TRACK REVIEW: Laser Background - Jawbreaker 7"

Laura Kerry

At first glance, Laser Background, a.k.a. Andy Molholt of Philadelphia, is all softhearted earnestness. “Everything about this was made by hand,” he says of his new 7” release, a clear disc hand-cut in Tuscon that sports a screen print by a friend based on a blind contour drawing by the artist himself—a striking package for Molholt’s striking new single, “Jawbreaker.” Describing that song, he tells of a roommate’s toxic relationship, writing, “This song is a shattering call to free yourself from the toxic boundaries that we create for ourselves. Life is too short! Don't waste it.” The lyrics reflect that directness, starting with the first line, “I can’t tell you how much I feel that you are sleeping with the enemy.”

But none of that will prepare you for the actual song. “Jawbreaker,” contrary to the conditions of its making, is a dreamy haze of psychedelic synth washes and muted drums. Everything is soaked in reverb, which creates the feeling of moving lightly but slowly underwater. Distanced by this effect, the vocals favor feeling over their heartsick meaning, fading into a march of simple but mesmerizing melodies.

Underneath the saturated sound, though, it’s possible to detect the sentiments behind “Jawbreaker.” Like Beach House, with whom he shares some sonic characteristics here—the slow, subdued drums, the bright organ synth—Laser Background moves the listener by suggestion, imbuing his sparkling sounds with an almost-unnoticeable edge of sadness. By the end, the sad reverie of “Jawbreaker” leaves the listener emptier than when she began, eager to play the song again or wait impatiently for the rest of the album to come out this spring.

TRACK REVIEW: Slow Dakota - I Am Held Together

Will Shenton

"I am held together by a string of pills." It's an abrupt and shockingly candid opening line, even for an artist like Slow Dakota. Those nine words set the stage for a song that feels more like a vignette from a confessional novel than a standalone track.

There's a distinctly hymnal quality to "I Am Held Together," with a meandering duet that gradually reveals the narrative over the first movement. This is a story about dependence on psychiatric medication, and while that isn't exactly the least-explored concept in art and literature, the matter-of-fact way Slow Dakota handles it is refreshingly direct and sincere.

There's nothing mysterious about the subject matter—our protagonist is entertaining the idea that these pharmaceuticals might be preventing them from facing their problems, and their life, honestly. "But I'm so tempted to make light / My regimen / And throw my Lexapro away / Would I die / Would my hands begin to shake / Like a church / Would my paint begin to flake / Or would I wake / And see my life as it really is?"

After a brief pause, the vocals withdraw and we enter a second, wholly instrumental movement that seems distinctly triumphant. With a resilient piano line at the forefront and swelling strings at its back, we're struck with the impression that perhaps our hero really did it—they freed themselves from whatever cognitive or pharmacological prison they found themselves in at the beginning of the song.

As the music fades, however, we are reminded of a second, darker possibility that would explain the persistent melancholy throughout the piece: the cold reality that many people who abruptly stop taking antidepressants end up committing suicide. The explicit narration never returns, so we're left to reach our own conclusions.

Perhaps what we take away from this song says more about us as listeners than it does about Slow Dakota, and that's exactly what I've come to adore about his music. Where "I Saw Christ Crying in Hermés" left me intrigued, "I Am Held Together" has left me speechless. I have a feeling there's quite a lot more where they came from.

TRACK REVIEW: KYYN - Walk on Water

Photo: ItsForGotham

Will Shenton

From the moment I heard the opening bars of KYYN's debut single, "Walk On Water," I was pretty sure I knew where it was going. This was another moody indie-electronic track in the vein of Hundred Waters, right? Well, in a way, yes. But there's a lot more going on under the surface than may be apparent at first.

It starts out simple enough, with slow-building synths and some hesitant, understated vocals—I got the impression that our narrator was someone who had been wronged, beaten down, and stood on the verge of capitulation. It's a pretty, though melancholy, progression, and eventually it builds into the first chorus: an explosive, cathartic movement that feels like a last, desperate act of rebellion.

The lyrics—"I'll walk on water / Make your head turn ... I'll walk on water / Make my getaway"—show two sides of the song's dilemma. On the one hand, our hero wants to escape, but on the other, she can't help but desire to be witnessed as she does so. It's the catch-22 of any good revenge fantasy.

What sets this track apart from those it otherwise resembles, though, is its finale. Rather than the expected climactic build, it goes for more of a denouement. The last minute is spent on relatively quiet instrumentals, with a haunting vocal line: "I'll get away." It feels as if the narrator is exhausted once again, weary from her choral outburst. But she remains nonetheless defiant.

Whether the antagonist of the song is a person or an abstract problem is something I'm not comfortable assuming on a review in which I've already made my fair share of leaps. For all I know, "Walk On Water" is an ode to jet ski racing. But regardless of subject matter, it's a hell of a jam, and I'd be surprised if KYYN doesn't see some pretty immediate accolades now that she's officially debuted.

TRACK REVIEW: Slow Dakota - I Saw Christ Crying in Hermès

Will Shenton

Slow Dakota (aka PJ Sauerteig) is a difficult artist to pin down. Informed by a background as robust in poetry as in music, his songwriting has a distinctly impressionistic, yet nonetheless narrative quality that gives it a depth demanding of nigh-academic analysis.

"I Saw Christ Crying in Hermès" is no exception to this. It's a track that's at once intimate and expansive, cerebral and emotional, and utterly gorgeous with relatively straightforward instrumentation. Sauerteig has planted his flag somewhere on the border between folk and baroque pop, but without ever meandering—just when you think the song has fizzled out, it explodes into a powerful chorus that wraps things up with aplomb.

Though there's surely a lot to say about this latest cut from The Ascension of Slow Dakota, it might just leave you speechless.