Genres: Post-Rock, Drone
Release Date: December 15th, 2000

Review by bedroomAOR

VR289

In an adaption of The Odyssey, presumably a TV-made one considering its shoddy acting, innumerable goofs, C-actor cast and lackluster production, there exists a scene where Penelope rises in the middle of the night. Troubled by the suitors who insist that she take a new husband and forget about the likely dead Odysseus, she wanders down to the sea and slowly approaches the shoreline. When she gets down to the water, she lays into the surf and begins to moan and cry Odysseus' name over and over again, letting the water caress her and allowing us to admire her grief coinciding with the glimmer of the moon on the ocean top. It's actually one of the most beautiful things I've ever been shown in the classroom, and it's something that I ended up witnessing only a couple of weeks prior to engaging with Flood for the very first time.

I very often think about this euphoric scene whenever I have the gall to activate the opening track of this monolith, and it never fails to set the atmospheric stage more stunningly than nearly every other album I laud in this field. While Boris isn't an artist I frequent or even know very profoundly, I find myself absolutely enamored with the composing techniques and methods found in their supposed equation. Often, albums who boast a few long, untitled tracks are ones who tend to be boring to me very quickly, and I've found myself at their mercy for whatever inane length the artist may have chosen for me to endure. With Flood, the tables are turned as I find myself stunned with the beauty there is to be found in the simplicity of it all. Where I've always said that simple music can be beautiful, I feel that I've been subconsciously looking upon this very release with that in mind; this is the album that introduced me to that very way of thinking.

As there is but one true song on this album, it's necessary to point out its decadent flow so that all may know exactly what they're in for. This is, for all intents and purposes (not intensive purposes), an ambient record whose drone influence is high and whose acoustic gorgeousness is through-the-roof. I'm so bashful when I hear those opening notes come through, as simple as they are and as riffing as they ultimately prove themselves to be. Everything is in conjunction and harmony, if only for but a few minutes, before something is slightly thrown off the track. Before you know it, the cohesive block that was this legendary riff is now in disarray, and its threads are being slowly peeled back to reveal its architecture of long, wavy curves and thin, whispery stalks of fiberglass. It's all so very fragile, and before you know it, it's breaking into a thousand million droplets. The riptide of the catastrophe pulls you so deep under that the pressure numbs you, and the watery limbo that contains its joyous victims is on an endless current. Pretty soon, you're admiring the scenery of what it's like to be inside the music, witnessing individual notes as they interact with the staff and watching how time signatures and keys really work for the first time. It's magical, it's inspiring, and it's so very out-of-place.

A trepidation creeps very slyly throughout the above admiration, and the incognito temperament of this invisible force is enough to build some of the most terrifying suspense in all of music. (To break from the analogy for just a second, that tiny bit of singing not even a couple minutes into the third movement is so uplifting and foreboding at the same time). It's like traveling down a spiraling, rocky staircase whose capacity for light is growing dimer and dimer; the last torch you had was placed long ago, and you're only living off of the scraps that physics could muster to bring you down here. Soon enough, you'll be descending into complete darkness, and anything will be able to have at you. The worst part about it is that you'll inevitably let your guard down and feel comfortable in the dankness of stony isolation, and before you'll even know what's hitting you, the charge will come: a torrent of some of the chilliest, most brutal and crushing of waves will tear you from where you'll stand, and you'll have not the slightest clue of what direction you're being taken. Farther and farther away, the relentlessness of liquidity will ruin your ability to self-direct.

And then? Before you even know it... you'll be sucked into that chasm where the party is. The very place where all life and death and good and evil originated from, and where it all swirls in a cacophony of swelling energy, will be before you. The humidity will vanish as you're tornadoed through this subterranean, submarine madhouse, and you'll soon enough be willing to forget everything you know and love and cherish. You'll be a new soul, ready to take on anybody and anything, and it's through this segue that you'll see who you really are. Disliking or rejecting this new entity that you've become is not an option, but luckily, it won't even be a desire. Harmoniously, this moment will help you come into complete agreement with yourself. So lush and tender, you'll feel like a baby wrapped in eiderdown with this thorough contentment of self, and before you know it, you'll drift off into one of the most soothing of trances you've ever experiences. Time is but a vague memory at this point, like the embrace of Calypso refusing to let you go, and you won't even remember when or how or why you stopped feeling the way you did by the time it's all over. It's like waking up from a really long dream; your consciousness, however, will be altered in a way like you will never explain again. Washed up on the shore, you wonder if even the sand matted into your hair exists right now.

