Cloud Nothings - Life Without Sound

The Guardian 80

(Wichita)

If the title of Cloud Nothings’ fourth studio album suggested the Cleveland indie rockers were dialling down the volume, then band linchpin Dylan Baldi was keen to go along with that: “This record is like my version of new age music,” he claimed in October. Turns out he was talking what is known in the trade as complete bilge. Because with its scuzzy feedback and crashing drums, Life Without Sound would be terrible in a salt-infusion aromatherapy steam bath. Instead, Baldi has bulked up the band’s lo-fi production values for a more muscular sound while retaining the youthful energy of his songwriting (Enter Entirely and Internal World bounce along with a Weezer-ish buoyancy). The chunky melodies that stomp over tracks such as Things Are Right With You demand the volume cranked up, not down, and – in the best possible sense – would be completely useless for meditation purposes.

Drowned In Sound 70

After enlisting the endlessly talented rhythm section of bassist TJ Duke and explosive drummer Jayson Gerycz, Baldi achieved his potential over two extremely successful and frenetic (if a little repetitive) albums following his break-out record with 2014's Here and Nowhere Else. Since then, the band are a notable act in the indie-music world without ever getting too big for their boots, perhaps because of their punk-rock leanings. However, with their last record coming out three years ago now, there was a considerable amount of intrigue to see what Baldi would come up with next.

That brings us to Life Without Sound an album which sees Baldi and co (initially, at least) return to their poppier, more humble beginnings. The first thing that strikes is how the band aren't going at a million miles per hour all the time anymore, a trick which got a little tiring by the time of Here and Nowhere Else. While this takes a little getting used to, the band have clearly shown a more measured, considered effort with its songwriting this time, playing around more with dynamics and nuance.

This more realised approach brings mixed results. Recent single 'Enter Entirely' for instance, sitting right at the heart of the record, perfectly shows the restraint the band have learned in approaching this record. It's a slow burner which builds and builds and when it finally reaches its peak, feels more earned than some of the band's previous constant-race-to-the-top efforts. But for every song like that, there is 'Internal World' which is a perfectly serviceable song with a catchy enough melody, the only problem is, it's a Weezer song in everything but name.

Later on, 'Modern Act' rings an initially slightly unexplored guitar mastery, clearly inspired by Robert Smith but this time without being derogatory, with a familiar Baldi-esque chorus and hook which will surely capture the imagination of any fan of the band. There is a general attention to detail added to Life Without Sound which the band didn't always favour, such as the final coda of opener 'Up to the Surface' which sufficiently feels like an explosion in sound.

And while there is certainly more of an onus on songcraft and melody, that isn't to say the band don't completely deny themselves of going into full rager mode. The constant ratchet-tension building in 'Darkened Rings' for instance is particularly impressive, challenging the listener to think 'there's no way they can notch this up further, right?!'. Meanwhile album closer 'Realise My Fate' uses a similar trick, endlessly building a pounding drumbeat until Baldi's voice is cracking with hysteria and the music descends into chaos.

So, while this is all positive, Life Without Sound still doesn't always manage to quite be so inspiring. While it is a completely solid record, there are a couple of forgettable tracks in its latter half - 'Sight Unseen', 'Strange Year' - that don't quite hit home in the way that a lot of their earlier material manages. There are plenty of great moments and even a couple excellent songs on the Cleveland, Ohio band's fifth full-length effort, and Baldi's ever evolving and improving songwriting style cannot be denied. It's just a case of feeling like we've been here before - a problem that dogged Here and Nowhere Else at times - that weighs this record down in places.

It is perhaps because Attack on Memory was such a bolt-in-the-blue that it is a difficult record to follow-up and now live up to. The band remain an excellent and vital act, still producing worthy music which is head and shoulders over many similar, lesser acts, the problem, it seems, is that their evolution is a slow one. This isn't to say there isn't another masterpiece in their oeuvre to come, but the (still young) band are still trying things out which is to be appreciated if nothing else.

