usually manifests in 10-minute-plus epics consisting of bright and hook-y guitar passages that bleed into one another against an ever-changing backdrop of anthemic drums, Explosions in the Sky have won the hearts of many instrumental music fans since the early 2000s. Particularly those with an affinity for second wave post rock acts such as Mogwai, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, and Mono. Personally, I’ve always put Explosions on a higher pedestal than other bands in the genre because I have a significant connection with their 2003 album, The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place and as the years go by my appreciation for it has evolved from a purely sentimental one into that of genuine admiration. The way they layer their melodies and how they structure the transitions between those melodies to emulate the flow of a story are matched by a few in terms of emotional power. It’s the kind of brilliance that is inherently difficult to recreate once it’s been achieved, which is why I’m not surprised that The Earth…‘s successors didn’t do much for me. Naturally, I went into The Wilderness with zero expectations.

While Explosions’ early material have this organic, almost improvisational quality to them where band members playing off of each other acts as the central theme, The Wilderness feels more calculated and subtle. If listening to the former is like being bombarded with a series of brief, but instantly-gratifying sensations, listening to the latter is like experiencing one euphoric moment that has been stretched to the point where every little detail becomes magnified as if suspended in mid-animation but not too far that it gets tedious instead of engaging. On my first listen, this approach immediately excels at captivating my imagination and conjuring an emotional setting where it can freely roam as tracks like “Wilderness” and “The Ecstatics” impress me with their understated, but effective atmosphere that is rich with awe-inducing ambient guitars, gripping melodies, and a seamless mixture of electronic and live drums, while tracks like “Tangle Formations”, and “Disintegration Anxiety” offer the energy that can be found on a run-of-the-mill Explosions track that features a huge crescendo without breaking the album’s overall coherence.

What I’m most invested in, though, are the two centerpieces in the latter half of the album, namely “Losing the Light” and “Colors in Space” because they feature some of the most unorthodox material Explosions have written so far. “Losing the Light” consists of several piano motifs that are repeated throughout the duration of the track as a multitude of electronic sounds, string arrangements, and distorted guitars steadily swell behind them, creating this overwhelmingly beautiful buzz that reminds me of Tim Hecker’s underrated 2009 album, An Imaginary Country. Compared to the majority of Hecker’s discography, Country has a very strong melodic backbone that is more rooted in post rock than ambient or noise music. “Colors in Space” flows similarly, but it’s more guitar-oriented and also a touch prettier in the sense that it’s not nearly as ominous as “Losing the Light” and more reminiscent of the quiet parts on an older Explosions track, while still maintaining some distinction through its ambient-inspired direction. Around the 4-minute mark, the drummer joins in, playing a simplistic beat that is accentuated by a glitchy, percussive sample that lends the track a somewhat danceable quality. If nothing else, the eccentricity of these tracks proves that the band have strived to push their sound forward and aren’t afraid to step out of their comfort zone to do so. As a result, every moment feels so well-realized, so integral to each track’s intended purpose that I can’t help but be utterly amazed. Explosions in the Sky are back.

 

 

A City Sorrow Built – Ai

7.2/10

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Having been largely detached from the local independent scene since I started getting into music, I’m always pleasantly surprised when an Indonesian act comes through with a release that is more enjoyable than some of the international releases I’m also listening to at the time. It doesn’t happen very often, though, or often enough to make me interested in what else the scene has to offer. The last time it (almost) happened was with Seems Like Yesterday’s The Length Between whose blend of emo, post-hardcore, and math rock worked perfectly to create a thoroughly engaging listen, but the emotional heights it could’ve reached were flattened by grammatically inconsistent lyrics and questionable production choices that left me gravitated toward a few select tracks. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing if you’re not looking for a complete experience, but I’m afraid such compromises just won’t fly in the long run and coupled with the perceived lack of quality releases that I mentioned earlier, I think I’ll stick with pitchfork for the immediate future.

…and maybe with A City Sorrow Built as well. A screamo three-piece based in Ubud, Bali, who have reserved a spot in my musical subconscious since mid-2012 when I found myself captivated by their first EP, the unpretentiously-titled Songs that, despite its length and amateurish approach, managed to tug at my heartstrings in a way few other screamo groups can and it pretty much stayed that way up until their 2013 EP, Motions which expanded upon A City Sorrow Built’s already-established sound with post rock-inspired compositions and spoken-word pieces that really made the four-track EP seem grander than it should’ve been. Needless to say, I was instantly hooked and craving for more. But 2014 was a quiet year for A City Sorrow Built, one that was spent writing (and recording?) their debut LP, Ai.

To be honest, I didn’t have any expectations about Ai because what little impression Motions left was buried underneath all the crazy shit that was happening in my life throughout that year, including but not limited to music (I mean, it’s only natural in a year of reunions and whatever Godly miracle this is). I’m not sure if I had even known it was coming out this year before I was linked to Sailboat Records’ bandcamp page two days ago. But alas, I have listened to Ai several times now and I got thoughts that need sharing.

