Crack Cloud - 'Pain Olympics'

By Phillipe Roberts

Mind-bending polyrhythms. Crushing bass. Assertive vocals, yelping, howling, and roaring for attention above brutal noise. In the eternally escalating 2010s post-punk arms race, Crack Cloud “emerged” in 2017 to near-universal praise for both their total command of the genre’s instrumental tropes, and their uniquely gutting chronicles of escape from a host of addictions: drugs, possessiveness, and the parasitic fever dream of capitalism as a whole. So when, in the midst of a pandemic, their “debut” album was announced with the jaw-dropping title Pain Olympics, their fate as wretched rockers at the top of a brooding heap seemed an inevitability. I was excited. You were excited. We all braced for the onslaught.

What a sweet relief to be dead wrong. Rather than the pain-numbing exercise in frantic riffing that might have been suggested by the excellent singles that preceded the album, Pain Olympics instead finds Crack Cloud exposing its soft underbelly, reframing a call to arms as a declaration of rebirth. Throwing off the chains of expectations, the Vancouver collective runs absolutely wild, taking the Olympic theme quite literally as they deliver operatic anthems, juicy, synthesized funk, and devastating acoustic ballads on one of the year’s most vital records. Burn down your fears and fly into the post-truth future–Crack Cloud wait with open arms.

Nowhere is the gravity of their ambition felt more completely than on Pain Olympics’s opener, the dazzling “Post-Truth (Birth of a Nation)”. Hardly a minute into the song’s rumbling introduction–a blistering, tom-heavy charge into call-and-response screeches of guitar, held together by truly sinister sub-bass–the apocalyptic proceedings take a heavenly turn. Guitars fade into oblivion, replaced by an angelic chorus carrying a theremin-like melody reminiscent of a classic space opera score. When the dust settles after five delirious minutes of sonic experimentation that rattles through skronking horns, sampled laughter, and a smattering of industrial noise, it feels as if the curtain has been pulled back on an entire world, ripe for exploration.

Crack Cloud thrives in this nonlinear, open-world mixtape format. Across the album, similar textural trials leave the rhythmic obsessions of their previous works in the dust of time. Previously unthinkable flourishes like the robotic auto-tune crooning on “The Next Fix,” the dizzying mid-song drum solo on “Ouster Stew,” and the smeared guitar shoegazing of “Angel Dust (Eternal Peace),” coexist perfectly with urgent punk drive. Artful transitions between songs blur the lines of genre even further, softening up the mind for whatever curveball lies in wait. Where a lesser “band” might fizzle in attempting such a grandiose shift in tone, Crack Cloud uses their distinct advantage with a collective’s worth of ideas to harness, as well as their time-honed skill, to tame that sprawl with an exacting ear for melody and an eagerness to design a future unhinged from nostalgia.

This endeavor’s success is due in large part to frontman and drummer Zach Choy allowing a greater diversity of voices to take center stage on Pain Olympics. The aforementioned choruses in “Post-Truth” and “Angel Dust” are the most striking examples, but “The Next Fix” and “Favour Your Fortune” both reap benefits from the use of massed voices: the former finding healing in its soothing mantra-like coda, and the latter spiking tension with explosive rhymes that bounce and stretch within the stereo image, surrounding the listener like a ring of fire. When Choy does take control, he wields the mic with deadly conviction. Playing foil to the dingy strums of acoustic guitar on “Something’s Gotta Give,” his ragged inhalations and the way his voice just barely carries the tune of the song ensure that his anguished plea to “please be so kind” hits like a hammer. And in quintessential art-punk form on “Ouster Stew,” he sneers and barks with the best of them, sounding quite perfectly like the doomed, trenchcoat-wearing rebel leader that the song’s music video makes him out to be.

Do not mourn for the Crack Cloud of yesterday. Beneath all the brave, sweeping orchestrations (and sometimes above it, as in the blazing “Tunnel Vision”) they’re still the same triumphantly resilient punk powerhouse that they’ve always been. Through their commitment to unravel their own predispositions and gnaw constantly at the urge to remain landlocked in despair, they’ve vaulted past any notion of capitalist competition to become only more human, more empathetic, and more graceful than ever before. A humble document of the wisdom of collective resistance, Pain Olympics is an essential listen for weary souls eager to get back into the fight.

REVIEW: Kai Basanta - earth

Will Shenton

As we noted in his recent video premiere, Kai Basanta has a penchant for blurring the line between digital and organic. Every facet of his new EP, earth, seems determined to draw both elements into the liminal space that divides them, blending jazz instrumentals with synths, samples, and drum-machine beats. The result is an artful take on jazz-hop that feels more intentional and dynamic than the bounds of the genre usually dictate.

From the summery grooves of "sunlight" to the off-kilter mashup of a Kendrick Lamar interview and an Olivier Messiaen quartet that is "love," earth isn't afraid to show off Basanta's impressive range. The album feels like an ascent into unrestrained creativity, as we move from more recognizable tropes into the simmering soundscape of "shadows," its beats resolving slowly out of an ominous ether before closing the EP.

At first glance, earth feels familiar, and perhaps that's the point. It's only by delving deeper into its textures and homages that we can see Basanta's sound evolve right before our eyes.

