Say 10 Records/SBAM Records – 7 January, 2022
If you’re not angry, you should be!
Isolation is far from their first release and, when it comes to defining Albany, New York’s After The Fall, it’s easy to label them a melodic hardcore band and be done with it. However, they’re not building little boxes made of tacky so I’ll do my best not to put them in one. There’s elements of pop and skate punk but they’re more easily defined by their unrelenting rage. They’re purposefully poignant in terms of subject matter and, for a band entering their 22nd year, they’ve seen a lot of changes within the themselves, the world, and as a unit in and of itself. Drugs and depression, death and destruction, loving and losing. All catastrophic ife experiences that, if not released back into the world in such a way, could easily build inside one’s psyche and ultimately explode. Bombs away…
They came to worship at the church of A Wilhelm Scream and the lead track “Ghosts” gets them off to a great start. The the song seems to signal the memory of a tragic past but it’s nothing but a faint apparition and it won’t define the future. The past is just that. The past. The sonic nature of string noise is on full display, a taste of what’s to come and, with a slight contrast between vocal deliveries, they’re developing a bit of depth and a strongly defined melody. It begins just as it ends, with feedback. Shit’s getting real. At this point you may be wondering why a Weezer cover would wind up on here? Well, it might sound like a waltz but you’re forgiven for your misconception as “Adios Amigo” is just as original as anything else on the album. Is it a metaphorical middle finger to capitalism? Maybe not but I’m choosing to interpret it that way. This ain’t no “Holiday.” It might even be one of my favorites on this batch of bangers. Before long they’re right back on their beautiful bullshit, blasting away and seemingly paying tribute to Propagandhi on “Degredation.” This rallying cry against racism and slavery in all their iterations, from the classical sense to our most recent version, the contemporary prison industrial complex, isn’t getting swept under the rug, not on their watch. Sadly, it’s the American way.
This is where things took an interesting turn. I didn’t exactly expect a love song that sounds like it could have easily been written by Crucial Dudes but here we are with “Firewood.” It’s like sewing a big, black, broken heart on your tattered sleeve for a brief moment which is slightly atypical for these shredders albeit a breath of fresh air that keeps things from getting stale. The deviation from darkness won’t last long though. “Gas Money” comes off as the musical equivalent to “fuck you, pay me” and could be a motivational mantra for the working class. I’m thinking of posting about it in the r/antiwork sub. “Someone please tell me that we get more than gas money I can’t take it anymore, a life spent unhappy and poor” As musicians, we can’t fill the tank with exposure and experience and it’s as if it’s the last profession on the planet to catch up to other industries in terms of seeing exploitation into extinction. We’re not indentured servants here solely for your entertainment. Compensate us adequately or catch hands.
Things ease up ever so slightly in “Break A Leg,” another rare but welcome respite from the all out assault. They ditch the double time drum beats for downstrokes and dreariness begin their hike to moral high ground. It’s that awkward moment when you realize someone close to you is a closet narcissist. What’s your money really worth when you’re a selfish miserable piece of shit destined to die alone? “Without love we are empty.” While they’re at it they add fucking up to their list of accomplishments. “Failed You” is an apology of sorts complete with the frustration and disappointment that comes along with it. Mistakes were made and the piper needs to be paid but it’s probably best to move on which brings us to “Isolation,” the title track. It’s bitter number characterized by a bounce back and forth between fast and faster and is highly relatable considering our collective existence over the past couple of years where our only access to the outside world is via a computer screens and we’re living our lives like rats trapped in a cage, edging ever closer to insanity.
Now that they’ve therapeutically gotten that off their chests, they’re content to continue airing their grievances. “Smashed State” is sounding a lot like MxPx’s “Andrea” and acknowledges the air of apprehension in engaging in something that will inevitably deteriorate. It’s not exactly a classic call to break it all down to build it up again but if you read between the lines you’ll realize that this is the way. Let’s destroy the status quo. At last, rounding out the record is “Mileage” with a guest appearance by Jon Snodgrass and, just like it’s predecessors and the track list as a whole, is short, sweet, and straight to the point. “Nothing will ever be the same again.”
More melodic in comparison to past releases, nearly every song on Isolation begins and/or ends with fits and starts or ambient instrument noise. It’s like “distortion and static over the feedback and the panic” which may or may not be an intentional allusion to the overall chaotic and impassioned feel of the record as a whole. In the end, the wheel hasn’t been reinvented it’s just been redesigned by a range of emotions, most notably exasperation and resentment paired with an incessant energy and they’re showing few signs of slowing down.
Vocally you get different versions of each voice and the variations in attack and intensity mesh amazingly with the ferocity of instrumentation and an incredibly impassioned lyrical content. If the array of raging riffs and turbulent guitar tones go a long way in painting the picture of “chaos and disorder” then the rhythm section and it’s symbiotic bond paved the path of devastation with drums that hit harder than a school yard bully on speed and bass lines that both shake the foundation upon which they’re built and also contribute at times to the melodic flavors found throughout as it all comes together cohesively to cement the massive sound we’ve come to know and love.
This is stuff I’ve come to expect after 2 years of bands locking themselves away and letting their aching hearts pour out into song. 2022 is off to an energetic start, anger and animosity never sounded so good…
Jerred Lazar is a make believe musician and wannabe writer attempting to survive in Washington DC