“Dua Puluh” starts the album off in an eerily contemplative and cinematic fashion with gently-picked guitar melodies that wouldn’t feel out of place on a Caspian track, at least not until Emil Raji’s anguished screams disrupt the stillness and add another dimension to the cleanly-sung vocals. You would think that this side of A City Sorrow Built requires the GY!BE treatment to properly work, but “Dua Puluh”‘s relatively short duration and straightforwardness enable the mood to be suspended long enough for the beautiful chaos that is “Hati/Salju” to arrive unexpectedly and overwhelm you with its dissonant first-third which transitions seamlessly to an extended math rock jam, culminating in an intensely-played, almost frenzied ending that gives you a glimpse of how the group have matured, making “Hati/Salju” seem like the real opener to the album. Ironically, it also marks the point where my problems with Ai begin to surface. “Suaramu” isn’t a bad track in itself, I’m actually digging the general atmosphere which reminds me of Young Team-era Mogwai, but that doesn’t change the fact that it totally breaks the momentum of “Hati/Salju” and ends up sounding like an experiment that wasn’t fully realized. It doesn’t fit in the larger scheme of the album either because the moment “Datang/Pergi” comes on, your attention is immediately thrown off again. So instead of a cohesive song-to-interlude-to-song structure, you get the sense that A City Sorrow Built might not have thought things through enough. A suspicion that is justified by the rest of the album.

I skipped “Datang/Pergi”, “Hitam/Putih” and “Pelangimu” on my second listen because they still sound as bland and identical to each other as when I first listened to them. Not to mention the many instances where the instruments seem to be played on completely different tempos and how some parts just feel so purposefully out of place that I can’t be bothered to give them another go. They’re all lyrically decent, but in order for the lyrics to be emotionally resonant the music must at least be on the same level, which is exactly what “Duka/Cita” demonstrates in its entirety as A City Sorrow Built take you on a heartbreaking journey through despair, regrets that are ever-present, and the catharsis it all boils down to. Not only is it undoubtedly the best track on the whole album, it also restores my belief that, at their peak, A City Sorrow Built are capable of subverting my expectations and turning them into a lesser version of what they’ve created.

“Kasih/Sayang” features acoustic guitars and Emil’s most accessible vocal performance yet, bringing the track closer to the realm of ballads than anything else. It strangely works well as a closer though, which I’m at a loss to find the reason why. Maybe because it’s simply really good, maybe because the line “Kasih sayangku / terjebak remisi menunggumu / cinta ‘kah kian kembali?” connects with me somewhere deep down, or maybe because both it and “Duka/Cita” have prevented Ai from becoming a nagging disappointment.

Turnover – Peripheral Vision

8.4/10

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Run for Cover records is home to many of the decade’s most promising and productive talents. Among its roster is the band Seahaven, whose latest LP ended up being one of my favorites from last year and Adventures, whose debut LP that came out recently will probably make my year-end list as well. Both of these groups, while seemingly dissimilar to each other, share a common thread that extends to and encapsulates the rest of their label mates, a thread that is not as much rooted in tradition as it is in a mutual love for music. Yes, the tags “emo revival” and “the wave” would fit them just fine, but there’s something more sincere underneath all that, a sort of disregard towards everything music-related except the music itself, an attitude that simply states “We’re doing what we love because we love doing it.”–a mentality every true artist should possess, really, aside from the burning desire to capture the sublime.

It should come as no surprise, then, that Turnover’s appeal lies not in their immediately-recognizable sound but rather in how they transcend it. Upon listening to a few tracks off their 2013 release Magnolia, I couldn’t help but compare them to some of Title Fight’s spacier stuff (I’m not referring to Hyperview) or the bulk of You Blew It! ‘s recent material, only a tad more stripped back and less suited for moshpits than they are for a contemplative car ride through the city at night. Part of the distinction originates from frontman / guitarist Austin Getz’s vocal delivery that never quite registers as loud. Even at his most aggressive, Austin maintains a subtle presence within the ceaselessly beautiful cacophony he helps create while adding just enough melody to elevate it into ecstatic heights. A familiar approach, sure, but few manage to execute it as seamlessly as Turnover do and with Peripheral Vision, they seem to have actually gotten better at it. Just don’t expect a Magnolia 2.0, though, because Peripheral Vision is, in some ways, unlike anything Turnover have done before.

If 90s post hardcore-inspired walls of guitar sound complemented by a sense of pop punk catchiness were what they had relied on to convey and carry a particular theme up until this point, they have certainly traded them in favor of jangly, intricate chord progressions and a spacious, reverb-soaked vocal style that seems to be the norm in indie rock circles nowadays. This transition is readily apparent and not once throughout the entirety of this record will you find any trace of the old Turnover, it’s almost like they broke up and reformed under a new name and we all know how that usually turns out; either the group make good use of the gained momentum and come through with a solid release or, inversely, remind us of how much better off they would’ve been had they stayed broken up. With Peripheral Vision, I think you will agree that this incarnation of Turnover don’t belong to the worst of the two. Because if you’re familiar with the music of A Sunny Day in Glasgow, Wild Nothing or Beach Fossils (whom Austin credited for being an influence during the writing of this record), you’re also familiar with what makes it so appealing; its undeniable catchiness. A trait that translates well into Peripheral Vision. It goes without saying that fans of those groups will find much to like here while simultaneously realizing that the genre still has unexplored potential.

