AJ Estrada’s fascination with Studio Ghibli-esque art and amorphous master plans are front and center on Hotel of the Laughing Tree’s newest (and perhaps boldest?) full-length album. Estrada is joined by long-time collaborator Brandon Peterson (Cloud Caverns) and multi-instrumentalist Jonathon Streker. One look at the sparse album credits shows this is a true collaborative effort and one that is not easily pigeon-holed into a neat genre. The band’s origin story began as a more traditional three-piece; now, it’s three mature multi-instrumentalists sharing all sorts of duties. And while there’s the typical pseudo-The Dear Hunter elements of many of Hotel’s records at play, this is perhaps the first to specifically mention beatboxing in the credits (courtesy of Streker on “Double Sundae Daydream”). Needless to say, Hotel’s first foray into hip-hop is truly something to behold.

Artwork

From first glance, the album is crafted with painstaking detail. Estrada has handled all the design choices for this record’s packaging, and while he quickly became one of my favorite visual artists many years ago, this level of nuance is rare in today’s world. This is a full-color, full-illustration lyric booklet type of album, and the artwork is stunning. There are all kinds of conversations about AI and its future, and I’d argue that Estrada easily beats out anything from that realm. His art bleeds a sort of charisma and dreaminess. There’s an innocent-but-mysterious vibe at play that feels like his creative fingerprint. All of this, of course, is in some ways tangential to the music itself, but it’s certain not tangential to the album.

The Music

Hotel have, in their own winsome way, attempted to craft a cohesive body of songs in a way that somewhat resembles their early-career moments. Estrada’s lyrics remain ever-cryptic, but there are a host of motifs, musical and lyrical both, tying the whole collection together. So, the art is another layer of this cohesion, but it’s even more evidence of the band’s DIY ethos. The group has also released a retrospective podcast around the longevity of the collective, though this seems fairly authentic in a world where many bands seem to take this route out of a sense of obligation. There are honest, organic relationships here that are made complex by time and distance.

And this is sort of the heart of Faraway Friends – the challenges and freedoms of being apart, the intricacy of recontextualizing familiar relationships to different places and stages of life, the creative liberties of not having to write around a certain live performance structure. Even in the band’s most minute lineup in years, they accomplish just as much as they did on their most robust albums. Part of this is likely due to Peterson’s Cloud Caverns project, which for years has been a studio effort with all host of layers. While Estrada in some ways might be the face of the band, it’s clear that Peterson’s experience as a songwriter shines here as well. Streker, not to be outdone, provides some excellent piano and synth parts, and he even arranged the acapella interlude, “Three Voices”.

Influences and Style

Several years ago, Estrada and Peterson began releasing collections of covers of their favorite songs through the year, titled simply “Famous People Music”. It’s here where I began to see behind the curtain of where their inspirations lie, but the most recent editions were simpler, less produced, and hazily-nostalgic. And while Faraway Friends is very much a full-effort production, these songs are lined with mid-century glass panels, shag carpeting, weird caved-in living rooms, muted color pallets, neon lights, and faded postcards. Estrada has always felt like a bit of a crooner in a sense, even in the context of raging rock anthems, but here he finds his home in a collection of tracks that feel dialed back almost five decades at times.

Even so, to reduce this album to any singular genre or time period would be remiss. The band borrows from motown as much as 80s, and they even pull from their earlier releases in yet another sense. In some ways, saying a band defies clichés is just a cliché unto itself, and thankfully, Hotel have the decency to recognize they did not invent the wheel. The members do a poor job keeping their favorite artists under lock and key, and it certainly adds a layer of humanity to an album riddled with all sorts of esoteric poetry.

Singles and Highlights

The record’s first single, “Mirrors Up”, may not necessarily serve as a microcosm of the whole story, but it does serve as one of the most action-packed chapters. It’s glitzy. It feels like a roller skating song. I imagine classic cars and those dinners where they bring the food to your window (and I don’t mean Sonic). And while the underbelly of the song shines in a mirrorball glow, there’s a certain grit to the guitar that adds a level of mystery. Estrada’s delivery here is stellar, and the last chorusy part is definitely the track’s apex. Synths and bass stand out here as well.

“Ducks in the Flood” is the second single, but I’d actually like to turn your attention toward the title track, “April Afternoon”, or “Keep ’em Coming” which all arguably would have worked better in my opinion for this purpose. All that said, the two singles do fall back-to-back, and several of the tracks I mentioned helped fill out the first part of the record. Faraway Friends is, in some ways, top-heavy. Or, rather, the second half leans more toward the experimental side in some respects. Now, “Double Sundae Daydream” is most certainly infectious, and “At the Bottom of the Night” is the typical unnaturally-long track present on almost every Hotel release (clocking in at nearly 11 minute and also tying into “Songs Out of Season”). And there are definitely beautiful moments on the latter half, but there are just so many highlights upfront that it can frankly be difficult to not simply loop through a couple of those songs before moving on.

