When you were a kid, did you ever play with cornstarch and water? Some of you will think that is the most backwoods bumfuck thing you’ve ever heard, and others will know what the hell I am talking about. The thing about cornstarch and water is, it denies an absolute form. When you grasp it between your hands in a bowl it is chalky and solid, but when you lift it up, rivers of viscous white fluid run between your fingers.
It is this very conundrum of physics that comes to mind when I listen to Happyness, the London trio who recently released five-song EP Tunnel Vision On Your Part via Moshi Moshi Records. This record, much like their debut LP Weird Little Birthday bludgeons me with immediate satisfaction. I can say instantaneously, without a scrap of doubt: “I like this. This is good. This is different.” It is solid opinion, fully formed between my hands and in the bowl. And yet the moment I pick it up for closer examination, everything dissolves in my palms. Why is it good?
A sound you can’t quite put your finger on is the best and the worst thing that can happen to a music journalist. Though Happyness have been basted with descriptions like “laid back,” “slacker,” and most abhorrently, “chill,” I really can’t agree. There is more complexity at work here…more thought. When I listen to Tunnel Vision I don’t hear three happy slackers, but rather a team of gifted songwriters who know their way around hooks, texture, and a killer synth line. I doubt that they cut their teeth by slacking off and copying Pavement.
There are a few lovely things I can point to on this record, one being its steady warmth. There is a consistent shade of rose tinting these tracks, and a fuzz quality that’s equally cozy – as if the boys wrapped their amps in angora sweaters. The opener, “Anna, Lisa Calls” is a melancholy pop cut that has me wondering if the Beach Boys, Blonde On Blonde, or Elvis Costello were on rotation while recording, especially with those swerving, heartsick synths that remind me of Steve Nieve or Al Kooper organ parts.
The record seems to hang its head lower than Weird Little Birthday, its tone far more heartbroken than the snotty and wry debut. “Surfer Girl,” is a sleepy-eyed sad song that turns my Beach Boys suspicion into a theory. It is a washed-out, doo-wop waltz, complete with shore-encroaching waves and forlorn vocals.
At Tunnel Vision’s center is the infectious “SB’s Truck” which was the EP’s leading single. It is a lush ear-worm, spinning out a continual closing phrase that is bound to remain lodged in your head: “I come ‘round here/no real damage/movin’ in around my home.” Or at least, that’s what they seem to be saying in their trademark mumble.
Signing off is the title track: a straightforward dazzler that gets me hung up on the keys again. Whoever is writing these keyboard lines should probably keep their distance from me, as they seem to understand the fine wiring of my heart and could potentially cause an electrical fire.
I don’t feel any closer to coming up with a bar graph of reasons why I dig this band. But maybe digging something and not knowing why is the ultimate kind of adoration. Blind faith so to speak. After all, art isn’t about logic – it’s about instinct.
To be carried slowly by a current of air or water.
Noun:
A continuous slow movement from one place to another.
These are dictionary definitions of the word-a couple, at least. Though if I were to define what it means to “drift” I might say to float, to dangle…to exist in the great in between. To be forever en route.
So much of contemporary music is labeled, stuffed into Sharpied Rubbermaid containers: the “love” song, the “break up” song, the “political” song, etc. And yet over the years I have noticed that some of my favorite cuts have a bizarre, genre-less similarity between them: they seem to be about being neither here nor there. These songs seem to recognize the swirling unknown surrounding them, and accept it as such, neither good nor bad. This lack of specificity has strangely anchored me at some of my most specifically difficult times. They have been the land I spot when out to sea, so to speak.
One of the first songs that made me realize I was headed for a hard drive full of existential playlists was Pavement’s “Range Life” from their 1994 masterpiece Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. Stephen Malkmus has always been the king of nonchalance and blasé, putting boredom on a stick and somehow making it seem appetizing. “Range Life” is nowhere short of delicious in its absolute lack of zeal. You can almost picture Malkmus coasting through a blurred-out suburb on his skateboard, never losing or gaining acceleration.