If I'm being melodramatic, I'm not sorry. Flood enticed me four years ago when it flaunted its worth in my face, and it does so with an alarming sense of sameness to this day. Never before has an album been able to hold onto what it is that made me love it so for so long, and I find myself wanting to endure its cruel, indulgent wrath again and again and again. A masterpiece record can be made out with hard determination, but for once, a record came to me and did all the work for me. This has been a delight to know, and it will be an exciting rest of my life knowing that I'll always have this to turn to.

Genres: Dream Pop, Neo-Psychedelia
Release Date: September 29th, 1999

Review by Fuckseason5

One of the most unique bands of all time perfects their sound

I would like to preface this review by saying that even though I really love this album, if you listen to this album expecting "the greatest album of all time" or something along the like, expect to be at least a little underwhelmed on the first listen. Ignore all the heaps of praise thrown at it and listen to this like you would any other album.

Fishmans were a rather obscure Japanese act who garnered some attention in the 90s Tokyo underground. They are somewhat of an oddity these days, being praised a bit too much by internet communities such as this one while literally never being mentioned by any professional music critics. Beginning with Orange and Kuuchuu Camp, the band had begun to move into a more psychedelic direction. Their music was laid-back and chill for the most part. 1996's epic Long Season was a massive leap forward for the band, with its 5 part structure and lush arrangement surprising those who were mostly used to their generally minimalist songs. Uchu Nippon Setagaya, their final studio album, was a strange, ambient space rock influenced album. It wasn't exactly the massive step forward Long Season was, but it perfected their old formula. So here we are now, at this concert, their last.

It was originally planned as a goodbye for the bassist, but served as a swan song to the whole band itself, as Shinji Sato, the lead singer and guitarist, would die a couple of months later. This is the apex of the band's career, juxtaposing their pop talent with their willingness to experiment.

The album starts off with a jam session, 'Oh Slime' which introduces the band members and radiates a warm, welcoming feeling, with its gongs and chants. The psychedelic electric guitar and ghostly synths at the 2 minute mark go great with the crisp drums and pulsating bass. At about 6:05 the song morphs into a sublime section that I can't really describe too well, it's just great. Listen for yourself.

Night Cruising, the second track, is for me, the highlight of the first side. Its original release is a hazy and chilled out song, but this live rendition is poignant and way more fleshed out. All the individual parts sound great; the nostalgic guitar, the beautiful touches of keyboard, the insanely tight rhythm section and Sato's soulful vocals coalesce into one of the greatest songs I've ever heard. It's got a so-happy-it's-sad kind of quality to it.

Side 1 is, overall, an incredibly solid 67 minutes. The atmosphere is intimate and candescent, the songs are vibrant, quirky, happy, and a lot of fun. One other song I would like to highlight is In the Flight, a really cool progressive pop song that, much like Night Cruising, goes from a chill spacey song to a passionate and beautiful one. The part where the saxophone kicks in is chef's kiss. Walking in the Rhythm and Melody don't really match the quality of the rest of the music being performed but they're still decent and don't bring the album down.

Side 2 is some of the best music I have heard and is quite a shocking and unpredictable experience for someone who has been listening to the album in chronological order. The way this side is sequenced is rather bizarre since the decent Ikareta Baby is sandwiched in between two fantastic songs, for no particular reason. Also, Melody being right before Yurameki In the Air is a little strange, but I digress. It's a very miniscule complaint I have.