Pitchfork 70

With every album, Cloud Nothings have bailed on their past and re-shaped themselves into something more vital. Over their first three albums, Cleveland native Dylan Baldi seemed to be flooring the pedal in search of inspiration, from the lo-fi indie of singles collection Turning On to the pop-punk indebted self-titled debut to the increasingly serrated and howling peaks of Attack on Memory and Here and Nowhere Else. Somewhere in the long-gestating creation of their new album, however, Baldi stopped sprinting and briefly stalled out. Unsatisfactory demos piled up. Unproductive recording sessions and frustrations mounted, and a year of recording stretched on, the longest time Baldi had ever spent making one record. (Here and Nowhere Else was written after slamming some bad coffee and writing songs the day before.) Finally he broke through, and Life Without Sound, the result, is the most contemplative Cloud Nothings album yet.

This time, instead of becoming faster or more volatile, they pump the brakes and smooth out some of their more coarse edges. Baldi was inspired by the chaotic, freeform improvisations of  New York composer Malcolm Goldstein, and the album boasts an open-ended, impressionist feel that’s new for them. The quiet, almost mournful piano solo of “Up to the Surface” opens the album, and when Baldi’s voice appears, his singing is subtle and restrained. Displaced, disoriented, and alone, he paints a portrait of fire on the horizon and a planet frozen over. The narrator of Life Without Sound has a lot of this kind of stuff in his back pocket—poetry about isolation, desperation, self-evaluation, and trying to find a place in the world. The drama is rich, so when the lyrics temporarily fall away and the sound suddenly becomes massive, the payoff feels huge.

Producer John Goodmanson (whose pedigree includes records by Sleater-Kinney, Bikini Kill, Death Cab, and Unwound) recorded the band for three weeks, and in that time, he helped build moments like the climax of “Up to the Surface”—a big whorl of sound where TJ Duke’s bass lines become massive, threatening to eclipse Jayson Gerycz’s point-perfect drum fills and some dependably catchy riff work from Baldi. The album regularly oscillates between calm and upheaval, and with Goodmanson’s help, Cloud Nothings ride valleys into peaks effortlessly.

Baldi’s vocals were the final element to be recorded on the album, and he delivers his most emotionally complex performance to date. There’s a bruised quality to his delivery on “Surface” and an assertive resolve when he sings about moving on (and looking back) on “Enter Entirely.” You can hear both confidence and fragility on “Modern Act.” He’s always been good, but the album provides the best showcase for Baldi’s voice yet.

The biggest knock against Life Without Sound is that it comes up short on hooks. Historically, the most powerful Cloud Nothings tracks bob and weave in search of new melodies, turning up new earworms to replace the ones from moments earlier. Look at “I’m Not Part of Me” (maybe their best song)—each new hook somehow manages to dunk on the one that came before until the chorus reaches a shout-along fever pitch. There are scattered examples of this songwriting on Life Without Sound, but some songs just spin in place. “Darkened Rings” begins with momentum, but beyond its initial rush, it’s short on ideas. “Realize My Fate” becomes repetitive and stagnant even when the band turns the screws on the tension. Screams, massive guitar tone, and a muscular performance, it turns out, can only go so far.

Baldi has called Life Without Sound the band’s version of new age music. (Warning: Do not attempt to meditate to this loud guitar music.) The songs come with uplifting mantras (“feel right, feel lighter”) and encourage reflection in tumultuous times (“I knew peace in the terror of the mind”). Baldi declares his intentions to move past the heaviness, though he knows full well that’s easier said than done. “Moving on but I still feel it/You’re just a light in me now,” he sings, repeatedly, on “Enter Entirely.” It’s a powerful message, but it takes more than words to make this kind of music feel inspirational. They’ve eased back from their most breakneck inclinations, and while Life Without Sound isn’t their strongest work, it’s got the seeds that could lead to their next definitive statement. History shows, anyway, that Baldi’s not going to make the same record twice.