You Can Be My Wave

For an introduction to Baths, I don't think Will Wiesenfeld could have made a better first impression. I first heard Eden and was immediately enamoured with the euphoric dance track. It was warm, enveloping, and sensual, but also had some intriguing production choices to counteract the song's repetitive elements. The jarring transition back to the skeletal intro and the harsh scrape of violin strings before the next beat drop are both great examples of Wiesenfeld crafting these ear-grabbing moments. I then went back and heard the first single Sea of Men, which was surprisingly less electronic, more in the tradition of indie pop. Initially, it didn't grab me as much as Eden did. Although, the more I listened to it, the more I began to appreciate the sea faring theme perpetuated by the sound of twangy guitars, both plucked and bowed violins, as well as the various nautical references in the lyrics.

Upon hearing the rest of the record, it makes sense why these two vastly different sounding songs would serve as Gut teasers. It demonstrates that Wiesenfeld is an incredibly competent musician, comfortable operating in both acoustic and electronic realms; sometimes a varying mix of both. There are beautiful string arrangements all over this record that heighten the emotional drama of their respective tracks. On the other hand, there's also some very futuristic and glitchy elements that increase the anxious discomfort on American Mythos or Governed. The album's cleverness is subtle, not quick to reveal all of its cards. However, with more listens, I'm picking up on some really creative production ideas. Songs like Homosexuals and Governed, two slower tracks, use patient drum rolls to create patterns that are interesting while also respecting the sense of space within the song. It's a drum pattern that I would say isn't immediately obvious, yet feels perfect. Another example would be the warping in and out of key on Peacocking to create a rather surreal listening experience.

Wiesenfeld's voice also adds to Gut's intrigue. Home base is this nasally inflection that I could compare to that of Alex Ebert (Ima Robot and Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros). It's a peculiar tone that would probably feel more at home in a punk, alternative context, yet serves to set Wiesenfeld apart from the rest of the indie-art pop field. This isn't the only mode he has to work with though. In fact, his voice is incredibly versatile and dynamic. There's ghostly spoken word passages on album opener Eyewall, and some very gentle crooning on Cedar Stairwell and Verity. He'll also make use of his falsetto to create luscious layers of vocal pads in the background. The most surprising technique Wiesenfeld pulls out are these alarming screams that would rival any of the screamo greats. It's not used very often, but when a song reaches an emotional breaking point, he'll unleash it.

When you factor in the lyrics, that's when these songs become really powerful. Many of the tracks depict the uncomfortable aspects of gay courting and relationships, and as someone in a gay relationship, I found many of the tracks to be relatable and enlightening. These are not novel topics, but he approaches them with breathtaking authenticity and vulnerability, such that this record transcends gay labels and becomes universally human. Eyewall depicts a relationship in which bonds start to separate. Two people begin to lose their sense of togetherness and there's a disconnect in communication. Despite the frustrated pleas for attention manifested by Wiesenfeld's accented screams, the fire still burns. Not all hope is lost. Sea of Men, to me, expresses discontentment for the state of gay dating. Looking for something deeper than a meaningless romp, Wiesenfeld looks in all the wrong places. Despite frequenting the dark, loud, and musty venues that host herds of thirsty men, he's unable to find that special connection he seeks, later resigning to the fact that he never will. This theme continues on Chaos, except the onus for not being able to hold down a relationship is placed entirely on himself. When others in his social circle are settling down, Wiesenfeld struggles to make commitments and instead lets his hedonistic desires guide him.

American Mythos dives into how the dynamic between an extrovert and introvert can put strain on one's relationship. Wiesenfeld's portrayal of an introverted partner who has this outgoing lifestyle imposed on him, seemingly without care and consideration for his feelings, grows more frenetic as the social anxiety brews. The epic closer, The Sound of a Blooming Flower, is another tale of unrequited love that punches you hard in the gut. The first leg is drenched in sorrow, as he pines over a man that is oblivious to him. Instead of letting go and moving on, he tortures himself with vivid fantasies of romance and domesticity. In the second half, the tempo and the instrumentation becomes more urgent to match the whirlwind of thoughts that Wiesenfeld is exorcising. He becomes so distraught that his manic vocals devolve into truly pained screams. These are just a few examples of how deep and stirring the writing gets on the album. The album generally maintains this level of thoughtfulness and detail all throughout.

I love this record. From start to finish, I'm continually hooked by a creative musical idea, by an impassioned vocal performance, or by a gripping lyric. The flow of this record is also fantastic, effectively interlacing the gentle, melodic moments with the high-energy dance numbers to create a satisfying roller coaster of an album. This is a grand accomplishment, one I look forward to revisiting many times over in the future.