When it comes to music, I tend to be more lyrically-persuaded than the average listener. And arguably, more than their intricate orchestration and emo-inspired vibe, lyrics are the defining factor of Caracara as a band. Take just a handful of examples:
“Say your message, make your peace
Apotheosis half asleep
I heard they sell the pills to fix you”
–Apotheosis
…or take the title track off the Better EP…
“Latchkey love and stolen pills
Looking for a cheaper thrill
Retrofitted Greek myth swill
And in your hair a daffodil
We could not have foreseen such light
In your hazy, basement eyes
Headphones in and thrift store leather
Ask me why I care
I thought you knew me better than that”
–Better
It’s a careful sort of wordplay, one that intermittently throws in a word of esoteric nature. But the base here is more on a new arrangement of the familiar. Context is everything – just like how a clown at a child’s party might be funny and a clown in an abandoned warehouse is terrifying. Caracara presents us with new angles of things we think we understand, and they do so be reframing reality in a way that manages to bring new vibrancy without distorting anything in the process.
There is no play toward universality here – every lyric is specific, intimate. We’re drawn into time and place, not abstracted feeling and ideas.
Enter New Preoccupations, the album I’ve been waiting years for. Summer Megalith was a powerful first release, but there are moments where the band’s adolescence shows its face. The production isn’t always the greatest, and the William Lindsay’s vocals have certainly matured in terms of overall consistency. Better showed a new side of the band, shirking some of the strings and sax of its predecessor for something closer to the halcyon days of pop-emo and 90s alternative. “Dark Bells” followed as a stand-alone single and was just as impressive, seeing Lindsay continue to pen phrases that were equally cryptic and transparent all at once.
But New Preoccupations follows three years after Better, and a whole lot of life has happened in the meantime. Caracara look like a different band – Lindsay’s long hair is gone, the band is dressed in solid-color tees. The aesthetic is one of either a pop-punk band or a hardcore punk crew, but telling which is anyone’s guess. To some degree, they’ve shed some of their connotations of being messy. Likewise, the recordings feel that much more refined as well.
Let’s start with the singles. “Hyacinth” follows in a similar vein to “Dark Bells”, almost as if it were a reprise of sorts. It feels immediately familiar and on-brand, but it also pushes toward the heavy side of the Caracara discography.
While “Hyacinth” is certainly capable of turning heads, it’s the other two singles that really caught me attention. “Strange Interactions In the Night” is instantly compelling, such to the point it’s been on replay in my brain constantly and my friends are sick of me addressing my life events as “strange interactions in the night”. But once again, the lyrical substance is worthy of envy. A scene of aimless night wanderings and conversations marked by regret is dressed in narrative poetry.
“Is this a wedding or a funeral? I can’t tell by the attire.” Remarks about listening to Dirty Projectors in a Volvo. A programmed drum part. A general essence that leaves you wondering if you’re listening to the same band. THIS is the substance on “Colorglut”. Add in an Anthony Green guest appearance and overlapping vocal parts and you’ve got final-track-worthy song barely into the album.
But the songs all show very different sides of Caracara’s dynamic, and I think that’s intentional. There’s a bit of grit, maybe a hint of alternative, a measure of indie pop, a dollop of post-hardcore. At a glance, I’d file them with the likes of Mansions, Rich People, and Souvenirs – a certain degree of accessibility paired with somewhat somber, guitar-driven music. But atmosphere truly is everything, and it’s clear that whatever genre the band choose to prioritize on a song, they’re able to pen emotive tracks with ease.
It’s amazing how much more compact even these first three songs are than predecessors like “Apotheosis”, yet there’s the same cinematic feeling even without going far beyond the instrumentation of the band’s core members. Each new single somehow surpassed the previous one in terms of intrigue.
But the singles alone disparate as they might be, don’t provide an adequate baseline for what to expect. To some degrees, there are some of the sparsest moments of any Caracara song here. “My Thousand Eyes” is minimalist and drumless, something found on the similar “Peeling Open My Eyelids” (a reprise of “Nocturnalia”), as well as a few other tracks in the second half. It’s a bit of an intro, but it lacks the rhythmic core that makes Caracara so memorable.
