Nagasaki Swim – The Weight Pt. 2 | Single Review

I don’t know about you guys, but things have been pretty rough lately. Between fascist infringements on bodily autonomy, frightening escalations of rightwing dog whistles, and apocalyptic concerns for the world at large, it’s been hard for me to do much beyond just continuing to exist. It’s been nearly impossible to motivate myself at work, and even harder to motivate myself here on the blog. On top of all this, I caught COVID back in April, so that was a fun little reminder of my mortality. 

Over the past year, I’ve tried hard to recognize when I need to take a break. Last year I set a goal of publishing at least one article here every week (and I did it!), but recently I’ve been reminding myself that it’s okay to walk away from things for a little bit. That means I don’t force myself to publish anything just for the sake of fresh “content” because nobody wants to read that, and I don’t want to write that. I love sharing the music that I love with the world, but taking the time to sit down and articulate why I adore a piece of music has been a surprisingly hard thing for me recently. 

This has been a long preamble, but hey, ‘words on music and life,’ right? That’s what ya signed up for when you clicked on this. I write all this as a way to flush out my thoughts but also to say that “The Weight Pt. 2” by Nagasaki Swim is the first piece of music I’ve heard in months that’s inspired me to break out a fresh Google Doc and actually start writing. That alone should speak volumes about this song.

The track is a prelude to the Neverlandish folk group’s upcoming sophomore effort Everything Grows and acts as a direct sequel to the mid-album cut from last year’s The Mirror. Back when it was released, I described the band’s debut as “acoustic-led bedroom rock that still manages to sound huge.” Based on what’s on display with “The Weight Pt. 2,” the group has only refined that sound further, expertly walking the line between sweeping and intimate.

“The Weight Pt. 2” slowly wades the listener in with a single acoustic guitar which gradually builds outward with bass, drums, and a gorgeous string section. After establishing this solemn sway, lead singer Jasper Boogaard enters with a nasally delivery that evokes the remorseful twang of recent Greet Death singles.

After a verse about wasting days nudging thoughts around, the instrumental pairs down to just the strings before lifting off into a beautiful, meditative passage. Between the funeral scenes depicted and the anguishing morbid thoughts articulated, the feeling of death hangs heavy over the atmosphere of the song. 

The instrumental dies out again about four minutes in for (what feels like) the end, only for the strings to swell back up and carry us out with a soaring outro that affords the listener just enough time to properly absorb the heft of the topic. 

“The Weight Pt. 2” is not a fun or light-hearted listen, but it is cathartic and freeing in its own way. God knows we’ve all felt that weight of death and dread recently, and sometimes it’s comforting to seek refuge in a song that fully acknowledges the presence of those extremes. It’s not a distraction; it’s an affirmation that things are fucked up and hard. If you’ve been feeling the weight lately, Nagasaki Swim is right there with you. 

Prince Daddy & The Hyena – Self-Titled | Album Review

Since 2018 Prince Daddy & The Hyena has been a massively influential band in my life. I remember hearing “I Wish I Could ctrl+alt+del My Life” come on the playlist at my café job and RUN-ning to the office to see who was singing it. “Prince Daddy & The Hyena,” I said to myself. “That’s a weird name, I sure hope I don’t form some kind of intense, parasocially emotional connection to this band that lasts for years, maybe even the rest of my life.”

But I did.

I’ve learned a lot of lessons both as a musician and writer from PDaddy. This band taught me it’s okay to make incredibly specific (potentially impenetrable) references to the movies and tv shows you relate all your feelings to. They helped me affirm that guitar rock is still awesome, and perhaps most importantly, they taught me not to be afraid to indulge in oversharing my feelings and mistakes with anyone who might be willing to listen. So really you only have them to thank for this extra-long intro.

