This album by friends& is an authentic expression of humanity: all its imperfections and perfections; all its nuances somehow packaged into a concise album of bops and (intentional) flops. I’m envious because I’m creating an album that is a diary of my own life experiences, bundled into a musical, pure form of expression—friends& beat me to the punch. I’m only grateful that my experiences didn’t culminate in the same form of expression on friends&’s fascinating release, folx. That’s impossible, right? Isn’t that the fact of life? We don’t have enough control over every element of the universe to perfectly duplicate anything. We settle for “close enough”, to give us the comfort of feeling like we have control over anything—including our own fate. I’m reminded of Slauson Malone’s first release—a sluggish, drugged, fever dream—but from someone who’s eternally online; someone whose mouth is latched onto a rogue fire hydrant that, despite the force of the water pressure, begs for the water to continue flowing: so they don’t have to face the reality of their own nihilism.
The fire alarm begins blaring as I listen to this record and write this post. Then it blares again and again. I can’t seem to escape—the “Everything’s fine!” dog, with a stupid grin on its face as it accepts that inevitable fate of its own demise. The fire department arrives in the nick of time as the house’s infrastructure is on the precipice of caving in on me—their sirens are not wails, but gold ring collection jingles from Sonic the Hedgehog: shining and glimmering gleefully, signaling that everything is going to be alright. Everything is going to be fine, right? I can hear the stringed instruments and folk sounds from my childhood in East Tennessee breaking and scattering at my feet. They quickly reassemble in contorted shapes reminiscent of my past, albeit a poor, haunted reflection that only a musician whose mind was warped by the tragic ironies of the internet age could conjure. But the endless treasure trove that is my mind is not for him to take. I’m exploring legal representation, gearing up to take this pillager to court for trespassing and capturing memories from my childhood.
The harmonies continue and the intensity escalates as the album progresses; so too do my fingers continue pressing semi-logical combinations of keys on the keyboard to type this review(?) of a record that’s changing my life. If I were a Twitch streamer, the chat would react by asking how so much sweat can accumulate on someone’s brow when all they’re doing is writing a blog post—just messing, there wouldn’t be anyone in the chat to comment. I appreciate the constant interjection of sound sources and tones that can only indicate one thing: that this record did indeed take over 8 years to make. The collage of samples, at times, is comedic. Other moments are tragic: I can only imagine this level of brilliance will scare many away from checking into this hotel of experiences—one that could change their minds, or at least open a door to reflection. Why do I (dis)agree with these sounds being so unceremoniously spliced together? I’m so happy I listened to this album.
As the glitchy sounds and folk twangs subside into field recordings and clattering sounds, I breathe a sigh that is also a resolute “Amen! Praise be to the internet gods for bestowing this miracle upon us.”