As they did on 2021’s concise but intricate Construction, Water From Your Eyes as soon as once more show that three good songs is all that one aspect of an LP actually wants. “Nights in Armor”—written for Amos’ This Is Lorelei after which reworked—shuttles between glinting, Sarah Information-caliber indie pop, metal-adjacent chugging, and atonal skronk; half grunge and half shoegaze, “Born 2” traverses an Escherian staircase of fixing keys that summits repeatedly on a observe of fist-pumping triumph. Lyrically, it may be probably the most straightforwardly political factor that they’ve written, however the which means is as cryptic as ever. For all of the tune’s promise of limitless risk (“Born to grow to be/One thing else/One thing melts”), Brown repeatedly drives dwelling a single phrase—“psychopath”—like a silvery nail in a varnished coffin.
The second half repeats the format: three correct songs rounded out with two ambient sketches, however this time, one observe hogs the highlight: “Taking part in Classics,” a madcap dance-punk romp partially impressed by Charli XCX’s “Membership Classics.” Its ebullience is nearly awkward; its mismatching components—disco hi-hats, Eurodance bass, too-bright keys, overdriven guitar solo, snatches of vocoder teased and simply as shortly deserted—summed up within the document’s most utopian sentiment: “Follow shake it you’re free.” I think it is going to be the album’s massive hit, actually in a stay context. I don’t prefer it as a lot as something on the A-side, however it’s, really, the album’s funniest tune.
B-side opener “Spaceship,” although, is one other curler coaster of backmasked guitars and shifting time signatures, nearer in really feel to the A-side’s contorted alt-rock. It’s exhausting to overstate how easy Water From Your Eyes make even probably the most sophisticated grooves really feel, and Brown’s hopeful singing (“So that you dream, you construct, you modify/The cage appears to be like like a window pane”) solely provides to the suggestion of weightlessness. The country-fried “Blood on the Greenback,” alternatively, feels nearly like a demo, a bare-bones sketch for fuzzed-out guitar and muted drums. Slipping throughout slant rhymes and a sidelong Pixies reference, Brown may be singing concerning the finish of empire, or the ennui of life on-line. The album’s lyrics by no means reveal something as clear-cut because the thematic speaking factors—house, dinosaurs, measuring human existence on a cosmic scale—the duo routinely trots out in interviews, however that’s some extent in favor of Brown’s suggestively mysterious writing. The duo’s banter might typically resemble low-stakes brainrot, however Brown’s writing reaches past stoned dorm-room riffing into locations the place the punchlines dissolve.
“It’s both nothing is essential or all the things is essential,” Brown just lately advised Fader; in context, they had been speaking concerning the cosmic existentialism that informs It’s a Lovely Place, but it surely additionally appears like a good evaluation of Water From Your Eyes’ nearly obsessive consideration to element. One element specifically stands out on this charming, formidable album: “For Mankind,” the ambient sketch that closes the document, is made from precisely the identical sounds because the intro, “One Small Step”—a queasy wash of what may be a whirly tube run by digital processing, or maybe a household of chipper sea lions. In the event you hearken to the album on a loop, “For Mankind” will blur seamlessly again into “One Small Step,” successfully enclosing you inside Water From Your Eyes’ invented universe. A front-row seat for the Amos-Brown thoughts meld—sprawling, amorphous, airtight, overwhelming, heartbreaking, humorous as hell. It’s a privileged vantage level.
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