Broken Record – Routine | Album Review
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Power Goth Recordings
I wake to walk my dog, then hop on a Citi Bike to duck and weave my way through four miles of unforgiving New York traffic to get to work. My previous subway commute started to wear me down, usually taking about an hour pending whatever ongoing construction or repairs were happening or if someone had jumped on the tracks. Interruptions were few and far between when I was a kid, though. Taking the train didn’t feel so rote then; I genuinely enjoyed the solace and consistency, the rattle and hum through the tunnels. Now I have neither solace nor consistency, and the fare’s gone up, so the pre-established routine I once appreciated has morphed into something soul-crushing. I might as well spend more money I don’t have on a Citi Bike membership so I can have some joy commuting on nicer days.
I’m 32 and wholeheartedly understand why people have midlife crises. I’d be grateful to have one someday instead of living through one every few years due to my country and the world at large, but I don’t feel like my life has that kind of runway. I don’t think I ever have. I’m not aiming to be all doom and gloom, but everything feels pretty fucked across the board. The majority of people I know are struggling and disconsolate in some way. Those who aren’t mostly stay quiet in their privilege like White Demon, the taunting creature on the cover of Broken Record’s third album, Routine.
Routine understands the tedium of regular oppression. The 30-minute record is a tight, speaker-blown emo album that makes my daily rage feel validated. Vocalist and guitarist Lauren Beecher has a preternatural skill for putting words to the emotions I feel, even immediately on the opener “Drag,” where she sings, “I don’t know if I can keep up / I don’t know if I’m alive.” A grinding bass from Corey Fruin maintains a booming rhythm that urges the listener to keep pushing forward against Beecher’s woes. It is in this dichotomy of defeatist lyrics set to energetic, catchy music in which Broken Record thrive.
“No Vacation” pummels with power-pop nihilism. The guitars drip with distortion and grit, yet the melody cuts through with an endless hook that exists in spite of the chorus’s despondency: “It has to get worse before we can rest / It has to get worse / Locked in a cycle forever and yet / It has to get worse.” I loathe how relatable these lyrics are because I feel naked before them. They can align with anything in my life: work, school, relationships, behavioral patterns I fall into, and probably even more that I’ve yet to unearth. Evoking this kind of reflection in art is a challenge in our attention-split world, but Broken Record manage to give me a therapy session in less than two minutes.
In my review of Broken Record’s sophomore album Nothing Moves Me, I implored the band to lean into their slow and heavier side. I’m not going to say they wrote “What Always Happens” explicitly for me, but I’m not not saying that, either. A singular rhythm guitar and Beecher’s vocals introduce the track before drummer Nicholas Danes leads Fruin and guitarist Larson Ross to join the fray in a cathartic, crushing wall of feedback that brings the final third of the song to a transcendent conclusion. Any other band would have taken more than five minutes to achieve this, yet Broken Record execute this movement in a track shorter than the majority of the new Taylor Swift slop.
Aside from second-wave emo reference points like Sunny Day Real Estate, Broken Record aptly fill the void left by the scene’s white whale, Title Fight. “50% Sea” and “Knife” feel like they could stand with the best of Shed. Additionally, by blurring the lines between power-pop, post-hardcore, grunge, and shoegaze, Broken Record prove themselves to be timeless torchbearers of alternative rock music. Nowhere is this more clear than on “Nervous Energy,” Routine’s longest track at four and a half minutes. There is a humble confidence in the musicianship that guides listeners from one note to the next, showing the attention and intentionality that Beecher and co. exacted in the studio under the tutelage of engineer and producer Justin Pizzoferrato. The band wrote an album that is mean, lean, and truly themselves: a unique blend of the music they maintain obvious reverence for.
It would be remiss to not discuss the singular stark note of optimism off Routine. Album closer “A Small Step” ratchets up guitar heroics with soaring leads that underline Beecher’s final points. She sings of individually changing an otherwise unrelenting world, offering a glimpse of hope: “I can’t escape the world around me / but I can try to move it along.” What sticks out, though, is the only repeated refrain on the track: “Forever is whatever / All I need is someone like you by my side / to let me know that I’m all right.” Broken Record craft an album as dark and down as Routine, but choose to end on a message of love. Yes, this is a concept oft repeated, but it is worth noting its placement in the sequencing. blink-182 sings the same sentiment when pining for girls on “Going Away to College.” When Broken Record do it, they’re declaring love is greater than the everyday horrors we have to face.
Although Routine might be a challenging listen due to the material’s logical pessimism, the songs are a reflection of me (and, I imagine, many others) in a broken mirror. While I adore the way these songs sound in melody and tone, as well as the catharsis they deliver, I struggle with the weight of the image they present before me. Genuinely good and worthwhile art does not necessitate no work on the audience’s part, though. Fortunately for me and all their other fans, Broken Record offer comfort, solidarity, and understanding in their indictment of the world.
Joe is an all-purpose creative from Brooklyn, NY. He loves reading, writing, and playing the bass almost as much as he loves his dog. Every now and then, he discovers another reason to love Jimmy Eat World more deeply. Check out all of his work here.