Speaking of In the Air, it's my 2nd favorite song ever and I could go into several paragraphs praising it and analyzing every single tiny fucking detail, but for your sake I won't do that. After about a minute of windy ambience, the instruments come in. First there's the beautiful jangly guitar and drums, then the bass to fill things out. After that the first reverb soaked guitar chord hits like a ray of sunshine after rain. The warm synths and Sato's beautiful singing add to the heavenly, blissful atmosphere of the song. I'm not a emotional person when it comes to music, but no music has ever affected me the way these first few minutes do. It is difficult for me to control myself during these first five minutes. After 6 or 7 minutes, the song gorgeously changes to a different section, with swirly guitars and echoed, piercing vocals. After this section ends and all the instruments fade out, there is a more dub and reggae influenced part which later goes back to the 1st part of the song, and then it finishes. Ikareta Baby is like I said earlier, bizarrely placed and imo belongs on side 1, but it's pretty decent.

Then there's the expanded, 41 minute long rendition of Long Season. For 41 minutes, this song puts you in a trance. The first two minutes there's a palpable sense of tension in the air, with only an acoustic guitar and synths, then the actual song bursts in, featuring the keyboard riff that anchors the song and acts as its main hook. The vocals come in, and the song gradually expands and progresses. This first part is very jovial and heartwarming, with a chorus of children and a simple yet emotive guitar solo filling it out. Part 1 is pleasant and passionate, it feels like the beginning of a journey.

A transition into a crystalline ambient section follows suite, with the drums burning with a fiery passion that acts as a protection against the brutal cold that seems to emanate from the ambience. The drums seem to get tired and get buried within the blizzard after a grueling few minutes, but at 21:30 they come back invigorated and the winter comes to an end. There's a quiet piano melody and soothing vocal section which calms the song down perfectly after all the intensity before it. Sato's voice returns, and starts chanting "Get round in the season" with others coming in for a chorus. The element of tension returns, however instead of exploding, it fades out into the same 'bababa' vocal melody from earlier, which itself fades out into a violin part. The middle 20-30 minutes shows the band's ability to perfectly transition into different sections, adding memorable hooks while doing so. It perfectly displays their complete mastery of progressive pop.

Suddenly, all that tension being stored up is released in a cathartic climax that sees almost all the hooks and melodies from throughout the song return. Guitars, synths, bass, drums, keys, violins, vocal choruses and accordions come together to create an amazing resolution. Sato screams twice, most of the instruments disappear, and then the ones that are left go away until all that's left is that keyboard riff that's been there since the first few minutes of the song.

Then it's over. The song, and fishmans are finished, and there couldn't be a more fitting end to it all than this behemoth of a song. This rendition of Long Season is the legacy of Shinji Sato.

Genres: Alternative Country, Country Rock
Release Date: March 4th, 2003

Review by BronYrAur

Right from the start, one can tell that The Magnolia Electric Co. is not just another alt-country-rock album. For one, Jason Molina writes songs that are far too intelligent for that to occur. As is the case with the rest of Songs: Ohia's albums, his crafty songwriting and haunting vocals are the centerpiece of the album; the addition of the backing band here only adds a little extra to some of the songs, and adds an element of diversity to some tracks, which is nice, as some of Molina's other albums tend to be a little one note. Not that it isn't a really excellent note to play, but this one has it all. There are still some passages where Molina is mostly alone singing and playing his guitar, but the muscular rock sections create a fantastic dynamic, something not present on his other albums.

The best example of this is the opening track, the thoroughly brilliant "Farewell Transmission." This song could've come off as a weak attempt to write something that would be perceived as an epic, but Molina's tact and excellent lyrical approach keep the song grounded and it doesn't come off as pompous or excessive. It still retains a sort of epic sprawl about it as the track exceeds seven minutes, however the tune never grows weary. The song opens with the band sort of chugging along behind Molina, who immediately captivates with his vocals. Also apparent is the intense clarity of the recording. Every instrument sounds very natural, and most importantly, Molina's vocals sound better than ever, captured with him putting everything he's got into these songs.