The moment that crystallized the pandemic as reality for me came on March 13th, 2020. My partner and I were sitting in the cafeteria of Halifax’s Queen Elizabeth II hospital, waiting for my mom to get out of dental surgery, when the tweets came in. “Tour’s canceled,” I imagine they said. I don’t know, I’m not going to scroll back through two full years worth of tweets. I've already put off proofreading this article long enough. My partner was living in Montreal and we had plans to see Prince Daddy there and in Toronto and sing along to *every* word from Cosmic Thrill Seekers, which was the style at the time. We had the tickets. My flight was booked. There was so much uncertainty back then, and rather than cancel my flight and risk not seeing her again until god knows when I kept my ticket and spent three months in an experimental cohabitation that never would have happened without PDaddy. Cosmic Thrill Seekers being one of my top 5 all-time favourite albums to run to meant they carried me through a lot of days during that time, and I’m so grateful for that. It’s still one of my favourite memories of the pandemic?

And while that relationship eventually ended, Prince Daddy & The Hyena persists.

I was so nervous in the weeks before Cosmic Thrill Seekers was released. How could it possibly live up to the perfection of PDaddy’s first LP, I Thought You Didn’t Even Like Leaving. Considering the space CTS takes up in my heart, it feels silly now to have ever felt that way. So I’m not sure why I did it again in the lead up to this brand new, self-titled LP. Maybe I keep my hopes low to avoid being let down. Maybe I just tend to anticipate the worst in everything.

But hey, I learned it from the best.

Prince Daddy & The Hyena (the album) is a perfect representation of everything Prince Daddy & The Hyena (the band) have spent the past six years building on. For how honest and raw lyricist Kory Gregory has been since day one, he always finds new ways of removing barriers with each release. CTS has less of the “keep the world at arm's length” snarky humor that appears so often throughout Leaving, and with this self-titled, he allows us to hear his actual singing voice more regularly. It’s a subtle softening of boundaries across a body of work that’s incredibly impressive.

PDaddy has always been a band with firm control over their vast dynamic range, and here they’ve honed it to a sharp edge. While tracks like “A Random Exercise in Impernance,” “Shoelaces,” and “Keep up That Talk” smother you with a familiar frantic energy, moments such as “Something Special” and “Discount Assisted Living” are welcome opportunities to breathe. They’ll also break your fucking heart.

The highlight track, for me, has to be “Hollow As You Figured.” Opening quietly with an unsettling guitar riff that sets the stage for one of Gregory’s deeper explorations of the dark places that isolation can bring us to—eventually combusting into the heaviest riffs of the album and possibly PDaddy’s catalogue.

As a 30-something Canadian, it’s hard not to compare it to Sum41’s third album Chuck and the more mature themes and musical style the band explored within. I won’t, but just know that if I did, it would be with all the love in my heart.

Probably the most impressive feat of the album is “Black Mold.” The message I sent to my band’s group chat upon opening my advance SoundCloud streaming link was, “new prince daddy has a fucking nine-minute song on it.” I know what you’re thinking, and yes, while I didn’t let anybody hear the album before it came out, I did brag to two of my closest friends that I would get to listen to it early because I am a “professional.” As the emotional climax of the record, we have our hands held as we’re taken on a tour of various traumas from the singer’s past, a familiar recurring theme for longtime listeners. What blows me away is that there are no wasted moments in this song. Nine minutes is a LONG time, but it never feels like that here. It’s an extension of PDaddy’s ability to weave multiple pieces together as seen on Leaving and CTS, and a testament to their more operatic tendencies.

Prince Daddy & The Hyena the band proved my doubts about Prince Daddy & The Hyena the album wrong just like they did with Cosmic Thrill Seekers: You can improve on perfection.

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Cailen Alcorn Pygott is a writer, musician, and general sadsack from Halifax, Nova Scotia. He’ll tell you even more about his anxieties on his band No, It’s Fine.’s album I Promise. Tell him how brave you think that is on Twitter @noitsfinereally and on Instagram @_no_its_fine_.

