The Weak Days – Fabric of Our Lives | EP Review

How do relationships begin? When do they fall apart? Are we able to see that decay in real-time as it’s happening? Is it inevitable, or can we alter the course of changing love? These are the questions that The Weak Days are posing on their new EP, The Fabric Of Our Lives. 

Filtered through a low-fantasy lens, the band’s EP tells the story of a bard and a botanist whose marriage is failing. A far cry from the emo tales and inspirational affirmations of 2017’s Tight, the band’s new EP is a finely-crafted pivot that retains their razor-sharp writing and skilled instrumentation. 

The EP opens with “No One Can Live Forever,” a remorseful duet carried by a catchy singalong “oooh weee ooo ooo oooooo” chorus. As we listen on in this conversation between the two disembodied voices, it’s here where the album's concept reveals itself. Over the course of an impassioned back and forth, one character compares the relationship to wilting flowers while the other explains they’re just “out of tune” with each other. The concept becomes undeniable as an instrumental drop out halfway through the track paves the way for both characters to shout “I want a divorce” at the exact same time. It’s gorgeous, heartbreaking, and unlike anything the band has ever made before. 

“Your Shoulder” is a more hopeful song that still contains elements of falling apart and being a broken human at your core. The song captures that sense of dread and regret that fills you the morning after an awful fight. It captures the shame and sorrow you feel while still circling back to this sense of optimism that things can still work out. From there, “The Seams,” “Intermissing,” and “Til Then” elevate the EP into high-fantasy territory with immortal beings, eternal tasks, and a poetic resolution worthy of a children’s storybook. These songs deploy mellow acoustic guitar, disorienting electronic passages, and gorgeous mallet percussion, all while continuing the beautiful back-and-forth vocal duties of drummer Dustin Reinink and bassist RB Roe. This is all wrapped in gorgeous and airy production courtesy of Chris Teti of The World Is a Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid to Die. 

This all amounts to a gorgeous, complex, and detailed 20 minutes of music that sits somewhere between emo, pop, and indie rock, all of which is filtered through a hyper-creative fantasy D&D-like lens. The Fabric Of Our Lives is an EP that feels like an album based solely on the amount of creativity, writing, and care that’s on display. It’s like an episode of Adventure Time brought to life, smelted, and poured out into a swirling world of ambrosial auditory wonder. 

It’s one thing to write about your own life, but it’s another to craft a story that feels just as lived-in and fleshed-out. Just look at what Dan Campbell has achieved with Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties; he’s written a character that’s as relatable, autonomous, and compelling as his main band which “only” takes inspiration from the member’s lived experiences. The same thing is happening here; The Weak Days have shifted the focus away from their own lives and funneled that energy and creativity into this pair of fictional characters that are just as intricate in their own right. 

Doing something like this requires not only imagination and writing prowess, but empathy and compassion as well. It reminds me of the concept of sonder, which is “the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.” With this collection of six songs, The Weak Days have managed to create two separate entities that we not only identify with but come to care for over the course of the release’s 20 minutes. It serves as a reminder that we are all connected, that we should all care for each other, that we are all in this together, from your friends and family to the bards and botanists that exist in our shared imaginations.

Sinai Vessel – Ground Aswim | Album Review

Preciousness has become a lost art form. Everything in 2020 has been BIG and loud and important. That’s why when I heard “Guest In Your Life,” the first single off Sinai Vessel’s sophomore album Ground Aswim, it felt like the breath of fresh air I’d been gasping for all year. Relaxing, measured, and unhurried, “Guest In Your Life” provided some sense of pause in a year that has been nothing but acceleration. Over the course of its three minutes, the song wraps itself around the listener and convinces them that maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay. This sense of calm is continued throughout the rest of the album, cementing it as an infinitely renewable source of comfort, a sacred and invaluable resource in the scatterbrained always-on world in which we currently exist. 

Now, this is not to say there weren’t plenty of things this year that required urgency, but it’s more that taking the time for subtlety, careful consideration, or simply a moment of pause went out the window in favor of immediacy. Sometimes impassioned frenzy works, but it cannot be your default state. After all, if you live life with your hair on fire, how much can you realistically expect to get done? 

