Reviewed by Gavin Caterina ||
When grunge hit mainstream radio in the early 90s like a beam of greased thunder, there was the agreed—albeit, not entirely accurate—consensus that the genre represented the half-awake rebelliousness, emitted angst, and cynical laziness associated with Generation X. And, somehow, another genre of music developed from the rebellion to grunge’s rebellion: slowcore, a style of rock known for its pessimistic lyricism, downtrodden, uber-doomer melody, and sad white guys flannelling too close to the microphone. Torches passed from bands such as Low to Bedhead, from Codeine to Bluetile Lounge. And then to Duster.
Duster, a San Jose-based band comprised of poly-instrumentalists Clay Parton, Canaan Dove Amber, and Jason Albertini, came and simply went, around the turn of the 21st century. The Benadryllic and bleak poetica of Parton did gentle breaststrokes underneath the uncomplicated and capricious guitar work. Everything clicked, and almost no one noticed. For some reason, however, a revived interest occurred toward the end of the 2010s, and loyal fans were rewarded, after an 18-year wait, with two new albums, Capsule Losing Contact, a reissue, and Duster (self-titled), an LP of new material. It contained the same, low brain-activity rock that Duster was known for, but sounded refreshed, rejuvenated, and devoid of rust. Three years later, they have released a new album, Together.
And what fans got was more of the same. Sublime cover art aside, Together is nothing particularly striking, or new, for Duster. Things drone and middle-aged men are complaining. The opener, “New Directions,” sounds confident enough: a vigilante-waltz with climaxes of guitar feedback that sounds like mountains converging. It is a good introduction, and immediately informs the listener as to what kind of album this is going to be. After the first track comes “Retrograde,” a discordant ballad about a possible stalker? The lyrics are abstract and full of fascinating imagery. So, typical Duster. Once “Retrograde” ends, “N” injects breath and a hooking guitar melody. Parton sings on the lowest volume, and it works.
(A maxim: it appears that, for the genre of slowcore, singing as if one’s parents are sleeping in the other room is an effective choice).
It is tedious to take the album track by track, but that’s the beautiful part of Duster: each song has a near similar theme, energy, calorie, stamina. If they are not identical, then they’re certainly fraternal. Eventually, the songs pile up on each other into a coagulate of spider-cable guitarscratch, elevator music within a hotel in limbo, and bearded glossolalia, to simply cast a mood onto the listener. For fans, this is appreciated prescription. For those that wish for variation of style, this album is contemporarily paradigmatic of the classic dog frustratingly sticking to its few tricks.
That is not to say there are not standouts here that deviate from Duster’s formula. “Escalator” is a fascinatingly hollow track, drifting into black sea of angel-hair, as Parton groans about losing his track of time. It is an existential lullaby tune. “Making Room” is genuinely ascendant sound. One guitar remains a chugging assault of power-chord grime, as the second guitar delivers a smite-like melody. It sounds terrifying to the ear, and, thus, it is lovely. Again, “New Directions” is very solid. But, and as I’ve sensed from previous LPs, Duster seems to be content with its darkwater cyclone-dronings, not too bothered by the seemingly omnipresent compulsion bands have to “diversify.” A pro of this stubbornness: Together, when it’s utilizing the greatest advantages of a fine-tuned and understood theme, sounds utterly spellbinding at times. A con: when the riff or vocal just isn’t that impactful, the song feels watered down. This is more prominently seen towards the bottom cuts of the record, where “Drifter,” and “Sleepyhead,” which sandwich the aforementioned wall of godsound that is “Making Room,” do not pull their weight.
And the album ends solidly enough. The penultimate track, “Feel No Joy,” has a White-Stripes-meets-Joy-Division-meets-Wish-era-Cure pandemonium about it that is wonderful, and its blaring, honk-honk riff plays vanguard well with Parton’s vocals, which are mixed to be stuttered and warped. It’s a quite awesome effect. And, as for the closing tune, “Sad Boys”—right on brand—sounds like a spaceship bound for a one-way trip to an exoplanet unnamed. With lyrics consisting of just twenty words, Parton gets opaque and difficult, talking of a lightning bolt lying to him about its affinity for a rat. Yeah, for real. But, with Duster, it’s never really been about the coherence, but, rather, the adherence to form, shape, and theme. Words like “rat,” “bolt,” and “lie” create aggravated downcast, and that’s what fans have learned to love the most: connection to disconnection.
Together keeps things going as Duster has always preferred to go—space rock bottom—and seems to prove that the band is going both nowhere, and nowhere new. While I, personally, cannot completely handle the saturation it causes, there are still magnificent moments, as there always are, and have been. If the listener were to just pick and choose as they see fit, Together will soar, even if it must do so in reluctance, and waning. And, really, isn’t that what Duster’s always been about?
Bio: Gavin Caterina is an undergraduate at the University of Houston, majoring in English and German Studies. He enjoys reading, basketball, and other equally generic activities.