His top five albums to run to of all time are:

1. Mom Jeans - Sweet Tooth

2. Gregory Pepper And His Problems - I Know Now Why You Cry 

3. Prince Daddy & The Hyena - Cosmic Thrill Seekers

4. Bowling For Soup - The Hangover You Didn’t Deserve 

5. Charly Bliss - Guppy

Honorable mention: Dollar Signs - This Will Haunt Me

The Merrier – Cyclical | EP Review

Remember when the internet was fun? Remember multi-colored clamshell MacBooks and AIM away messages? Remember agonizing over your Top 8 and risking a computer virus just to download a sketchy file named “nine_inch_nails-HURT-014.mp3” for your morning bus ride? Well, The Merrier remembers, and throughout Cyclical, the hyper-collaborative bedroom pop project born of Jake Stephens aims to recapture that feeling of boundless early internet wonder… or at least as much of it as can be salvaged in the toxic, post-apocalyptic, ad-riddled landscape of 2022.

This isn’t some Vaporwave-esque adoption of internet aesthetics for their own sake, but rather a project that couldn’t have existed without the collaborative spirit of the internet. While most of the songs here possess a baseline dreamo soundscape, the concept behind this project turns it into something more compelling than the sum of its parts as Stephens invites a host of different artists in to collaborate on each song. This process results in a collection of tracks with vastly different sounds and ideas that are unconcerned with genre or any larger album-wide statement. It’s like if Gorillaz were DIY… and good.

Listening to this EP feels like those now-ironic book covers showing a super cool 90s teen riding a keyboard as a metaphor for surfing the internet. Guest vocalists materialize and float by like web pages from a bygone era, each inviting the listener into their respective narrator’s rich inner world.

Cyclical begins with “BMO,” a song inspired by the Adventure Time character boasting a lovely little synth line that sounds like it was ripped straight out of a long-lost 80s workout tape. Propelled forward by this instrumental, Talor Smith of Biitchseat lends their vocals to the track, giving the listener a relatable perspective that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on last year’s I’ll become kind. After an instrumental dropout followed by a swirl of dreamy “ooohs,” the track seamlessly transitions to a verse from the Japanese lo-fi indie-pop band BLUEVALLEY, which adds a unique flavor to the song without sounding incongruous. In the final minute, these two vocal features stack on top of each other, resulting in a striking contrast of sounds that could have only been brought together under the Merrier moniker. 

From here, the release winds from the catchy and biblical “Cathedral” to planetary astral projections of love on “Venus” for an ever-shifting scope that expertly utilizes its cast of guest appearances. Sandwiched between these songs is “Gold,” which works the EP’s title into a cute turn of phrase over a bright and sunny instrumental that, ironically, would have fit in perfectly over the end credits of Adventure Time. Just as you wonder where Cyclical will go next, Merrier throws “Vaminos” at you for a vibrant rap song whose verses from Ponz The Angel and Masakiio evoke the carefree joy of 2016-era Lil Uzi Vert.

After the metaphorical (and literal) high of “Vaminos,” Cyclical wraps on the punctual and groovy “Scenery,” featuring guest vocals from Ohio-based multi-instrumentalist Superdestroyer. Despite its shorter running time and peppier pace, the final minute of this song switches over to a spaced-out rainy day instrumental as Merrier allows Superdestroyer to croon the EP’s last lines.

I hope that you know
I would do anything
To make sure that you're happy
Because you make me happy
I hope that I make you happy
I hope that I make you happy
I hope that I make you happy

Maybe it’s just due to how hypnotic this repetition is, but the line “I hope that I make you happy” feels like the closest thing this EP has to a thesis, given its diverse spread of perspectives and sounds. Cyclical is a collection of songs that inherently cannot have an overarching message, but this final refrain feels like a perfect note to send the listener off on. After all, if we don’t have happiness, music, and each other, what else is there?

Cyclical represents an often-unfulfilled promise of the internet; that we would be able to connect with strangers who share our interests and artistic visions, collaborate with them, and create something special together. With Stephens as the creative ringleader, Cyclical is a diverse and exhilarating collection of songs representing pure, creative collaboration. Even upon repeat listens, this EP will keep you wondering what could possibly be coming next and always manages to leave you amazed at the result.

Kevin Devine – Nothing's Real So Nothing's Wrong | Album Review

“Being better doesn’t always mean we’re being good.”