“After the glow, the scene, the stage/The sad talk becomes slow but there’s one thing I’ll never forget/Hey, you gotta pay your dues before you pay the rent/Over the turnstiles and out in the traffic/There’s ways of living, it’s the way I’m living, right or wrong/It’s all that I can do and I wouldn’t want to let you be”
“I want a range life if I could settle down/If I could settle down then I would settle down”
“Out on my skateboard the night is just humming/And the gum smacks are the pulse I’ll follow if my walkman fades/Well, I got absolutely no one, no one but myself to blame”
Perhaps it is merely my interpretation of these tracks that garners such a feeling of warm nowhere-ness. Maybe if Steve Malkmus read this he might say: “Actually, that song was about being on tour.” To which I would say, “being on tour is an in between place.” But Steve Malkmus probably isn’t going to read this, so I am free to project all the existential dilemmas on his music that I can muster.
A true anthem for the unmoored, Bill Callahan’s room temperature “Riding For The Feeling” from 2011’s Apocalypse is a favorite for listless days. It is, one of the most solitary songs I have ever heard, yet somehow manages to evoke both heartbreak and liberation. Again, it is neither here nor there, and reminds me of the pointless joy that can be found in driving for no particular reason or destination:
“It’s never easy to say goodbye/To the faces/So rarely do we see another one/So close and so long”
“All this leaving is never ending”
“In conclusion leaving is easy/When you’ve got some place you need to be”
When Callahan sings, “all this leaving is never ending” I can’t help but picture a ceaseless swinging door, one that no longer knows the difference between coming and going. One that opens to concrete people and places, but exists in that in between space: in between jobs, and relationships, and albums. To ride “for the feeling” is to drift, to coast for the sake of it, to float on the unknown. I’m not sure what it says about me that is my favorite part of the entire song, and if I somehow miss it I must rewind to carefully consider those six words:
“All this leaving is never ending”
The music video for this track could be considered a meditation on that one line. It is Zen with its unrelenting sameness: six minutes and fourteen seconds of a continuous ski jump over paper mountains. “Riding” is one of the few videos I have seen that deals strictly with the in between. No beginning. No end. Just the little skier coasting infinitely.
“Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space” by Spiritualized is a far more literal hymn for feeling un-tethered. Most will know it from the 2004 dystopian-romance film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which alone could cradle the song in a whole different context. But for me, “Ladies and Gentlemen” is a song for the sensory deprivation tank. It is so buoyant, so expansive in its ambience that it creates the exact feeling its title suggests-floating in space. Lyrically the track is no more exacting:
“I will love you ’til I die/And I will love you all the time/So please put your sweet hand in mine/And float in space and drift in time/All the time until I die/We’ll float in space, just you and I”
“Baby I love you today/I guess that’s what you want/And I don’t know where we are all going/Life don’t get stranger than this/It is what it is/And I don’t know where we are all going”
This is the kind of song that was made for feeling small and powerless in the best way possible. I know that sounds depressing, but if you really think about it, its kind of nice…like staring at the ocean and forgetting about your overdue electric bill.
If there was one bard of the great abyss, I can’t imagine anyone could handle the job better than Bob Dylan, whose catalogue is almost as overwhelming as existential dread itself. “Going, Going, Gone” from 1974’s Planet Waves is a true ballad for not knowing where the fuck life is going to take you. Though the original cut featuring The Band is a prime piece of audio, I have to be honest and reveal that my introduction to it was via the 1982 Richard Hell and the Voidoids cover. It is in a way a perfect marriage. Hell sprung from the nihilist punk scene that didn’t consider its own past or future, that only existed in the moment, much like the voice in Dylan’s song:
“I’ve just reached a place /Where the willow don’t bend/ There’s not much more to be said/ It’s the top of the end /I am going /I am going /I am gone”
“I am closing the book/ On the pages and the text /And I don’t really care /Of what happens next /I am just going /I am going/ I am gone”
“I been hanging on threads /I been playing it straight /Now I’ve just got to cut loose/ Before it gets late /So I am going /I am going/ I am gone”
“I been walking the road/ I been living on the edge /Now I’ve just got to go /Before I get to the ledge/ So I am going/ I am just going /I am gone”
It is the ultimate track for drifting, for nuzzling into the unknown. Because sometimes all you can do is just be.