"The Old Black Hen" and "Peoria Lunch Box Blues" are the two most straightforward numbers on the album, and they are probably the weakest as well. The former is the one song on the album that sounds the most like a traditional "country" song, but this is mostly because of the violin fills and the vocal performance. The song definitely would have been better served had Molina sung the track. The tone just sounds a little off, and Molina's sullen, downtrodden vocals might have been more appropriate. It may be the weakest track here, but that doesn't mean it doesn't work. It's a little out of place, but it is still a fine song. The violins that initially feel a little generic evolve into a sound of sweeping grandeur when coupled with echoing strokes on the piano; the vocals which are at first jarring in their strong opposition to Molina's own crooning become comforting, and by the end I am strangely drawn in to the song's welcoming sound.

The haunting, noticeably darker tone of "Peoria Lunchbox Blues" is a welcome change of pace from the rocking nature of "Almost Was Good Enough" and "The Old Black Hen." Scout Niblett's vocals are very appropriate here, her frail but confident singing sounds as if it could shatter into a hundred pieces at any moment, and the slow, methodical nature of the song is perfect for the somewhat depressed and nostalgic imagery of the lyrics.

"John Henry Split My Heart" comes next, and it appears suddenly, out of nowhere, with a bombastic, stomping intro. The song almost feels like it could be straight out of Neil Young's Tonight's the Night, but this intro is even louder and more brash. Soon, however, this gives way for Molina to sing the first line, accompanied only by a few distant piano notes. This sudden juxtaposition proves very effective, as the dynamic once again changes with a great crescendo as Molina repeats, "John Henry split this full moon heart." This is another phenomenal song, one that instantly grabs you and drags you in. As always, it is the hypnotic vocals that keep the listener enthralled. The band jumps suddenly back to the slower, grinding beat of the intro again near the end of the song, and Molina calls back to "Farewell Transmission" as he repeats some of its lines, "Long Dark Blues/The Big Star is Falling/Long Dark Blues/Will O the Wisp." This is clearly the peak of the album, it's most intense and brilliant moment.

The bittersweet "Hold On Magnolia" closes the album, and the violins and pianos take the place of the guitars and bass (mostly). This is another track that has a distinctly "country" sound, but it never sounds trite or banal at all. Molina's fragile vocal obviously takes centerstage, the sweet strings and gently-ringing slide guitar adding beautiful touches here and there. And when Molina finally repeats the title lyrics at the end of the song, there is a very confident feeling of closure that he imparts upon the album. The Magnolia Electric Co. is not an album that tries to be too "epic" or "important," because trying to do that would just come off as pretentious and fake. Molina and his band just do what they are best at, and they take the listener on a strange and beautiful ride with their music. One of the best albums of the genre of the decade.

Genres: Art Rock, Post-Rock
Release Date: February 4th, 2022

Review by Clokwerk

Black Country, New Road have only been around for about three years and already they are one of the most important rock acts on my radar. They seem to exist within their own, cosmically-isolated sphere of imagination. While the rest of this post-Brexit punk scene is concerned with making heavy and obtuse rhythms, BC,NR leap gracefully from being the world's second-best Slint tribute act to an entirely luminous new band, inspired by equal parts Arcade Fire and Steve Reich.

The intro track shows these two influences brazenly, with arpeggiated saxophones, violins, and pianos ascending over and over, begging and pleading for a spot in the heavens. If you don't like this first 54 seconds of the record, you're pretty much beyond saving. To my ears, this is unadulterated bliss, a soundscape that is capable of being sweet as apple pie but also solemn and cold as a walk to the bus stop on a day that was forecast to be sunny but ends up raining like its the end of summer in 2005.

That run-on sentence is an allusion to the lyrics sprinkled throughout Ants From Up There. Isaac's writing is almost exclusively stream-of-consciousness, capable of theming yet always choosing to slash his forehead open and let his thoughts spill out on top of his guitar. The writing is decidedly vulnerable, sharing intimate details of inner thoughts that most writers would stuff into the messy closet for their subconscious to deal with.

