Over the years, I feel like I’ve noticed people slowly giving up on Joyce Manor. Their early work so perfectly captures what it feels like to be young and angry. As their sound has become increasingly polished, many fans have accused them of shedding the rawness of their music that made them so special in the beginning. Their career trajectory reminds me a bit of Weezer: A band that started out making unapologetically confessional music (see “Across the Sea”), and, over time, has faced criticism for dwindling their best attributes into something more palatable, coming off as soulless to some.
That’s not entirely how I feel about Joyce Manor. If anything, their discography has been far more consistent than Weezer. Still, I found myself going back and forth on this album. At a lean 19 minutes, it’s easy to loop endlessly; I found myself listening to it for hours on end. Like their other recent releases, they’re still pretty polished here, but they’re utilizing that refinement in a way that feels more purposeful. Brett Gurewitz of Bad Religion produced this album, with his influence resulting in songs that sound “bigger” in a way that songs from their previous albums just don’t.
I got this impression immediately upon listening to the opening track, “I Know Where Mark Chen Lives”, which feels like a spiritual successor to “Constant Headache”. Right off the bat, there’s so much energy, with the line “Freight train coming down the track / and it almost gave me a heart attack” charging at you. Drums go full throttle in the song’s final moments. It’s also relentlessly catchy, and great as a standalone track.
“Falling Into It” follows, highlighting one of my main frustrations with the album. It’s not a bad song, but I feel as though it kills all momentum built by the opener. It also leans heavily on the chorus, and builds towards something (with a mini synth/guitar solo) in the second half that just never arrives. I really wish they’d let this song linger on just a little while longer, give it some room to breathe. “All My Friends Are So Depressed” slugs along with a twangy jangle-pop reminiscent of the Smiths. Lines like “I pursue a deepеr dream / Kill it with a laser beam” are delivered in an apathetic tone that hits harder than they would in a more intense one.
On “I Used To Go To This Bar”, singer Barry Johnson admits how funny nostalgia can be: “There’s nothing special about the place, nothing too hard to recreate / Just pour some old beer on the carpet and make it close to my apartment.” The words feel crammed in, as if he’s racing against time. When the chorus reveals he’s been dealing with the aftermath of a friend’s death, you get the sense that he feels as if he’s running out of time himself, trying to hold onto another thing that’s gone.
“The Opossum” fervently describes a fever dream that revealed the narrator’s deepest fears and insecurities, in a shouty battle cry: “I had a dream when I woke up this morning / I was a shadow of my former glory.” Something about it reminds me of “Some Nights” by fun., both being songs that grapple with identity and existential crises. Again, I would love it if the climax were extended a bit further, but the emotional impact is so strong as it is that it’s not a dealbreaker as it is on other tracks.
Short flashes of memory burst through “Well, Don’t It Seem like You’ve Been Here Before?” before pounding drums give way to the declaration, “’Cause your heart, oh, your heart, ain’t what it used to be”, with vocals that sound like they could give way to tears at any moment.
Then there’s “Grey Guitar”, which may be one of Joyce Manor’s best songs to date. It’s cynical, and deeply honest, closing the album with the brutally honest revelation that growing older is complicated. The song sits with the uncomfortable realization of not being happy with the person you’ve become. It’s a brutally fitting ending for an album preoccupied with nostalgia and regret.