If you were craving some imitation Pavement-esque languid LoFi rock, look no further than Ypsilanti-based Minihorse, who released their drowsy EP More Time earlier this month. Comprised of lead vocalist and guitarist Ben Collins, Christian Anderson on bass and John Fossum on drums, Minihorse is noticeably affected, pleasantly dehydrated college indie; nothing swells or lends catharsis, but instead encourages driving aimlessly around the same few square miles with a broken tape deck that you had installed in your new 2016 hybrid. The single, “FYEA” is a callused late-summer-of-1994 track that radiates a trippy teenage petulance worthy of a hangover. It’s catchy, yes, but hard to remember. The closing track, “Under My Head” is the most complete thought on the EP, with Jon Brion vibes paired with a whispered deprecation that sneakily depresses you with the lyrics: “The things I could be/if I could get out of bed.” More Time, at the very least, is consistent. Not meant to serve as some grand feeling-prodder, Minihorse found their sweet spot even if it does feels like buying expensive jeans with manufactured stains and holes; fashionably wearable with questionable authenticity. Having said that, I like More Time. I get it. It feels lightly stoned, slightly tipsy, peppered with a hazy self-indulgence that makes you wonder where you’ve heard this before even if you’ve never heard it before.
It would seem that Pier 84 is the place to be this summer. With 4Knots boasting an impressive lineup of bands a few weeks ago, Hudson RiverRocks is upholding the more independent side of things, considering the bands and the cost, which is zero dollars. The lineup consisted of Santa Monica’s Weyes Blood, Speedy Ortiz out of Massachusetts, and Alabama’s own Waxahatchee. The shows start around six, and they’re a great way to spend the hours between work and bed. Weyes Blood is a sleepy start to the evening, and for a moment I wonder if the weather is bending to meet their mood. Violet grey clouds hang overhead, and everyone is wondering at the possibility of a downpour.
Natalie Mering, who essentially is Weyes Blood, is wearing a red polka-dot dress under a white trench. Her long black hair is in a low, slack ponytail that lends her a Joan Baez quality. At first she plays solo, singing over her keyboard, but shortly after the first couple of tracks her band mates trickle onstage. Mering’s music is cinematic, almost score-like. Her voice is stunning, sweeping and angelic, but admittedly, depressing. It’s a winter sound, and though I enjoy it very much, I’m not sure it’s fitting for a Pier 84 summer stage. The crowd is mixed, half of them swaying calmly while the rest chuckle. It’s not for everyone I guess.
Speedy Ortiz on the other hand, sound like the headliners at a house party after a long day at the beach. They could be the band playing your prom in an eighties movie, or in a dark club in a nineties movie. In a word, they’re fun. Sadie Dupuis is a powerhouse front-woman who looks a bit riot grrrrl in her pleated skirt and knee socks. You can hear a lot of Sonic Youth and Pavement in their set, but Dupuis’ girlish vocals matched with stern delivery make for a fresh sound. And I can’t take my eyes of drummer Mike Falcone, who’s bang-on and provides quite the punch. Having just made a riotous appearance at South by Southwest (Hannibal Buress sat in on drums) and released their sophomore record Foil Deer, the band is turning out to be much loved by fans as well as fellow musicians. At Happyness’s Cake Shop gig in April, drummer Ash Cooper sported one of their t-shirts. “They’re great!” he beamed. Rightly so.
Towards the end of their set, we all feel a sprinkle. Just like that it’s lights out and go home. There’s fear of a massive thunder and lightning storm, and given the very electric nature of all the equipment on stage, the good people of Hudson River Park decide it’s not worth the risk. The show mustn’t go on after all. It’s sad and unfair news for Waxahatchee.
Be sure to check out the final installment of Hudson RiverRocks featuring Yuck and U.S. Girls this Thursday, August 6th at Pier 84. And don’t forget to bring an umbrella. Just in case.
Ticket Giveaways
Each week Audiofemme gives away a set of tickets to our featured shows in NYC! Scroll down to enter for the following shindigs.