Album opener “Where Did You Go?” begins not with a rallying call to arms, but a single meditative electronic note and spaced-out drumline. Eventually, buttery a smooth bass and gorgeous cascading guitar join the fray, slowly and carefully crafting a melody that flows like a brook. Two minutes into the track, lead singer Caleb Cordes makes his presence known with a voice that never rises above a friendly conversation. With a charming twang, he walks us through scenes of childhood memories that build to the loss of a friend. Gentle keys carry us out of the track for the last two minutes as Cordes sings the song’s namesake several more times, leaving us to ruminate on the importance of life and innocence, two things we can never get back. A heavy opener, to be sure, but still a sonically-laid back introduction to the grounds of the album on which you’ve just arrived. 

Track two, “Shameplant,” also served as the album’s second single. Maybe it’s the ‘plant’ tie-in or the guitar line, but this song sounds downright Oso Oso-esque in the best way possible. Despite the sunny and upbeat instrumental, this song finds Cordes questioning whether or not he can care for himself, let alone anyone (or anything) else. “Can’t expect to grow a garden and expect on only rain,” he sings over a brustling emo riff, articulating a beautifully poetic notion on self-sustainability (or lack thereof) that evokes the same sentiments as early Wonder Years songs.

Other tracks like “Fragile” and “George” weave personal tales of relationships and life experiences around instrumental beds that all glisten and shimmer in unique ways. Some tracks like “All Days Just End” feel like hyper-poignant reflections on life in quarantine, meanwhile “Tunneling” addresses general anxieties in a digestible way that feels both accurate yet approachable.

Aside from beautiful writing that effortlessly rises to your level and connects with you upon first listen, almost all of the tracks on Ground Aswim feel unique and contain moments that make them feel distinct from the songs that came before or after. There’s a far-off tunnel-vision projection effect on “Fragile,” a biting hypnotic drumbeat on “Birdseye,” and a wonderfully dynamic build on “Tunneling.” There’s a weird Peaer-esque mathy breakdown on “A Must While So Near” and a lavish steel guitar alongside discretely double-tracked vocals on “Guest In Your Life.” There’s a wealth of sounds to feast upon in this record, and the best part is they’re all still cohesive and fit within the world of the album

What strikes me most about Ground Awsim is the level of restraint deployed on these songs. “Ringing” features only Cordes, his guitar, and a little bit of reverb, yet he’s able to create a piece that’s emotionally-resonant where his words are first and forefront, emotions laid bare before the listener. It’s downright Julien Baker-esque in its economy of instrumentation, and that makes the whole song more memorable and heavy-hitting as a result.

This restraint pays off fully in “Antechamber,” the precious and aching album closer that begins as a slow build but gradually simmers into an affirming meditative repetition over the course of its six winding minutes. Recorded in a single take, “Antechamber” feels ornate and detailed, yet lived-in and authentic. It’s a pitch-perfect note to end the album on and leaves the listener continuing to feel its effects hours later. 

Ground Aswim is the antidote to 2020: it’s precious, careful, empathetic, thoughtful, and sensitive. At times it’s mournful and sentimental, but those are not necessarily bad things to lose touch of either. As the world outside turns colder, more bitter, and continues to tear itself apart, it’s a relief to have the shores of Ground Aswim to point ourselves to as we paddle toward calmer waters. 

Arlen Gun Club – Kickflip | Single Review

One of my favorite songs of all time is “Little Acorns” by The White Stripes. When I first heard Elephant I was only ten years old, and that record quickly became the foundation for my pre-teen musical taste. Elephant provided me a foray into blues, garage rock, folk, country, and complicated in-law relationships, among other things. Still, amongst the 50-minutes of this near-perfect alternative rock record, one of the moments I remember responding to most viscerally as a ten-year-old was the spoken-word intro to “Little Acorns.”

Sure, the song itself shreds and is packed with punchy, fuzzed-out guitar, but in 2003 I’d never ever heard spoken word used on a record in this way, and it blew my ten-year-old mind. It has to have a deeper meaning, right? I read so deeply into that short story of a woman persevering through strife that I ended up internalizing it more than I probably even realize. The fact that this story was followed by a heavy-as-shit riff was just a bonus.