VIDEO PREMIERE: Kai Basanta - sunlight

Will Shenton

Kai Basanta's new video, "sunlight," is a stunning exploration of texture and movement. Directed by Derek Branscombe, Basanta's undulating beats are matched with a patchwork kaleidoscope of mesmerizing, uncannily organic shapes and patterns that unfold with languid serenity. This is a video you can truly melt into, letting the rays of titular sunlight wash over you in waves.

The opening track on Basanta's new EP, earth, "sunlight" uses a beautiful combination of atmospheric synths and acoustic instruments, with the percussion (his specialty) seemingly a blend of both. This is reflected in Branscombe's video, as the line between CGI and the natural world is blurred; it's often hard to tell which images were created from scratch and which were captured in the wild.

It raises the question of whether the distinction between "natural" and "artificial" is really a meaningful one. If anything, it's their synthesis that makes "sunlight" so impactful, and such an alluring landscape to get lost in.

PREMIERE: Maarten Bayliss - People Are Patterns

Kelly Kirwan

Vancouver native and electro-psych-rock producer Maarten Bayliss knows first and foremost how to lay down a beat. He’s dabbled in remixes, the occasional film score, and most recently has released the titular track, "People Are Patterns," off his first full-length LP. It begins in a swarm of percussion—a hollow pattering you would associate with a speaker throbbing, soon joined by a soft idiophone rattling. The effect is hypnotic and ominous, like a growl of thunder in the distance. There’s a build here, and we can quite literally feel it. The video is centered around a rocky, man-made jetty stretching out into the water—the sky overcast, with just a glimmer of red sunlight on the horizon. Bayliss’ voice is imbued with a sort of swirling strain, “How can you move on / When you’re staying in one place?” he asks, in a slight rasp, never looking at the camera. He’s focused, intently striding towards the water, as he continues, “It’s not okay / ‘Cause I don’t make change.”

What is he going to do? We wonder, as he continues seaward, stepping out of frame after climbing an elevated platform at the precipice. The camera lingers on the ripples in the water, a landscape sans Bayliss, and we wonder if he jumped—cast himself into the ocean, as the ultimate reaction to a rut. But then he casually strides back into view, past the camera lens, returning to where he started. We're left as voyeurs, watching him go as his snappy arrangement fades. People are patterns. Yes, biologically, mere strands of double helix. Also sociologically—our patterns of behavior. Whatever grand scheme Bayliss is referencing, he leaves us with a striking melody and stunning visuals, certainly hoping for more.

REVIEW: Ashley Shadow - Ashley Shadow

Laura Kerry

It’s always exciting when the backup singers and instrumentalists of good bands do their own projects—like when a lovable supporting actor in a TV show gets his own spin-off. Unlike the TV shows, though, the music projects are often successful (sorry Joey). This is the case with Ashley Webber, who has spent her career in Vancouver’s music scene singing on albums for Bonnie “Prince” Billy, Pink Mountaintops, and the Cave Singers, among others, and playing bass in the now-defunct post-punk band The Organ. Now, she is stepping onto her own stage with a self-titled debut album under the name Ashley Shadow. 

As Ashley Shadow, Webber creates music with the pop bleakness of Lana Del Rey, the folk rawness of Sharon van Etten, and the sad country twang of Angel Olsen. Her voice shares a lot with the latter two, particularly Olsen (so much so that Olsen subbed in for Webber singing backups for Bonnie “Prince” Billy)—which is a good indication of its expressiveness and ability to betray heartbreak.

Despite Ashley Shadow’s sonic similarities with those folk songstresses, much of the album feels more distant than the music of van Etten and Olsen. Some of that is a result of the production; while her lush singing is the most important sound in the mix, it also blends with the others—acoustic guitar strumming, warbling electric guitar, occasional synths, and swinging bass lines that reveal where her real instrumental affinities lie. In her single, “Tonight,” for example, her doubled voice echoes in a chant-like melody, combining with the fuzzy, country guitar sound to create a dreamy filter over the emotionally-fraught lyrics,  “Can’t settle down into this feeling / Afraid I might stop breathing / I don’t feel it ‘cause I want to.”

Lyrically, too, Ashley Shadow remains at an enchanting distance. Much of the album features songs of a keen observer who turns her lens toward her work with Vancouver’s marginalized populations, her relationships, and her personal obstacles. Even in the case of the last subject, she injects her heartache with a critical distance. On “Way It Should,” one of the rawest tracks, she sings, “It’s going nowhere / The way it should / I tried it your way / The best I could.” While it’s a sad song, Webber is resolute in her retrospection, without regret.

Elsewhere, though, she performs with more immediacy. On “Laws,” where the expressive palette of her voice is on full display, she sings, achingly and desperately, “How did I once find life here / And how did it pull me down… / Can’t find the way out.” But even when the writing lacks this kind of urgency, it always possesses an impressive degree of clarity. Even when intertwined with a bass line or hazy with reverb, Ashley Shadow's voice—both the sound and the perspective it narrates—are unfaltering. Despite its name, Ashley Shadow’s debut album sees the backup singer and bassist stepping out of the dark wings of the stage into the clear glow that a spotlight a brings.