REVIEW: Consilience - Under Our Beds

Laura Kerry

Consilience began as many bands do: with one artist and her guitar, synth keyboard, and sundry bits of gear. Soon, though, standing alone on stage with her loop pedal grew tiresome for Tasy Hudson, the Edmonton, Alberta–based multi-instrumentalist, and she invited some friends to join. With her ever-expanding crew of bandmates (whose core members seem to include Louis Mendez, Aidan Lucas-Buckland, Dylan Howard, and a rotating cast from different local acts), she put out an EP in 2014, Walking Through a Dead Night, that filled in her sound in the realm of dream pop and indie rock.

Her first full-length, Under Our Beds, continues to fill in Hudson’s sound while maintaining a nod to her singer-songwriter origins. Mixing piano, electric guitar, synth, drums, and the occasional trumpet and strings, Consilience creates pop tunes with a contemplative side. Hudson mostly uses her voice softly, staying at a smooth half-whisper even as the instruments build around her, and her lyrics are introspective and intimate (“I never thought that you could see through my eyes / I always hoped that I would settle down in my life”). Beneath the layers of sound and against the intriguingly wandering melodies, you can detect the hand of one seemingly quiet person.

Under Our Beds, though, is at its best when the instrumentation doesn’t follow this hushed impulse of the vocals. The piano drives much of the album, sometimes skipping along in bright intervals (“Secrets”) or anchoring the song with robust chords (“Losing Your Head”) and often skewing towards a ballad style. While this fits the thoughtful romance of her lyrics, these piano ballads occasionally feel indistinct, with structures that never quite land. On the constantly shifting “The Only Time I Choose,” and others, this has a dreamy effect; in other songs, it is slightly distancing.

But some of the songs on Under Our Beds hit harder. On “Grim,” the album’s opener, buzzing and howling synth sounds and a cascading guitar riff keep the song grounded in a Mazzy Star-like alt-rock haze. On “Soft and Slow,” the trumpet and piano bounce against the swell of instruments and changing time signatures, carrying focus through the sunshiny song. Sometimes, Hudson’s voice intensifies or falls into a lower register, punctuating the sweetness with a more striking edge.

“Consilience” is the unity of different disciplines, particularly in the practice of forming a grand theory. It’s an apt name for Hudson and her collaborators, who gracefully glide through the softer and harder moments by melding piano ballads with alt pop, indie rock, and the ethereal bliss of dream pop. Hudson ditched her solo act because she thought a fuller band could expand her horizons—consider them expanded.

REVIEW: Faith Healer - Cosmic Troubles

Kelly Kirwan

Pop culture thrives on reinvention. We dust off old trends and records found in our parents’ basement and throw them on with a sly expression, mentally tallying who in the room gets the reference. It’s not exactly imitation, but more like reimagining; a kind of Magritte-esque irony that’s centered on the likeness of a thing and not the thing itself (Ceci n’est pas une pipe, guys). It’s an M.O. that Jessica Jalbert slips into quite nicely, channeling classic psychedelic rock in her sophomore album Cosmic Troubles.

On both of her records, Jalbert has performed as Faith Healer, a moniker that drives home how influential the '60s and '70s have been on her style. Cosmic Troubles’ opening track is called “Acid,” after all, with a languorous lead-in that makes you think of a lava lamp’s waxen insides. It’s easy, then, to take the song at face-value as an ode to hallucinogens and their dreamy, Alice-in-Wonderland effect, when in fact the intent is just the opposite. Jalbert’s wistful delivery makes it easy to miss that the lyrics say something very distinct from the melody. Case in point: “If I need a feeling / I’ll just get it from myself.” It’s this subtle contrast that makes Cosmic Troubles much more complex than mere resurrected psychedelia. Instead, Faith Healer has composed a wry LP that’s very aware of its tongue-in-cheek references.

