Oh god, everything just SUCKS, right? I get it – I was a teenager most of the nineties, as I imagine Forever House was (they basically admit it in their liners). We have the same ennui, the same gray in our beards, the same directionless search for meaning – well, singer and cellist Meaghan Burke doesn’t have a beard. But still, we’re a bunch of walking neuroses with no way to release that pent-up frustration and little hope for stuff to get any better anytime soon. It’s almost as if we were … still teenagers.
But no, we’re not – god knows we’re not! But it’s still exhilarating when a band comes our way and traffics in those old feelings, the ones we’ve tamped down in order to live a more restrained, more adult life. Forever House lets us dig back into the old store of angst, allows us to scratch off that scab from what we thought was a permanently healed wound. Over nine rippers, the quartet blazes trails once trod by PJ Harvey and Sleepyhead, obliterating the overgrowth and torching whatever else naturally encroaches upon a metaphor about a path. Yes, everything still sucks, and yes, sometimes we’re allowed to rage about it, no matter how old we are.
Forever House couldn’t say it better themselves: their “debut album of sloppy math and wasted love themes” arrives right on schedule, just when I’m about fed up enough but can’t channel my disillusionment into anything productive. Now I guess I can, with a little help from … Forever House.
--Ryan
Posts
