GutterPutter

2019 saw one of the biggest unexpected surprise hits of the decade as it brought itself to a close; that of the release of the first glass beach album. Hailing from Los Angeles, glass beach is the eclectic, avant-indie rock band fronted by J McClendon as the lead vocalist, guitarist, and songwriter. The band has garnered generally positive reviews from the likes of Pitchfork with 7.2 and Anthony Fantano who had summarily described their style as being “post-emo”. The distinctive switches made between the instrumentation and the style that they play makes for a zany band whose jazz-like performances tend to mesh well with themes of queer identity and young people’s crisis even if there are some rough patches to fix.

plastic death is the band’s sophomore album which takes on a  drastic shift in artistry. Instead of the strong emphasis on the crazy compositions that carried the first album forward, much of the music there is a mix of King Crimson-level prog rock and emo-centric post-hardcore. Similar in spirit to the Dismemberment Plan, glass beach’s songwriting blends well the sense of displacement in your late teens to early twenties with cacophonic eruptions that mark anxiety or distress. This becomes apparent in ‘coelacanth’ where the expository weave of piano and synths segue into Modernist musings about feeling disconnected from your community as the instruments pick themselves up in volume. Clocking in at five minutes, the song’s structure is made into three parts which makes for an enticing listen for those who might prefer the more linear songwriting that alludes, one way or the other, to feeling displaced in contemporary society.

The strengths surrounding ‘coelacanth’ continue to develop with several songs. In ‘cul-de-sac’, the sizzling guitar riff compliments the idolatry critique of fame and fortune. Hearing classic rags-to-riches story tropes be converted into a conspiracy theory-esque tale of where “the modern earth was born” feels contrapuntally ominous amidst the soaring instrumentations and contextual disillusion with hyper-individualised success. ‘rare animal’ is a heartfelt take on escapism, mentioning the 1971 aeroplane incident with D.B. Cooper to symbolise climbing out of mediocrity even if McClenon warns to not “get lost in a metaphor”. Additionally, the use of synths add a lot of feelings to much of the record whether it be the tension and suspense in ‘the CIA’ or resigned sadness in ‘200’. If you would like a more conventional sound, ‘motions’ and ‘the killer’ have their respective pop punk and ork-pop twist to keep the album fresh and zany. There is no telling what might entail in each listen.

While there do exist weaker tracks that might have failed to let us in on glass beach’s eccentricity, there are still aspects within them that make for an appealing listen. ‘guitar song’ relies on the quirky side of love with its oblique lyrics and acoustic guitar fingerpicking; one that feels too maximalist with the side synths and space-like atmosphere. Yet, the falsetto in the chorus sounds heavenly, at least comparable in authenticity to Thom Yorke’s performance. ‘puppy’, in its more vibrant form of power pop, offers a rough-edged familiarity to Weezer’s ‘The Good Life’ with a long, memorable hook and energetic drumming only for it to be offset by the vapid lo-fi vocals at the end. Similar in line would be ‘slip under the door’ with its unpleasant heavy metal screech and industrial percussion in the end or rather dull techno-based emphasis in the production of ‘whalefall’.

When the progressive traits of plastic death start to get into the spotlight, so too does the best of glass beach’s seemingly improvisational playing. ‘commatose’ in particular is among the best in the band’s discography; a sprawling, angsty array of twists and turns that was clocking in at just under 10 minutes. Spending the first minute under the wave of cellos and ringing guitar notes, we are met with a narrative of long-distance relationships, longingness for physical contact, and the fear of forgetting someone as a distant memory. Much like the introductory song, it embraces the ennui of living as a young adult in today’s conditions and how, in seeking the desire to “hear you on the phone”, we relieve that through technology. As the genre switches from being relatively post-rock to synth-pop to prog-rock riffs and bit-pop fuzz, the song starts to erupt in its potential. By the time you reach the last third, as McClednon breaks down in admission that their love is purely a “plasticine” illusion for comfort, the cacophony comes thundering down with their scream. What a way to cap off the climax of ‘commatose’!

In capping off the album with ‘abyss angel’, we are treated with a surprise turn into chamber pop as the record focuses more on introspection on your faults as a human being. As McClendon goes on about how “family nexus swallowed all exits”, the transition to full-on post-hardcore sounds cathartic in providing closure. Much as plastic death brings into attention the contrast between natural cessation of life and the non-biodegradable nature of the material, we too must take into account the effects of nostalgia, good and bad, on ourselves. Rather than grip hold of love as a system of comfort, there instead lies a kind of withering away from its use as an escapist tool. In ending the song and the album with “do you know? / do you remember?”, as the music quietens down, we are left with a bittersweet ambiguity that the desire as we might perceive it to be has reached its end. McClendon accepts the incompatibility between their “human body” and the “plastic silhouette”.

plastic death is not a perfect album in glass beach’s discography. Indeed, there does exist a wonky kind of consistency where some parts of the song have attracted my attention away from the strengths in each song. Yet, its slight bits of roughness should not be used to excuse the reality that its highs can soar up above the sky itself. The cohesion of the past jazz, emo, and otherwise experimental, fragmented genres into a particular blend of prog-rock is well worth a lot of acclaim for how it sounds futuristic without coming off as metallic. It presents the anxieties and complexities of the relationship between the Zoomers and technology in a way that feels compelling. It does not talk down on its listeners for their reliance on it as a substitute for face-to-face socialisation or entertainment. Instead, it brings into attention the certain dread that we might feel if we might not live up to certain norms or if we see others our age who are looking to be more successful than we are. glass beach might not be a perfect band, but they can surely strike us in the heart when it counts.

4.3/5