In fact, that’s one of the biggest weaknesses of this album – the stunning shortage of drums. Several tracks have no drums or rely on programming. It’s clear how critical this becomes when you hold up “Nocturnalia” or “Monoculture” against “Useful Machine” or “Harsh Light” (the latter is redeemed by its piano focus). “Colorglut” is perhaps the gem among the drum-divergent bunch.
But I’d be lying I said there wasn’t plenty of gold here. “Nocturnalia” is a spooky sort of dreamy indie ballad, introspective and haunting with crisp production. “You were always on the other side of bullet proof glass from all that,” the chorus goes, a sentiment that speaks to how safety can distort how we see the world.
“Ohio” is a return to Caracara’s “emo” configuration, showcasing some of the strongest lyrically imagery on the album. The ending build sees vocal lines layer and build in intensity. “So much closer to where I started than where I thought I’d be.” This line cuts like a knife after finding the future you’ve been promised was oversold, after realizing your own inability to overcome trials and temptations. This track will be familiar to fans of the first of the record.
The second half lacks some of the same emotional highlights, but the last two tracks do manage to pull things together. “Harsh Light” is some odd combo of piano ballad, electronic drum beat, and fuzzy, roaring guitar. It’s hard to assign any specific classification here, but it strangely works well. Simultaneously, it’s not what you’d expect from the group. However it’s refreshing to see the keys take a more prominent role here and the juxtaposition of the organic and electronic elements is certainly perplexing.
And while “Song for Montana Wildhack” caught me off guard at first, it has quickly grown on me with its somewhat more simple approach that, while vastly different than “Apotheosis”, shows the band has a utilitarian approach to songwriting that can command sparse arrangements.
“Monoculture” plays a bit of bait-and-switch, starting off empty and quickly filling in the space with a shared vocal and guitar hook. The full band comes in and hold nothing back. There’s even a bit of screaming at the very end, something that won’t come as a surprise if you’ve seen the band’s Audiotree session. The ending shows some of the orchestral pieces that have been missing throughout the record as Lindsay belts, “I’m finally free to let go.” It works as a closing track, though this could easily be said for a number of other tracks.
What’s particularly interest is the running theme of the album – a wrestle against the allure of alcohol. But you wouldn’t be faulted for missing this. There’s so much else taking place, so many other sentiments floating about, that this battle is nestled among the rest of life. In many ways, this is a far more realistic picture than how pop country depicts drinking in its share of songs. Life still happens when you have problems, illnesses, and struggles. You still have work, family, and friends. You still go shopping, watch movies, and take walks. We often hear about the highs and lows associated with different conditions, but we rarely hear about how the mundane becomes reframed as well. In many ways, we have the highs, lows, and mundane all displayed musically.
But what I find is the visceral, dark nature of many of the tracks. The darkness isn’t overt or even intended at times, but I can’t help recall very specific images when I hear about a Charleston beach or bulletproof glass or even just sitting in a car off a highway somewhere. What these images mean to me is probably substantial different than how they’re used in the lyrics, but Lindsay’s lyrics tap into collective memory. Maybe you haven’t been to your stepfather’s funeral, but you can definitely glimpse that sort of pain.
New Preoccupations is, put simply, not what I was expecting. I’m not sure what exactly I was anticipating – maybe a bit more of “Strange Interactions in the Night” or “Dark Bells” or “Glacier”. Instead, there’s pop, psychedelic, alternative, 90s, and even hints of singer-songwriter. There’s a sizable degree of 90s rock influence, but the whole range of the album avoids any sort of myopic descriptions. It may not be nearly balanced enough to win album of the year, but it still holds songs I’m sure I’ll be listening to for quite a while. It’s a strong sophomore effort that sees Caracara reimagined. Some will like it. Others may have a harder time adjusting. But rest assured, the band’s knack for writing dynamic, imaginative tracks has not gone anywhere.
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