 Public Strain,Women. August 2010, Flemish Eye Records and Jagjaguwar Records. |
A sweeping expanse, an ice-covered lake, and the only post-millennium post-punk album that I think gets it right. Public Strain sounds like an optical illusion; like not being entirely sure how far away the car in front of you is while driving in the rain. This record clearly professes its sonic lineage while expanding on previous concepts. This sense of experimentation sets it apart from many of the derivative post-punk revival records that came out in Public Strain’s wake, after Joy Division t-shirts started getting sold in Urban Outfitters. Lead singer Patrick Flegel’s (of later Cindy Lee fame) vocals take cues from Genesis P-Orridge’s early Throbbing Gristle work in their unenthusiastic delivery and multilayered processing. The guitars, especially on Track 7 “Untogether” and Track 8 “Drag Open,” express the same sharp but tranquilising dissonance found on Polvo’s debut 1992 album Cor-Crane Secret. Woven throughout Public Strain are threads of 60s jangle pop, 90s slowcore, and ambient drone (putting “Bells” at the midpoint of the record was a perfect choice). Simultaneously jarring and comfortingly nostalgic, Public Strain is a fantastically coherent record. I am excited to listen to it again when time reaches back around into winter. FFO: Ethel Cain's Perverts, 4pm sunsets, Twin Peaks: The Return, an ill-advised third cup of coffee. Favourite track: "Untogether" March 12th, 2025 |
 Change,The Dismemberment Plan. October 2001, DeSoto Records. |
This album took longer to click for me than I expected it to considering I’ve spent the last six months listening to“!”a frankly ridiculous amount of times. I found myself missing the raucous calamity of tracks like “Girl O’Clock” and “The Small Stuff,” where Travis Morrison’s vocal chords seem stretched on tenterhooks. Change is kinder. It’s supposed to be. It would be unfair to say the record lacks the raw energy and excitement of past Dismemberment Plan releases. It’s still there, with the band’s characteristic youthful exasperation subsumed into a kind of nervous tension. Where the music of Change feels incredibly sure of itself (the precision of its arrangement especially), its lyrics profess a tender uncertainty. Take tracks 5 and 6, Come Home and Secret Curse. “Come Home,” which explores the rupture of Morrison’s dad’s passing, opens with a day called out of work and an attempt to convince himself “there’s nothing wrong” while “star[ing] right through the paper for a long, long time.” Eric Axelson’s sparse, sustained bass notes transition into an anticipatory thrum as the song shifts into and out of its choruses; the ebb and flow of recalling a memory. The song crescendos with a six-time repetition of the phrase “well I don’t know,” which coalesces into an angular instrumental, before quieting again. This proclamation of ‘not-knowing’ continues into “Secret Curse,” which is a Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer”-esque plea for breaking a spell that’s whispered over palm-muted downstrokes. “And I do not know what sin I have not confessed… and I’m nervous and lost and I cannot refrain… unsingable song, melody weird, getting it wrong.” It concludes with a wailed “I don’t know who you are, please, please, please, I’m sorry!” by Morrison. These two songs, with their ever-shifting dynamics, reflect the hesitation, insecurity, and placelessness that’s constructed throughout Change’s 47-minute runtime. And it works great. Especially on track 9, “Time Bomb,” an aching declaration of insecurity and self-doubt. Though grappling with the intense emotional upheaval that surrounds death, remembrance, and aging out of young adulthood, Change approaches these realities with generosity and softness. FFO: transitory periods, “The Argus” by Ween, noticing new wrinkles, rereading old birthday cards Favourite track: "The Face of the Earth." March 11th, 2025 |