The year I lived in the dorms, one of my suitemates noticed that I was into music. “Tell me what some good bands are” was his line. Being 18 and wary of dorks, I gatekept as best I could. I mean, this dude was not going to start listening to AMERICAN NIGHTMARE or SUPERSLEUTH or even MINOR THREAT if I had been more generous with “my” music. I couldn’t articulate it at the time, but part of my distaste for sharing it was that I figured the average person would miss the context of the sounds they were hearing. More than the sonic shock is the fact that I knew my interest in this music was about the social world it opened to me as a teenager. I heard about new bands through friends or friends of friends or zines or going to record stores or being in someone’s car one time or sending away for a record or tape in the mail and then getting the label’s catalog along with my order. It’s not that I felt I “earned” the music; more that I felt I was participating in some kind of conversation by taking these actions. He was trying to interrupt and that didn’t seem right.
We’re all grateful that I’ve matured since then. Still, those old ways of learning about music die hard. It was my buddy Greg who put me on to The TUBS about a year ago with a “best of 2023” music round-up on his blog. He doesn’t know that he did so, though. I suppose I should tell him. On that blog, he gushed about their first album. It took a few songs to get its hooks in me, but by the time I heard “I Don’t Know How It Works,” it was all over. This record was an essential purchase. As “Wretched Lie” closed out the album, I knew I’d be listening to it forever.
OK, that’s an exaggeration and we all know it. Still, I was excited to learn they’d have a new album out in 2025 because they’re a band I like and I want to hear them make more music. That’s unsurprising. It’s like saying I’m excited about food. Of course I am. It’s delicious and I need it to live. Is this record that important? No, but you should buy it anyway. It’s spiritually nourishing in that way where you find yourself humming part of it or turning a phrase over in your mind or mouth during the day and feeling excited about listening to it again when you’re in the right place to absorb it fully.
As I’ve gotten older and busier, that kind of absorbing process has changed for me. I used to make it a habit of reviewing the lyrics and liner notes before listening to an album or single for the first time. I wanted to be fully prepared. I stopped doing that once I was working a grown-up job and had more money to spend on records than time to listen to them. Around the same time, I learned about PULP, who had an important disclaimer in the insert to 1995’s “Different Class.” They advised “Please do not read the lyrics whilst listening to the recordings.” Suddenly, it felt cooler to just let it ride and figure out the lyrics later, if at all. I kept to that practice when listening to “Cotton Crown” for the first few times. I grabbed a few lines here and there. I also did that thing where you kind of make up your own words (as in literally making sounds that do not correspond to known words in English) as you belt out some of the songs. It was a relief to get the LP in the mail and take a look at the insert. I could stop pretending I knew what Owen Williams was singing. Instead, I could lean back and think damn, what a line!
Focusing on the lyrics helps the songs stand apart, too. The leads and melodies sound a little same-y at first, so having a mood or theme to hang onto while listening to each song makes each one more distinct. I’m also glad I’m not the only one who thought of “Run Around” by BLUES TRAVELER when I heard the opening chords to “The Thing Is.” (Shout out to Marco Patrone’s comment on Bandcamp.) A good example of one of those lines that sticks to your brain is in the refrain to “Freak Mode,” where you’ll puzzle over the intent of “I’m not myself / I’m somebody else / someone who loves you.” Grappling with your identity when you begin a relationship with another person is an interesting concept for a song. You lose a bit of what makes you you, but that’s for the better. Well, Williams might disagree. For a counterpoint, there’s a similar garden-path quality to LONELY WHOLESOME’s “I Don’t Think I Can Love You Anymore (Than I Already Do)” from 2016.
For my money, the best place where the lyrics and music come together is on “Narcissist.” That chorus is just unfair. It’s downright criminal. Anyone wanting to pick up a guitar and play along would be hard pressed to achieve the tones George Nicholls conjures there. It’s harder than it seems to make something so powerful.
The power of the rhythm section comes through in “One More Day” and “Strange,” which use subtle build-ups to increase and then release pressure at certain moments of each song. One of the most important things a drummer can do is hit the kit hard and that is not a problem for Taylor Stewart. These songs don’t have “breakdowns” in the sense of a hardcore punk tune but they do make effective use of rhythm to re-center your attention before a key lyric. That’s never clearer than on “Strange,” a song whose maudlin and morbid lyrics truly escaped me before I got my eyes on the insert. It’s about Williams’ mother completing suicide and his reaction to learning that information from a news blog while overseas. The tender intimacy of that revelation is punctuated with the refrain of “how strange it all is,” which seems like both an acknowledgment of the unusual nature of that specific situation as much as it is a reflection on living in the world today more generally. It’s great to have this record with us as we navigate that world. It absolutely does not deserve to fall victim to the misguided gatekeeping of teenagers. The TUBS should be, will be, huge.
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