What might put them off, however, is the obvious and intentional divide between those groups’ lyrical content and Turnover’s. While the former keeps things ambiguous so as to encourage different interpretations and eliminate any possibility of things getting personal, the latter insists on telling the story just the way it was always meant to be told; without head-scratching metaphors and incongruity. The opening verse on “Cutting My Fingers Off” is a testament to this wherein Austin softly sings “I found the picture that we took when we brought in the new year / it’s hard to see but I remember.” clearly there’s nothing to overanalyze here because the guy is simply saying he found the picture he took with his close friend when they celebrated new year’s and that it’s hard to see but he remembers. As the song progresses you find out that at some point he confessed his love to her but circumstances forced them to grow apart and even now when they’ve practically become strangers, he hasn’t been able to move on. It’s the kind of romance that’s easily understood and always relatable considering its highly common nature in that you could be the most pathetic, girlfriendless loser in the world and you’d still understand what’s being talked about. The remaining 35+ minutes of this record pretty much functions on the same level, at least lyrically, so if you’re looking to hear something other than what you can also find on a John Green novel, you’re not gonna find it here. In fact, whereas a John Green novel thrives on bombarding your psyche with cringeworthy dialogue until your IQ has dropped low enough to ensure susceptibility, Peripheral Vision demands nothing from its audience at all.

Have a Nice Life – The Unnatural World

9.2/10

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What amazes me the most about the accessibility of today’s music is how everyone could never run out of things to love. It is quite addictive to scour the internet (or any database) for breadcrumbs that lead to what your preferences have set in motion since one band introduced you to another. The process can be exhaustive and even futile at times, but rest assured; you’ll always find something new. There are albums coming out this year that I’m looking forward to discover after completely draining my 2013 playlist of its replay value, yet among the slew that have been released only a few manage to trickle my emotions the way Sunbather or Pelagial did and one of them is Have a Nice Life’s latest.

I would be lying if I told you I enjoyed their previous effort, Deathconsciousness, to put it simply; the builds are long-winded, the catchy parts are snuffed out by boring interludes and more often than not, I put down my headphones in genuine disappointment. While I respect Dan Barrett’s choice of experimentation in blending shoegazey antics with that raw, post punk mentality, there’s still a lot of refining to be done and if his acoustic side project is any indication, we are in for an awesome refinement.

With The Unnatural World, Have a Nice Life have accomplished just that, from “Guggenheim Wax Museum” to “Emptiness Will Eat the Witch”, there’s a clearer, more focused sense of direction permeating every track and it’s mostly due to how straightforward the approach is this time around. The majority might’ve expected a Deathconsciousness 2.0 but instead we got a collection of  songs that are as reflective of Have a Nice Life’s older material as they are appealing to naysayers. Take “Defenestration Song” which starts off murky and progresses into something of an anthemic trudge as Barrett exclaims “Get off my back!”or “Dan and Tim, Reunited by Fate” where syncopated bass lines crash against overpowering walls of noise only to disintegrate and be replaced by a lone synth melody that impeccably articulates a contemplative vibe. Both these heavy-hitters are made effective in contrast to the subtler side of the album which better showcases how proficient the band have become compositionally, “Burial Society”, my current favorite jam (sorry), rises to such a cathartic height with its suicidal balladry and its brooding, monotonous beat over which tremoloed guitar passages sprawl. “Guggenheim Wax Museum” is as good as a grower gets with its textural sandwich of low and high-pitched drones only accessible to the subconscious, akin to the creations of his holiness Justin K Broadrick post-Godflesh. Tracks 4, 5 and 6 (which I’d rather not go into exclusively due to the many revisions this review has undergone and just borderline laziness) run in the same vein albeit with varying degrees of catchiness.

It’s apparent that Have a Nice Life are basking in their instrumental creativity, but another element to the writing that shouldn’t be left out is the vocals. Like on Deathconsciousness, most of the singing is modulated to an extent where it gives the impression of being part of an all-encompassing whole. Phrases are repeated several times throughout the duration of one song, climaxing in their most disfigured states after barely making it through a dismantling process. There are moments, however, when I’m utterly convinced that it’s early-Death Cab Ben Gibbard being sad and hopeless particularly during the first half of “Emptiness Will Eat the Witch” and others when Barrett lets his inner Ian Curtis soar. Rarely is a weak delivery present in all of these performances and it’s attributed to the undying passion with which they are constructed. I’ll be surprised if they can top this one in their future releases (what a terrible closing sentence).