Sometimes it feels like nothing at all is right. Whether I am wasting time on my social media, comparing debts with my partner, or discussing global politics with my mom, everyone appears like they’re straight up not having a good time. Then, six years after the tight and familiar Instigator, Kevin Devine returns with the maximalist bedroom indie rock of Nothing’s Real So Nothing’s Wrong, which feels oh so right.

Opening with a clip of his daughter’s voice, “Laurel Leaf (Anhedonia)” reintroduces Devine as the masterful songwriter he is. Rife with wobbly guitar and vocal melodies, the song boasts winding, clever lyricism like “All the signs I show myself, and I saw nothing." Before the first track fades out, listeners are reminded of the Nirvana-loving Devine with a surprising, thrashing refrain of the main melody buried deep in the mix. Although this incarnation of Devine is understandably more world-weary, he is still (underneath the acoustic guitars and synths) the headbanger his fans have come to know and love.

“Override” is planted squarely in the new, lush sonic landscape of Nothing’s Real but also recalls prior Devine tracks as a driving, mid-tempo introspective rocker. “How Can I Help You?” shimmers in a way that wouldn’t be out of place in Wild Pink’s discography while “Swan Dive” maintains a similar head-nodding groove to carry through to “Albatross,” the album’s haunting lead single that closes side A. 

Recalling Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s eerie The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, in which the legendary titular bird represents both the beauty of nature and burdens in one’s life, Devine’s “Albatross” reinforces both Coleridge’s message and his own album’s thesis directly in the middle of the track:

Nothing ventured, nothing gained
Nothing matters anyway
If you’re frightened, stay awake
Pick a god and start to pray
Good Ganesha
Shiva's arms
Jesus Christ in camouflage
If you're sinking, sing along
Nothing's real so nothing's wrong.

A nihilistic echo of Coleridge’s poem, Devine’s bridge unsettles and disturbs as a spoken-word interlude that explodes into a hypnotic refrain. Like the rest of the record, “Albatross” sounds beautiful in its composition and mixing. In that beauty, however, Devine’s lyrics are the undercurrent of terror that comes with the burden of being alive right now.

After the darkly buoyant intermission of “If I’m Gonna Die Here,” Nothing’s Real continues with the Tom Petty-esque ballad “Someone Else’s Dream.” Devine explores creative and artistic dissociation and toxic fandom in the moody, distant “Hell Is An Impression of Myself,” where he sings, “Someone’s after me / for doing an impression of myself / for living an impression of myself.” With this being his 10th solo album, one could argue Devine would be remiss not to be reflecting on his growth and the trajectory of his career.

By no means a bad track, but certainly more reminiscent of previous work, “It’s A Trap!” feels more like a stop-gap before “Tried To Fall In Love (My Head Got In The Way).” The latter simmers to what feels like should be a fever pitch, but Devine, ever the subverter, pulls back and rips into an ethereal ambience full of record scratches and popping: the end is near.

In “Stitching Up The Suture,” Devine knits together the oxymorons and ironies presented in “Albatross.” He whispers lyrics over arpeggiated chords on a dark acoustic, surrounded by sparse percussion. This song is not the explosive, climaxing closer; this is Devine subverting listener expectations to convey his point one last time before he lets you try to understand again. This world is full of horror and heartbreak. However, among those crises can reside beauty and love, like hearing the voice of your child. Though that beauty and love do not fix the problems and pain of the present, they remind us to endure for the future, no matter what it might hold.

With crisp as-ever songwriting, stellar production, and fantastic sequencing, Kevin Devine’s Nothing’s Real So Nothing’s Wrong is not only another classic in his discography but a work of art that shines in a dimming world.

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Joe Wasserman, clearly a high school English teacher, lives with his partner and their two dogs in Brooklyn. When he’s not listening to music, he writes short stories, plays bass in bar bands, and enjoys trying new beers. You can find him on Twitter at @a_cuppajoe.

