Kelly Kirwan
Snow Roller are a reincarnation of moody, '90s alternative rock. Their music buzzes with fuzzy guitar feedback the same way an overhead power line buzzes with high-voltage electricity. And it's exactly this kind of suburban imagery and malaise that the band convey not only through nostalgia or genre but also through lyrical concepts. This is the music of growing pains—or, more broadly, of growth itself—and it’s a theme evenly diffused across the Portland-based trio’s sophomore album, XXL.
As noted by one of their labels (the band has ties to both Near Mint and Making New Enemies), Snow Roller consciously chose which stories to include on this follow-up venture, and sought to offer closure on some of the chapters from their first album, What's The Score?. To quote Near Mint’s own assessment of the band’s latest 10-track compilation, “Herein lies the spectrum that this Portland three-piece volleys between: slouching and standing up for their own future foibles.”
Indeed, XXL straddles the line between insightful and indolent. Their vocals are evenly delivered, with a slightly nasal pitch, offering observations that could be interpreted as either deft poeticisms on everyday life, or the verbal equivalent of a shoulder shrug. The album's opening track, "Movie Night," begins with a thrash of a few guitar strums and a line of reverb curving languidly in the background. The drums keep a steady pace as singer Colin Kritz takes us through a night in with someone, watching Die Another Day. The lyrics reflect an inner monologue that skips from unsure and insecure to bored and absentminded: "Feel the tension deep down inside my bones / I miss my Connecticut home and bike paths I spent time on." The song effectively evokes a feeling of estrangement, from both people and places that hold a certain sentimentality.
Then there’s "Bury the Lede," which sees that sentimentality turn into resentment. Kritz begins by speaking of someone in third person ("She ate cheese for dinner again") but quickly turns the narrative into a direct address ("It was a let down, seeing you before you left"). Kritz's anger grows over the course of the song, depicting a significant other who moved away and moved on. It's a quick-footed tune, featuring bright gleams of guitar and crinkling chords along with thumping drums that suit the bitter but defiant tone. It ends with a cutting jab: "When can I begin to pass the time that you gave up?"
XXL plays out like this for much of the album—uncertainty surrounding our place in a relationship, or even our ultimate desires, but delivered with a confidence that almost seems contradictory. It’s not as naive as a coming of age, but falls into a similar category: seeing the world clearly and still feeling confused. Can’t we all relate?