This idolization of persistence is why I’ve found Arlen Gun Club to be such a compelling project. Formed from the ashes of the recently-dissolved emo project Vermont, Arlen Gun Club rapidly transformed from a one-off side project with “Rosary” to a full-time creative outlet with Fresh Face earlier this year. Now the group has released “Kickflip,” the first song they penned after the release of that debut EP.

I’ll admit the novelty of “quarantine song” has worn off quite quickly and never seemed that appealing in the first place. Still, some artists like Charli XCX have managed to tackle the subject of quarantine both tactfully and artfully. Ultimately, songs about feeling lonely and disconnected a dime a dozen, but there’s no denying that’s an accurate reflection of where we are as a society right now.

Arlen Gun Club seems to be adding their name to this list, creating the elusive “quarantine song that’s actually interesting.” While it still touches on the topics of community and missing your friends, what makes “Kickflip” unique from other quarantine songs is that it manages to capture the sense of restlessness and pent-up energy that’s a byproduct of being sequestered inside for so long. It’s about being lonely and stir-crazy, which resonates with me way more than “I miss my friends” because, honestly, all my friends live in other cities right now anyway. 

While loneliness is an undeniable factor of our lives right now, my biggest takeaway from the last eight months has been frustration. Frustration at our government for failing us so spectacularly. Frustration at my fellow countryman for selfishly choosing their own pleasure over the greater good. Frustration at how blatantly the ruling class is willing to use and discard workers that they as deem “essential.”

That sense of rage and frustration only goes so far. Some days I do feel lonely or lost and try my best to distract my brain from the looming sense of existential dread. Other days, I drink too much coffee, spend too much time on Twitter, and end up getting a weird, uncontrollable burst of energy that I can’t safely expend on anything. I can’t go out with friends, I can’t go to shows, I can’t even work out (never thought I’d miss that one, to be honest). 

I guess if anything, it’s nice to have “Kickflip” here to remind us that there are some hobbies out there we can still pour this energy into. It’s both a reflection and an affirmation that quarantine isn’t just about feeling sad, beat-down, and dejected, but sometimes it is just this weird burst of mental or physical energy that needs to come out in one way or another. It’s a reminder that sometimes the weather outside is beautiful, and that’s enough because that’s all we have.

Fleet Foxes – Shore | Album Review

I hate to start a review off with an “I told you so,” but… I called it. Back in 2017, I wrote about Fleet Foxes’ then-recent album Crack-up and awarded it the accolade of “Album I Feel Like I Will Adore In A Few Years.” At that time, even after dozens of listens, I was still lukewarm on the band’s third album, but I could tell there was something about the collection of songs that hadn’t yet revealed itself to me. Now, three years later, I can unequivocally say that I was correct, and Crack-Up sits alongside the band’s first two records for me as part of a pristine trifecta of classic folk albums. 

Back in 2017, just two months after the release of Crack-up, Fleet Foxes lead singer Robin Pecknold posted a photo of a mic along with the cryptic caption of “IV x 'XX,” implying their fourth release was already in the works. While I (and many other indieheads) hypothesized the band would pull a Future / Hndrxx on us, that quick succession of releases never came to fruition back in 2017. 

I tucked that Instagram post away in my brain, and that’s partially why the surprise announcement of an imminent Fleet Foxes album back in September wasn’t too shocking for me. While I love a good surprise release, I’d been waiting for (and anticipating) this record for nearly three years, so in a way, this was the one thing in 2020 I have actually been prepared for. While Shore is a fantastic collection of more autumnal-flavored Fleet Foxes songs, I left my first listen (and second listen, and almost every subsequent listen) severely underwhelmed. 

There are a few possible culprits for this disappointment (one of them surely being three years of build-up and anticipation), but I’m genuinely hoping this isn’t just an “okay” album. I’m writing this as a way of grappling with my thoughts and criticisms because Fleet Foxes are very near and dear to me, yet this album feels distant and emotionally unattainable. I’m hoping this is just a case of history repeating itself the same way that I came around Crack-up, but some glaring holes on this record lead me to believe it will have a more challenging time growing on me. 