Reclaiming Wolfmother

Look, I’ll come out and just say it: Wolfmother rules. When the Australian rock band’s debut album was released in 2006, it quickly became skewered for a number of reasons ranging from legitimate to completely superficial. Amongst the Pitchfork indie music crowd, this album came hot on the heels of bands like Jet, who were taking the leather-jacket-clad aesthetic of The Strokes and Interpol but commercializing it even further into a less-cool version of AC/DC karaoke. In the broader pop culture landscape, Wolfmother quickly became synonymous with video game soundtracks and commercial rock music. “Woman” specifically struck a marketable trifecta of then-still-cool Jack White affectations, a simplistic riff you could air guitar along to, and a five-syllable chorus that anyone could belt out in their most cartoonish rock and roll voice. It was iPod Commercial Music at worst and admirable psych-rock revivalism at best. But I love it all the same. 

Spicy take that I'm probably going to have to delete later: With all the shit that Jet -- and later, Greta van Fleet -- got, I was never clear how Wolfmother got away with "Woman," which sounds like a parody of hard rock made by someone that hates it

— Todd in the Shadows (@ShadowTodd) March 10, 2022

To a certain extent, Wolfmother paved the way for bands like Greta Van Fleet, who are picking up the torch of my dad’s music and seeing how far they could run with it. Upon release, Wolfmother instantly received comparisons to Led Zeppelin, Jimmi Hendrix, and Black Sabbath alike. While not entirely accurate, lyrics like “The purple haze is in the sky / See the angel's wicked eye” didn’t exactly do a lot to combat those connections. 

Simply put, Wolfmother’s debut was, and still is, a fascinating album. More than that, it actually kinda kicks ass. No two songs sound the same, resulting in a record that never drags despite its nearly one-hour runtime. I’d get it if you don’t like the sound that this band is going for, but part of me listens to this album in 2022 and doesn’t understand how anyone could hate on this. I’ll admit, as someone who first heard this record at 13 years old, it is inextricably tied to an early-adolescent appreciation for “Rock Music” with a capital R. In other words, this is all highly biased but still a genuine attempt to translate the redeeming qualities of Wolfmother to an audience who otherwise probably couldn’t give two shits about it.

Along with fellow Guitar Hero II alumni The Sword, Wolfmother is often cited as an important part of the second wave of the modern stoner rock revival. Propped up by placements in mainstream video games ranging from the aforementioned Guitar Hero II to Madden NFL 07, Wolfmother quickly ascended to popularity at an unprecedented rate. However, this popularity soon became a double-edged sword as the group reached a saturation point in music licensing and radio play. Even a cursory glance at the band’s video game soundtrack page reveals a staggering sixteen placements between the years of 2006 and 2007 alone. And this isn’t even counting usage in television shows, movies, or NFL commercial break interstitials. 

It’s no wonder why people started to turn on this band so fast; there are only so many times you can hear “WOman, ya know ya, WOman, ya know ya, WOman” before you want to pull your own hair out. But for a thirteen-year-old music lover just discovering the world of classic rock, Wolfmother represented a grander cultural affirmation that I was pointed in the right direction. I distinctly remember thinking some variation of, ‘oh wow, there are still bands making music like this.’ These songs felt like a natural extension of the genre I had just uncovered and fallen in love with. It felt like I was witnessing the extension of a lineage. Everything felt connected, and for a moment, my burgeoning music taste made complete, logical sense.

I delved into Wolfmother unencumbered. The group’s debut album quickly worked its way into my rotation alongside classic acts like The White Stripes, Guns N Roses, Nirvana, and everything else a young boy could want on his 4GB iPod Mini. Wolfmother became a quintessential album in my musical world, standing shoulder to shoulder with classic records like Are You Experienced? and Led Zeppelin IV, and somehow it fit in seamlessly. 

Today I listen to Wolfmother with a tinge of shame, but only because most of the world remembers them as the band that wrote “Woman” and “Joker and the Thief.” This is partly due to how massive the hits off this first album were but is also thanks to a string of (mostly) diminishing returns that came in its wake. I have some genuine adoration for pieces of Cosmic Egg and most of New Crown, but nothing stacks up to the unashamed and omnivorous approach the band took on Wolfmother. 

