Review Summary: Dancing at the end of the world
No Joy is likely the natural progression many wanted for Spanish Love Songs. Admittedly, I’m not part of that equation; I’m a sappy, balding bastard who’d be content if they pumped out their usual brand of self-deprecating belters until they reached MCU-level parody. In this regard, approaching
No Joy feels… trickier. It’s their most experimental album to date, and while it has some mildly warped versions of what they’ve always done best, the extra breathing room here allows the songs to flourish in a new way. Rather than bleak anthems with no light at the end of the tunnel, various options are examined as the ground’s crumbling beneath your feet. In many ways, it’s the kind of Spanish Love Songs album I didn’t know I needed.
As much as Dylan Slocum can nail those cathartic, quote-ready hooks, it’s the serene and fuzzy synths on “Muted” that are currently floating in my mind; it’s the giddy guitar distortion in “Lifers.”; it’s the dance-ready shimmer of “Haunted.” I think it’s safe to say
No Joy is incredibly nuanced, which isn’t really something that can be said about the band’s previous material. There’s just a lot more to unravel here than usual, and all the extra touches work well without diluting the band’s charm. The chaotic and compact synths in “Rapture Chaser” give me an odd, but profound sense I’m listening to something co-written by The Who – most particularly, along the lines of "Baba O’Riley.” Never thought I’d be making a comparison like this to Spanish Love Songs, but here we are. Digging beneath the surface, the song openly condemns people who are searching for a reason to be unhappy. Whoa!
With so much unfamiliar depth being explored on
No Joy, the band’s typical self-deprecating nature now feels like a mere bonus to the main attraction. They’ve always had a knack for landing a punch to your emotional weak spots, but stopped short of letting us know exactly who they are.
No Joy effectively breaks through Spanish Love Song’s remaining walls. The shaky-voiced Slocum reveals a side of himself that’s been hidden away until now. His tender, reflective whisper throughout “Exit Bags” will have you wondering why he doesn’t ditch his typically abrasive style more often. It’s certainly a welcome change of pace, only elevated by a sparse, raindrop guitar melody. These quieter spaces lead into the layered closing track, “Re-Emerging Signs of the Apocalypse.” It’s without a doubt the most potent storytelling moment of their career: painting a vivid picture of young Christians with the best intentions, and how it all went to hell. Gentle recollections soon morph into uncomfortable truths, with some massive guitar jolts that are absent from much of the album. This one gets my vote for the most epic, diverse track they’ve ever written – full of exciting tempo changes and a powerful sense all the bandmembers are in perfect sync with each other.
The subtle rays of optimism on
No Joy provide a warm contrast to the band’s depressing lyricism, with conflicting emotions now in constant battle. And, as Spanish Love Songs put it to chilling effect between guitar twinkles on “Marvel”:
silent explosions in our mind, could take us down at any time. It’s a simple but damning statement that should be relatable to anyone burning the candle at both ends. Yet, the very same song is also encouraging us to appreciate the beauty in the ugly – it’s all about our outlook. With a psychedelic touch, “Pendulum” recalls parents doing their best to give their kids a better life, even though it’s never that simple. The steady pacing makes for a convincing space to reflect over an acoustic guitar and sparse, muddled electric flare-ups. What seals the deal, though, is the vulnerable and unique spread of drumming throughout. It’s moments like this that make the band a special kind of therapy that always seems to make you feel better. Maybe the cure for feeling bleak really is bleak music. However, Spanish Love Songs have only continued to challenge the framework for their style of indulgently sad emo. During all my time dissecting
No Joy over the last few weeks, one thing stands out as certain: there’s no other band out there that can write such hopeless lyrics while also managing to make me feel so alive. When I think about the path of my life, it’s hard not to get down in the dumps. What meaningful progress have I really made to better myself in recent years? Oddly though, as the magnetic slow-dance beat of “Haunted” calms my nerves for the countless time, I know everything’s going to turn out ok.