While Jalbert is the solo artist behind Faith Healer, her second album does mark another collaboration with longtime colleague Renny Wilson. The two Canadian natives hail from Edmonton, work in the same record shop, and created a makeshift studio in the basement of Wilson’s parents’ house. There, the friends played every part on Cosmic Troubles, and this garage-band production style definitely comes through in the final product. Tracks like “Universe” have good, old-fashioned, quick-footed electric chords (with a melody that’s reminiscent of the Stones’ “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”). Yet whether the soundscape has a bit of an edge or lingering reverb, Faith Healer’s lyrics remain consistently surreal with a deadpan delivery—it's all very reminiscent of Grace Slick. Jalbert never really breaks out of this even tone, but that seems to be the point. Cosmic Troubles has a kind of cynical, what-does-it-all-mean attitude that somehow doesn’t preclude self-deprecation.  Take “Fools Rush In,” where she repeats, “Yeah I’m so stupid / I will probably forget” in her elusive soprano. The insults roll right off her back.

The more you listen to the album the more these layers start to reveal themselves. Soothing and self-effacing don’t usually jive, but on Cosmic Troubles it works. You imagine Jalbert writing her songs while staring at the night sky through a kaleidoscope, barefoot in an idyllic meadow but probably wearing a goofy hat. It’s an LP that’s best played when you’re feeling calm and pensive, looking to broach a few existential topics without falling down the rabbit hole. Because on Cosmic Troubles, the ideas are heavy but the tunes let you float away.

Release Day: Purity Ring - another eternity

Will Shenton

Evolution is almost as contentious a subject in music as it is in Wichita science classrooms. Wonks like us are prone to endlessly debate where, exactly, the Goldilocks zone of band-change-over-time actually sits. Not enough risks taken between the freshman and sophomore LPs? The group is stagnating, and one more cautious release is just another beating for their dead, one-trick pony. But if they turn from a fuzzy garage-rock trio into a synth-pop outfit over the course of six months? They’ve lost sight of their audience and sold out to the whims of fashion.

We’re a hard bunch to please, which is probably why it’s so unbelievably exciting when someone finally gets it just right. It gives us something to point to and declare, “Look! That’s what we were talking about!” in the vain hopes that every other band in existence will heed our advice. I’m happy to say that another eternity, the second album from Canadian dark electronic duo Purity Ring, fits that bill pretty well.

An important aspect of their success is the fact that they’ve managed to explore new territory without entirely abandoning the sound that worked for them in the past. The album opens on “heartsigh,” a track that’s probably as good a thesis statement as they have to offer – it’s familiar, with Megan James’ steady, lilting vocals over Corin Roddick’s signature melancholic synths, but the chorus hints at some of the hip-hop and dance-pop influences that gain prominence later on. And along with “bodyache,” it represents one of only two songs beholden to the duo’s habit of smushing two words together to make a title. Both come at the beginning, giving the impression that we’re being weaned off of their old affectations (though a sudden aversion to capitalizing anything seems to have taken its place).

Now, none of this is to say that Purity Ring is trying to shy away from experimentation. While the three singles they released ahead of the album – “push pull,” “bodyache,” and “begin again” – seem to have been chosen so as not to alienate their existing audience, a few of the deeper cuts go pretty far out on their respective limbs. “repetition” feels like a wistful pop-R&B track, “stranger than earth” has elements that would sound at home in a German disco, and “dust hymn” could easily work as a hip-hop beat. I’d be remiss if I didn’t also give a special mention to “flood on the floor,” which (and you’ll have to take my word for it, since there’s no good way for us to stream it to you yet) genuinely leaves me gaping in awe even after dozens of listens. It’s an utterly explosive track that’s bound to be a big part of this album’s legacy.

My only real complaint, and it’s a minor one, is that “stillness in woe” is a pretty weak closer for what’s otherwise a phenomenal album. It’s not a bad song, but it generally lacks the punch that ties the rest of the LP together. I certainly understand the desire to give things a bit of a denouement, but to me it felt like a whimper where a bang would have been more appropriate. I remember feeling the same way about “Shuck,” the final track on their debut, Shrines, so maybe it’s just the band’s Achilles’ heel.

I’m not sure that any one album in particular can do much to change the fickleness with which critics discuss a group’s development over time. It is, as always, a matter of opinion, and most of us have a tendency to indulge in contrarianism out of habit. But if anyone ever asks me in the future to provide an example of evolution at the right pace and in the right direction, I’ll hand them a copy of another eternity without hesitation.