I'm not even quite sure what to single out in terms of track-by-track talking points. Concorde is a shining centerpiece, comparing a failed relationship to the disaster of the supersonic airliner. It's a full showcase of what the band can do dynamically, dipping down to near silence and rising to dizzying heights in an ascending spiral. There's definitely a joke in there involving a plane and explosions in comparison to the crescendo of the song but my moral compass feels like working today.

I'm kind of impressed that Good Will Hunting wasn't released as a single. It's far more pop-oriented than the slowly growing fire of Bread Song. Both serve the purpose of lifting spirits before we descend into the melancholy of Haldern and Mark's Theme, the former of which bears pianos that creep up the scales in a way that triggers some nostalgia deja vu. No idea what it reminds me of but it's cozier than sipping hot cocoa by the fire in a wood cabin in a winter storm.

The band is beyond bold in making the final three tracks on the album the longest ones. Seven minutes into nine minutes into 13 minutes is a hard sell for a lot of people, yet these songs pass in the blink of an eye. Snow Globes is the only instance of me having even a slight issue with this album: the drums are a tad too loud early in the track. That's it. The vocals get stomped out just a little bit too much. For like 30 seconds. That's all I can bitch about.

Basketball Shoes is...

That's as far as I got. I've been here for almost 20 minutes trying to think of anything other than "the best song I have ever heard," but I don't think that's an exaggeration anymore. This is a four-part epic about a wet dream that Isaac had about Charli XCX once. If that sounds insane, it's because it is. I appreciate the vulnerability up front, but the way that the topic is expanded to explore loneliness and the increasingly extreme sense of alienation that younger generations experience. Much like contemporaries Black Midi taking Marlene Dietrich's role in The Blue Angel and shedding the perverse outer layer to let grand emotions shine through, Basketball Shoes sees Isaac step forth and commit ritual suicide, taking the blunt force of embarrassment in exchange for a chance to share some raw, unfiltered sentiment with the world. And for what it's worth, I think it's one of the strongest displays of emotion ever put to record. The chanting choir vocals towards the end of the song give the song a true Dantean nature- the band crawls out of hell, accepts the sins in purgatory, and with bloodied knuckles they drag themselves beyond the clouds, making themselves divine by pure willpower.

I've shelled out a couple of perfect scores to a small handful of records in the last few years. I truly love those albums, but most of them felt like mastery of something that already existed. Ants From Up There is beyond that. It transcends post-rock and indie rock and art rock and every other genre it touches, forging a new element entirely. For every second that the album plays, Black Country, New Road let their essence bleed through every pore. If this isn't perfection, I don't know what is.

Genre: Shoegaze
Release Date: March 23rd, 2023
My Rating: 5/5

Review by Greenmountain

It’s been a year full of surprises in music, but among the most interesting have been the strides taken by South Korean shoegaze wunderkind Parannoul. The Seoul-based musician’s new, Bandcamp-only live release, After the Night, stands out as my favourite release of the year, but its majesty is made all the more unique by how far afield it seems to stand from what we might have expected to come next from its author. I can’t help but find it fascinating that an anonymous musician like Parannoul - someone who tries to hide from the spotlight whenever possible, and who we know next to nothing about - should excel so readily in a live setting. What’s more, considering how heavily studio-based his recording process is (using digital DAW effects to alter guitars, or subtly embedding electronics and MIDI into the mix to create something hyperreal), it’s all the more impressive that he shines so brightly when confined to the limitations of live performance.

After the Night is easily my favourite Parannoul album, besting any of his studio work to date. Recorded just two weeks before the release of his latest full-length, After the Magic, the live set captured here both enriches our understanding of the artist’s most recent record as well as points beyond it to greater things to come. While many of the best songs on the record come from Parannoul’s breakout record, 2021’s To See the Next Part of the Dream, I also find new things leaping out at me from “북극성 (Polaris)” and “Imagination”, the two tracks included from After the Magic, which I hadn’t noticed during my initial deep dive with that record a couple months ago. But beyond just the individual strength of the tracklist, there’s something else at play on After the Night that pushes it up and over the top.

