I recently saw the film Everything Everywhere All at Once (which I recommend you do at your earliest chance), and I was struck both by how emotionally resonant it was and how downright absurd it was. It absolutely relished in absurdity with an abandonment in a way very few works of art had, but that surrealism wasn’t at odds with the deeply heartfelt story it was telling. I realized at that moment that absurdity has a way of cutting through to our most primal emotions in a way that other forms of storytelling can’t. It circumvents our rationality and hits us square in the heart.
Much of Noah Deemer’s album The Sleepwalker feels absurd. From the cheesy Casio keyboard tones to the jazz xylophones pulled right from Mr. Rogers’s Neighborhood to his cartoonish baritone croon to the nonsense lyrics inspired by sessions with his hypnotist, the record is a surreal landscape that might inspire a casual listener to react with an aghast, “what the hell is this?” But the silliness that he employs turns out to be the perfect palette for an album filled with heartbreak, isolation, and existential dread.
The record starts without waiting for the listener. I actually had to make sure that the advance I received wasn’t playing out of order because the first track fades in like you’ve walked in halfway through the album. The band (or whatever you want to call Deemer playing in a cabin in North Carolina by himself) has obviously been on this space-age lounge groove for a while, and you almost feel like you’re interrupting.
The album doesn’t wait for you to get you to get your bearings before shifting again, setting fire to the soundscape of warbly guitars with a thick flame of fuzz guitars. The vocals come in without words as if he’s idly muttering to himself. Just when the drum machine and acoustic guitar of “Lay Your Hands” seem to bring some sense to the absurdity, Deemer’s voice jumps in with an exaggerated Elvis Presley-like warble, which quickly bursts into a near-scream.
And throughout the twenty minutes of the record’s runtime, Deemer makes no concessions to conventions or accessibility. Even at its most restrained, it is still deeply strange. But that strangeness carries an intimacy with it that maybe couldn’t have been told with a voice and acoustic guitar—almost like a quiet friend that gets really silly when they’re alone with you. This record is, most assuredly, not for everyone. But if you let yourself be carried by the waves of absurdity, it’s a trip you won’t soon forget.
The Sleepwalker is out May 6th, and you can pre-save it now.
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