Other Thoughts

While there’s definitely vestigial presence of older Hotel vibes, complete with motifs from older tracks, it’s clear this is new territory for the trio as a whole. Take, for instance, several of the more minimalist tracks. “Songs Out of Season” opens with bleepy electronic drums, simple guitar chords, and a bed of backing vocals underneath Estrada’s ruminations on how digital media impacts communication. The track does build eventually, adding in more guitar and bass, but something about it still feels oddly-bare. It’s a bit of a deceptive opener, and while it works well for the tie-in at the end, it’s definitely not my favorite song. “Greatest Hits” is a glimmery ballad of sorts that sees Hotel’s trademark blues guitar parts interspersed. Here, the lyrics seem to pine for reconnecting with lost friends in a season of loneliness, though it probably seems safe to assume we’ll never know quite what Estrada is trying to say. There’s a lot of falsetto here, and I want to say it features the highest vocal note on the whole record. “Three Voices” hides nothing in its name, and it’s simply a three-part vocal arrangement where listeners will undeniably experience the voices of each of the members on full display.

But then you’ve got Bowie-meets-Muse on “Starman Under Water”, “Double Sundae Daydream” which could have been on The Velvet Teen’s Elysium, or the sort of Latin groove on “Nights of True Forgiveness” that assures listeners that there isn’t really too much of one particular thing at play. Arguably, these songs seem most similar to those off New World Sundown or Mammoth Skin, though the vision seems more singular in some respects. It’s definitely not as gritty as earlier releases, but every now and then, the band reminds us they haven’t lost their edge.

Of course, “At the Bottom of the Night” deserves its own paragraph. It intro feels right off Mammoth Skin, and the instrumental runs for about three minutes before switching up to a more frenetic section with looping synth, faster drums, and more prominent bass. Of course, this is the first change of several, and there’s a pretty cool build at around 6:30 that definitely shows the heavier side of the band. Add in some of the orchestral arrangements and it’s definitely one of the coolest moments on the whole record. The album ends on a reprise of “Songs Out of Season”, here fleshed out with full-band ferocity. This takes things full circle, and it reconciles some of the issues I had with the first track.

Lyrics

Lyrically, it’s always a bit opaque what’s truly going on. Even so, there seems to be enough clarity to tell that relationships, distance, the internet, and media consumption all intersect. There’s a complexity of navigating relationships that start with being able to go to Taco Bell together at 2 in the morning and move toward talking every other month for a couple minutes. Another recurring motif is water and flood imagery – this starts as early as the first track, talking about a change in the weather, and by “Mirrors Up”, there’s already “wall to wall ocean”. It seems like this might be tied specifically to memories coming back, though perhaps it could also relate to generally being bombarded with information. Either way, it’s clear there’s cohesion here, even if it is presented fairly cryptically.

I might not have the cipher to decode Estrada’s musings, but many of these songs seem to take a very personal angle. “Like suspiciously on cue, they play ‘Dancing in the Dark’ / And for no apparent reason, it’s tearing me apart” gives us a portrait of scene where one particular song carries so much emotional weight that it’s too difficult to listen. A similar sentiment shows up later: “Now I run through my greatest hits / I run through everything that’s been bringing me down.” And the entire span of “Keep ’em Coming” is drenched in a tone of loss: crying in a parked car, walking out the door before people can notice, letting go of one thing and later finding another. All of this manages to betray the songs themselves, often feeling like upbeat jam sessions or neo-disco freakouts.

Summary

Faraway Friends has a certain dual-identity to it: the first half is a big more singular in its approach, opting for perhaps a more singular foray into retro-pop, and the back half of the record sees the weirder, more experimental side of Hotel on full display. Chances are, you’re going to prefer one half more than the other. But there’s plenty to love on both ends. This is the sort of record that’ll have you forgetting Hotel is down to just three members in no time with its lush, chamber-adjacent arrangements. This is a record rife with mature production and songwriting, and it’s proof the years apart have not merely been idle. The more I listen, I’m inclined to believe these are some of Hotel’s best tracks yet. The sounds and imagery alike are lush. There are more serious undertones for the pensive thinker. It’s balanced despite its complexity and dynamic. This is how to reintroduce yourself. Welcome back, guys.

Follow Hotel of the Laughing Tree on Instagram. Faraway Friends releases everywhere on 4/28. Merch and CDs are available on their website.