Once again, don’t get me wrong, I like Shore quite a bit; there are some all-time great Fleet Foxes tracks in here, however, the first word that comes to mind when describing the album would be “flavorless.” When I finish the record, I find myself having quite enjoyed it, but I also couldn’t tell you more than any two specific moments from the 54 minutes of music I had just taken in. This is hard as a long-time fan, and (from my perspective) negatively impacts the band’s legacy only because their discography to this point was near-perfect. So as of right now, Shore feels more like a fresh bruise that’s tarnishing a once-pristine record. 

Part of this comes down to seasonality. I’m someone who already tends to project ancillary layers onto an album’s release: the time of year, my mental state, my recent experiences, random information about the band, etc. So when a band like Fleet Foxes goes out of their way to put out an album on the first day of autumn, I’d naturally assume that it’s their “fall” album with a big capital F and a trail of vibrant, crunchy leaves in-tow. 

While Fleet Foxes felt like a mossy (and occasionally snow-covered) post-winter campground, Helplessness Blues felt like an energetic hike under blue skies on the first day of spring. Meanwhile, Crack-up felt very much like a “peak summer” album, a record that encapsulates the sweltering days, the scattered feelings, and the rust-covered death rattles of August. While the band’s other albums evoke such strong seasonal feelings in me (both projected and intended), Shore is just… there.

The funny thing is, for the most part, the release dates of these albums line up with those feelings I just described. And the band made such a big presentation out of Shore premiering on the autumnal equinox (down to the minute), I expected this record would have been a bit more… cozy? Ultimately, Shore is about as cozy and welcoming as any other Fleet Foxes record, but it does not feel particularly ~fall~ to me. 

The second (and bigger) issue with Shore is the songs. The album opens fantastically with “Wading In Waist-High Water,” a brilliant and picturesque welcome party helmed by a guest singer Uwade Akhere. From there, the band transitions seamlessly into “Sunblind,” a fast-paced piano-adorned track with some attention-grabbing builds and swirling, ethereal background vocals. The band then hits us with “Can I Believe You,” a towering anthem with a chorus that makes you wanna belt and a melody that becomes catchy within a matter of seconds. The decision to launch straight into the chorus on this song is not lost on me because it might be the best the band has ever written. 

Everything is trending upward at this point in the tracklist; three songs deep, and they’ve all been hits that sound unlike anything the band has done before. On my first listen, I found myself thinking, ‘this might be the best Fleet Foxes record of all time,’ then the whole thing comes crashing down. I’ll admit I’m being overly-dramatic because the record never really dips below a “pleasant listen,” but the problem is that it also never reaches the peaks of these early songs ever again. 

“Jara” is “Helplessness Blues”-light, and it’s here where the record begins to feel like Fleet Foxes merely going through the motions. “Featherweight” finds Pecknold stuck in his high register as Moon Shaped Pool keys dance and twinkle around him… though not to a particularly compelling end. Frustratingly, “A Long Way To The Past” has an almost identical chord progression to “Can I Believe You,” which, coming only three tracks later, just makes me want to rewind to that song so I can hear a better version of this instrumental. I am literally able to sing “can I believe you” over the first few seconds of this song, and it fits perfectly. It’s bizarre. 

Aside from these by-the-numbers tracks, there are too many slow songs that don’t arrive at a satisfying emotional payoff. “For A Week or Two” is a slow, plodding piano ballad, and “I’m Not My Season” just kind of unfurls and lays there. Again, neither of these songs bad, they just don’t grab me like any other Fleet Foxes ballad ever has. I feel no connection to the lyrics, the instrumentals are bare, and they don’t even end in a cool way; they just kind of slowly stop as if the band is putting themselves to sleep. 

Fleet Foxes also echo some of their folky indie rock contemporaries later in the tracklist. “Going-to-the-sun Road” has some incredible 22, A Million-like hornwork and an instrumental where restraint pays off because the group finally lets another instrument shine. Meanwhile, “Cradling Mother, Cradling Woman” is cool and should appeal to me because it sounds exactly like something off Sufjan Stevens’ Illinois, but ends up feeling not very Fleet Foxes because of it. 