A live show forces the artist to relinquish some degree of control over the sound of the music - sometimes in a big way, especially if you’re a guy like Parannoul, whose creative process appears to revolve around methodical, deep work with only the smallest circle of collaborators. Live, so much of the sound has to be turned over to and entrusted to the rest of the band, and this release from the total responsibility of working alone in your bedroom with an audio interface may play a big part in what makes After the Night so special. There is an openness and a freedom in these performances that I found missing from After the Magic. While his trademark attention to detail isn’t a bad thing at all, this new emphasis on embracing the inherent indeterminacy of playing live lends a new dimension to the artist’s songs.

If anything on After the Night showcases what Parannoul is able to do with the freedoms of live performance, it’s the jaw-dropping, 46-minute rendition of “Into the Endless Night” that comprises the album’s second half. The walls of distorted, effects-laden guitars become a backdrop for incredible deviations from the form, careening from almost swinging, Madchester-style grooves, to wailing trumpet solos, to five full minutes of abrasive noise, before finally culminating in an Explosions in the Sky-esque recapitulation. It suggests a bright future for Parannoul (and for his stylistic niche in general) that can’t be ignored just because it features on a live release rather than a studio one. The explosive success of To See the Next Part of the Dream saddled the artist with the almost immeasurably heavy burden of pushing shoegaze forward, but on “Into the Endless Night”, he sounds equal to the task.

The central paradox of performing live is that while some doors close, others open. Certain things have to be let go of, while new possibilities brought on by the immediacy of the performance enable risks that can’t be taken on a studio album. After the Night proves that Parannoul understands the nature of this paradox, and has more to give us that just the in-studio work he’s done so far. In my opinion, this record cements him as one of the most exciting artists at the vanguard of rock music in the 2020s, which is quite a feat for a live release. If Parannoul continues to move in this direction, nothing can stop him.

Genre: Indie Rock
Release Date: April 10th, 2020

Review by suspec

The best Strokes album (until the next one, hopefully)

The Strokes are a band that many considered to be essentially a one-album-wonder. 20 years ago, they released Is This It, an album that lit the music scene up and reinvigorated the Post-Punk Revival movement, giving way to future mega-stars such as the Arctic Monkeys. They followed it up with Room on Fire, a good but not as good follow-up that followed a little too closely in the footsteps of their debut, and from then on it has generally been agreed on (by the music press and general audiences at least) that the Strokes simply steadily declined in quality, slowly slipping away from relevancy over time, their best contributions to the music canon already far behind them.

Well, then they made this.

I find it kind of astonishing that this album exists at all, to the point that I’m not sure if the Strokes genuinely were able to recapture the old magic, or if this was just a fluke and the next one will be another misfire. It’s hard to explain to people why I love this album so much; it’s not adventurous with its sound, in fact it’s not really daring in any way. Maybe for a Strokes album it’s a surprise, but this - as an indie-rock album - colours pretty firmly inside the lines. There’s no particular standout performance, although Julian’s vocals are certainly better than they’ve ever been before.

Rather, what makes this album so special (and in my view, pretty inarguably one of the best albums of 2020) is the strength of the songwriting. Every single track here is laced with a kind of powerful nostalgia, a potent familiarity that is hard to place. Even on the very first listen I kind of felt like I had already heard this album before, with each song feeling so familiar, the melodies and vocal lines already on the tip of my tongue. This is not to the detriment of the album at all; it’s the album’s secret weapon. The emotionality underpinning each song creates an atmosphere of longing, yearning for better times. Considering the context of this album as being from a band that are 20 years on from their glory days, the emotions are realer, more tangible. Even from the bangers that you can dance to like The Adults Are Talking and Why Are Sundays So Depressing to the more vibey tracks like At The Door and Not The Same Anymore, the same emotional thread runs through the album, arcing towards a greater and greater longing that only builds across the album’s 9 track-run.