In an effort to convince you of this album’s artistic merit, the remainder of this article is a track-by-track breakdown. I encourage you to revisit the album today with fresh eyes, free from the preconceived notions of late-Aughts irony and radio overplay. I genuinely believe this record is better than it has any right to be… or maybe I’m just blinded by my own nostalgia.

Album opener “Dimension” begins with a cartoonish isolated howl that would have made Robert Plant blush. Seconds later, a fuzzy bassline, stoner rock guitar, and bouncy drum pattern set the pace for the opening charge. Soon after that, we’re introduced to lead singer ​​Andrew Stockdale’s particular brand of psychedelic lyricism. As scenes of deserts, angels, and lightning all flash before us, the song all but tells the listener, ‘don’t overthink this.’ The riff is chunky, accompanied by crashing cymbals and a persistent bass lick. Things die down for each verse only to ramp back up for the choruses leading to a grungy loud-quiet-loud dynamic. This instrumental rise and fall also means that each time the group hits you with the riff, you can’t help but headbang along. For as over-the-top as this song is, the band also displays a remarkable amount of restraint with the instrumental, expertly withholding catharsis and deploying it at just the right times. 

“White Unicorn” is an early album cut that also doubles as my favorite song on the entire record. To this day, I can’t believe this track never rose to the same level of prominence as the other singles, but maybe that’s a blessing in disguise. This song even received a dedicated radio edit, but I suppose the longwinded maximalist approach taken here is a huge reason why I love this song so dearly, and it’s easy to see why that wouldn’t translate to a cutdown. “White Unicorn” begins with a jangly chord progression that, much like “Smoke on the Water” or “Wonderwall,” feels primed for baby’s first guitar riff. The lyrics are expectedly psychedelic but eventually bottom out into the real star of this song, the album’s most overtly stoner rock riff. 

Looking back, I actually view “White Unicorn” as a fantastic entry point to the stoner rock genre. This song, combined with Songs for the Deaf, The Sword, and Fu Manchu, paved the way for my personal journey into stoner rock, so for that, I’m forever thankful. The track has a beautiful internal motion but most notably erupts into a nice little instrumental jam halfway through. As that jam culminates, the band brings it all back to the riff in a moment that would fit in at the jammiest Phish show. It’s essentially everything great about those genres squeezed into a digestible 5-minute sample platter. It’s also worth noting that the demo version of “White Unicorn” takes these same stoner rock sensibilities and stretches them out into an even longer 8-minute rendition for a true showcase of what the jam song structure is capable of. 

Then there’s “Woman,” and honestly, I don’t even know how to talk about this one. It’s undoubtedly the biggest song off the album and will likely be forever viewed as Wolfmother’s legacy. As previously discussed, you’re probably familiar with this track from its overuse in the world of commercially licensed music, but I suppose it’s still worth talking about here for completeness’ sake. I almost don’t even view “Woman” as a song; it’s more of a high-octane pit stop within the larger album. The guitar work is nothing short of iconic, and the high-note vocals are both easy to grasp and fun to belt. This song deploys a similar trick to “White Unicorn,” bottoming out into a jam midway through; however, the addition of an organ during this section feels particularly inspired and gives the track a nice Deep Purple flair. Other than that, it’s just “Woman,” you’ve probably heard this song a million times and can call it to mind with ease. The worst thing about this song is how overplayed it got because other than that oversaturation, this track just plain rocks. With any luck, this song will endure and become as revered as fellow 00’s megahits like “Seven Nation Army” or “Mr. Brightside,” but the deck is certainly stacked against it. 

“Where Eagles Have Been” offers a nice change of pace from the blistering full-throttle stretch of the first three songs, if only for a short while. This song opens with a pleasant, naturalistic “Going to California” ditty paired with a soaring whir that instantly evokes lush mountain peaks and tree-dotted valleys. After some scene-setting lyricism, the band launches into a standard fare rock passage that all ladders up to a proficient guitar solo and eventually loops back to the natural wonder of its opening passage. This song is like a hike where you exert all this effort for the gorgeous view of earthly wonder waiting at the top. It’s a very grounded track that unfolds in its own time and isn’t mired with (too many) over-the-top psychedelic lyrics.