The band undeniably sticks the landing on “Shore,” an ultimate slow build a-la “Blue Spotted Tail” or even “Innocent Son,” where Pecknold gently guides the listener with the softest, most precious singing he can muster. Accompanied by a piano, Pecknold is eventually joined by other instruments as the track builds to one bright and uplifting swell as if forming a heavenly procession. It’s stark, it’s haunting, and it’s beautiful, but aside from sending us off on a lovely note, this song doesn’t pull enough weight to persuade me that the album as a whole is complete. 

So Shore starts strong and ends strong, but maaaan those songs in the middle drag. They blur together, they plod along, and they leave me wanting anything else. By the time the album wraps up, I’m left remembering two things: the chorus to“Can I Believe You” and the subversion of expectations opening with a guest vocalist. Shore is Fleet Foxes, that’s for sure; it’s laid-back, choral, and woody… but it almost feels as if it’s only those things. I see none of the innovative, jaw-dropping arrangements found on Fleet Foxes, I see none of the conceptuality or ambition deployed on Helplessness Blues, and I see none of the experimentation or subtlety used on Crack-up. 

Shore is inoffensive; it could soundtrack afternoon book readings, long drives through the mountains, and Instagram-ready millennial brunches. Shore does not command attention, it does not linger with you, and it does not breakthrough. Perhaps most disappointing of all, unlike Crack-up, I feel as if there’s not nearly as much to dig into on this record, so I don’t even have the same confidence or optimism that Shore will “reveal itself” to me in time.

Shore is a Fleet Foxes album, which means it’s a solid listen and a compelling folk album at the very least. But Shore is also a Fleet Foxes album, which means I come into it expecting nothing less than the stellar songwriting and instrumentation found up to this point throughout their decade-plus career. This record isn’t bad, it’s just disappointing and straightforward. It’s only bad in the context of Fleet Foxes, and that makes me disappointed. Shore feels like Fleet Foxes for the sake of Fleet Foxes, and sadly, that’s not reason enough to exist.

Knope – Broken Couch | Track Premiere

You know what would sound great right now? A gig. As of today, I am 179 days without a concert, and there’s nothing I want more than to be packed into a sweaty basement drinking cheap beer and screaming along to songs that I love with dozens of other fans. I miss tipping $5 at the door, I miss the comforting sight of people smoking on a porch, I miss coming home with armfuls of new t-shirts that no one at my day job will understand… hell, I even miss my earplugs. 

While we’re still a ways away from any of these feelings returning, we’re lucky to have a new Knope song that captures the energy of a gig better than anything I’ve heard over the course of quarantine. 

Following up their excellent collaboration with Kicksie back in January, “Broken Couch” is the first single off the band’s upcoming EP An Exercise In Patience. Beginning with a thrashing volley of guitar, bass, and drums, I can practically see the pit opening up within the first few seconds of this song. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the hands on my back as if I’m in someone’s basement being pushed against a wall of strangers illuminated by the soft glow from a string of multi-colored Christmas lights. 

Within seconds, lead singer Jack David bursts into the track, spitting bile at things completely out of his control before recounting a tale of teenage abandonment that becomes the foundation for the rest of the song. “I kinda felt like I was wasting your time,” he explains, grappling with decade-past trauma as the instrumental gnashes beneath him. 

Guided by an even-keel bassline, mathy guitar taps, and swift drumline, the song propels itself forward in time, introducing new characters and events that find the roles reversing as David now feels like he’s the one wasting someone else’s time. Eventually, the song returns to where it started. Now in search of some form of closure or acceptance, David finds himself returning to the scene of the first verse with a new outlook, arriving at the conclusion “I kinda feel like you've been wasting my time,” achieving some form of redemption before the song quiets to a close, leaving us to fill in the rest. 

The fact that Knope is able to pair this heartfelt narrative (complete with a clever lyrical through line and three-act structure) in just under three minutes is a testament to their ability as writers. The decision to pair this sentimental storytelling with such an energetic instrumental is an arresting contrast that will have you coming back for multiple re-listens, hungry what comes next in the EP. On the bright side, at least we all have some time to memorize the lyrics before our next communal basement singalong, whenever that may be. 

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“Broken Couch” drops on all streaming platforms tomorrow, and Knope’s upcoming EP, An Exercise In Patience, will be available everywhere on 9/16 through Chillwave Records.

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