Wurld Sequence appear to know how one can escape millennial disaffection greater than most. The Christchurch band, led by songwriter Luke Towart and producer and drummer Brian Feary, combat the encroaching menace of an optimized, internet-led existence by translating the pains of day-to-day company life into weird, nursery rhyme-like ditties. The ensuing songs are pint-sized tonics to remedy disillusionment, often-sub-two minute tracks that loop and lope away from on a regular basis grind in direction of one thing surreal and energizing. On What’s Rising, their second album, Wurld Sequence shake off the lo-fi trappings of their early work, additional exposing the wit and ingenuity of Towart’s lyricism and, within the course of, distinguishing themselves as a band extra considerate—and extra pleasantly looney—than your common ’90s revivalists.
It could be tempting to brush What’s Rising’s sound as little greater than Slanted & Enchanted-gone-2021: first single “Nap Gate,” which chugs alongside atop a dense, overdriven guitar groove, definitely paints a picture of Towart and co. as obsessives of ’90s American indie rock. “Nap Gate,” although, doesn’t inform the entire story. There’s something distinctly rural about What’s Rising as a consequence of its ever-present Mellotron strains that choose up a thread of pastoralism current in British indie music from ’60s and ’70s psych-folk by to the Young Marble Giants, channelling it into droning, mostly-instrumental passages like “Rising (For Now)” and “To the Recruiting Officer.” On the similar time, Wurld Sequence are distinctly New Zealand-born, and infrequently really feel of a chunk with basic New Zealand pop bands just like the Tall Dwarfs, most notably within the hypnotic, tabla-heavy interlude “I See.”
The familiarity of Wurld Sequence’ recombinant DNA isn’t any situation when Towart’s writing is so gleeful, visible, and distinct. As a lyricist, lots of his songs appear to concentrate on the ambient terrors of the platform economic system, social media, and the spectre of infinite work — subjects that might be boring however are as a substitute painted as compelling oddball vistas. On “Nap Gate,” hawkish, watchful bosses are rendered as ugly monsters, standing by as a protagonist drowns in managerial gobbledygook: “Lavatory Lord will state that he’s by no means been slicker/What’s your title and the service you ship?/Firm time, you’ve set to work at a loss.”
Later, the pensive “World Beating System” turns the dissociative fugue of social media overload right into a single, elegant rhyme: “The whole lot damaged down and digested freely/And thru your eyes I’ll hear it, and thru your mouth I’ll see/And thru your nostril I’ll style it, after which I’ll stop to be.” On the see-sawing “Eliminator,” life is a online game that’s not possible to win, its villain consistently “dwelling behind your eyes” regardless of how far you run or excessive you climb. There’s a shocking pleasure to be present in these easy subversions of the discomforts of on a regular basis life, in the best way they make such urgent, ineffable specters so small.
Sometimes, What’s Rising’s photos grow to be inscrutable—“Gray Males” is a decidedly sinister alien invasion fantasy set to one of many document’s most animated, noodling guitar strains, whereas pensieve finale “Eighteenth Big Brother,” one in every of Towart’s most stunning vocal performances, offers no picture past the 18 big siblings of its title. Nonetheless, that strangeness feels by design: What’s Rising pits the surreal and the avant-garde in opposition to the all-consuming sludge of late capitalism, offering a completely new set of instruments with which to flee it.
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