And if you thought that song was boring or slow, well, guess what? Wolfmother knew that, so they bust out “Apple Tree” immediately after for the album’s fastest, most thrashy punk song. Pacing-wise, this is exactly like how The White Stripes would take a track like “I’m Finding It Harder to Be a Gentleman” and punctuate it with a punk rager like “Fell in Love With a Girl.” It’s an unexpected one-two punch that has existed for as long as album sequences have been considered. Within Wolfmother, “Apple Tree” is a solitary powder keg that propels us through the remainder of the album. The lyrics are absolutely nonsensical but are surrounded on either side by a circle-pit-inspiring momentum that makes you want to recklessly slam into other concertgoers. A fun, mindless, and necessary rock diversion that serves to remind you what kind of album this is. 

Upon writing this, I was surprised to find that “Joker and the Thief” has eclipsed all other Wolfmother songs on Spotify. In some ways, it has all the makings of a great classic rock song, but it always felt less pervasive than “Woman” or even “Love Train.” The track begins with an engrossing series of cascading hammer-on/pull-off noodles that feel tailor-made for Expert-level Rock Band FCs. Slowly the band layers on drums and bass in a cinematic build, which sets the scene for the storytelling that unfolds with each verse. Clearly inspired by “All Along The Watchtower,” this song weaves an even more vague tale of two figures just vibing. The joker laughs, the thief… steals things? It’s all very directionless, BUT that doesn’t mean it doesn’t rip.

After this unbelievably stacked first half, the band spends the remainder of the record playing within the space they’ve fleshed out, dialing up and down the psychedelia and the classic-rockiness of the affair to varying degrees across the last seven songs. The back half of the album is essentially a good-to-great collection of serviceable mid-tempo rock tracks. Almost none of these are favorites of mine, but they keep things moving along nicely, and each add a different flavor. Most importantly, each of these songs have interesting elements that make them feel distinct from each other. 

“Colossal” lives up to its name with a spacious riff that winds up to another thrashy punk passage. “Mind’s Eye” is yet another slow burn, but this time with more restraint and breathing room than “Where Eagles Have Been.” “Witchcraft” busts out a flute in one of the most memorable late-album moments, and “Tales” captures a sort of lackadaisical late-afternoon vibe. The penultimate track “Love Train” is a late album single that evokes vibrant iPod commercials with a sort of hoppy “Hotel Yorba” bounce. Finally, “Vagabond” is a stunning album closer that wraps everything up in a nice little bow.

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I write all this not necessarily to extol the artistic virtues of Wolfmother, but to say there’s probably more to this album than you might think. This goes doubly if you’re only familiar with the band’s singles or most popular songs. As a whole, this record is a little front-loaded, but it’s easy to see how a teenage boy would listen to this album and discover some level of comfort and affirmation within its classic rock-worshiping walls. 

I’m willing to admit that my love for Wolfmother is informed by a fair bit of decade-old nostalgia, but even when I listen to this album in 2022, there’s still something here that appeals to me on a deeper level. Between an ever-shifting mix of classic rock sounds, a well-sequenced tracklist, and a stacked collection of singles, it’s hard to hate Wolfmother. You can say this record is played out, over-the-top, or lyrically substanceless, but a bad album this is not. 

Ultimately, Wolfmother is a product of its time, and that’s something that gets harder and harder to translate with each passing year. I can sing this album’s praises, talk realistically about the musical landscape at the time of its release, and even asterisk my own praise by acknowledging some of the more goofy lyrics and deliveries, but none of that will change the content of the album or how you hear it. I myself sit at a weird, conflicted cross-section. Part of me wants to say this album is genuinely great, but another part knows that personal history and nostalgia are tainting any sense of objectivity I can feign. I don’t know if this album will stand the test of time, hell, it might have already failed that test, but that consensus of validation is not something I need to enjoy these songs. Wolfmother might not be a timeless classic to anyone else, but it is to me, and that’s enough.