And what of that 9 track-run? Each song here is pretty much brilliant, endlessly but effortlessly catchy. The opener, The Adults Are Talking, has a steady programmed drum beat that sets the stage for a classic Strokes riff that could’ve been ripped straight off Room on Fire, before it’s interrupted (in a good way) by Julian’s characteristically sleepy vocals. The chorus is insanely catchy, with Julian touching on political themes that serve as a double meaning for his own fading relevancy – a theme that is present on pretty much every track here. The falsetto at the end of this track is gorgeous and perfectly leads into Selfless, a song which I can’t help but scream along to when the chorus comes in. Brooklyn Bridge To Chorus is built upon a repeating synth progression and is the first truly synth heavy song on this album of (surprisingly) several. The lyrics Julian presents us paint him as a vastly different figure to what he was back in the day. “I want new friends, but they don’t want me,” he sings, wondering aloud later on, “the 80s bands, oh where did they go?” alluding to his fears of where him and his band will be in 20 years’ time. The opening leg of the album ends with Bad Decisions, probably the most similar to their older sound with a jagged guitar riff and Julian shouting in a way more reminiscent of the higher-intensity moments on Is This It.

The centre of the album is the glorious Eternal Summer, a song that seems to divide listeners of this album – but to me, it’s arguably the best cut here. Julian’s falsetto serenade in the verse, combined with the ominous background drones and funky bassline, creates an unsettling atmosphere amidst the danceability. Julian’s pre-chorus warning; “Summer is coming, won’t go away,” soon gives way to the chorus where much of the instrumental drops out as Julian shouts – “I can’t believe it! This is the eleventh hour!” In the post-chorus section, Julian reminds us that “They’ve got the remedy, but they won’t let it happen,” as the guitar wails on the right channel in a riff eerily reminiscent of a siren. At the end of the second chorus, rather than giving way to a bridge or third verse, the post-chorus section simply heightens in intensity, ratcheting up the unease and dread as a menacing synth line enters; “Everybody’s on the take! Tell me are you on the take too?” As many have noted, it is quite ironic that this released in 2020, the first year of COVID.

The second half of this album brings the atmosphere down, with more sombre songs that are lower energy and actually quite sad. At The Door’s low atmosphere is super depressing, and its best moment comes with the outro following the second chorus where, rather than capstone the song off with an explosive finish, it simply seems to submerge, darkening and deepening as it fades away in reference to Julian’s lyrics of “sinking like a stone”, the end of the song feeling reminiscent of an empty beach at night, nothing but the tides carrying everything out to sea. Why Are Sundays So Depressing picks the atmosphere back up, before it comes crashing back down again with Not The Same Anymore, which has some of my favourite lyrics on the album. Julian shows his lyrical maturity in this cut through his simplicity; trading away his snarky, clever lines that he used earlier in his career to instead just plainly shout “I fucked up!” in the chorus, a moment that gets me every time. The closer of the album, Ode To The Mets, is an extremely nostalgic and depressing finish – the synths at the start fade away to a guitar line and organ (I think?) combo that completely wrecks me. The outro to this song is probably the best moment on the whole album – words don’t do justice to it, but anyone who has heard it knows how it wraps up the themes and feelings of the album perfectly in just a minute and a half.

After reading this glowing review, you might wonder why I have this at 4.5 stars and not 5 stars – sometimes I ask myself the same question, and if I had to 5 any album in my 4.5s it would probably be this one. But I do have one major issue that detracts from my enjoyment every time I hear it, and that is simply that I think the placement of Why Are Sundays So Depressing after At The Door in the track sequencing is abysmal. It halts the emotional arc of the second half of the album with a very not needed pick-me-up that feels even stranger when Not The Same Anymore kicks back in to pick up where At The Door left off. It may seem like a minor complaint but it distracts me every time I hear this album and is seriously enough that I’m always reminded that no, this album is not quite perfect enough for a 5. But if I ever do change my rating to 5 stars, that means I either got over that sequencing issue or just decided it wasn’t enough of a flaw to take half a star off for.

Overall, this album is near flawless. Every song here is enthralling, and they all work together (mostly) cohesively to achieve a vision of the ultimate Indie Rock album. In my mind, this is without a doubt the Strokes’ masterpiece, and blows Is This It completely out of the water in terms of being the best Strokes album.