Review Summary: a coming of age tale told in broken song
Because I love myself, I decided that I wanted to stop listening to Trapt
– they have a new LP out and you can enjoy yourself with that one if you want, ‘cause boy, it’s a doosey, but don’t, cause it’s ridiculously boring, which brings me back to my original point of making myself happy – I stopped listening to Trapt, because, in a move everyone can attest to, I was in pain. So I moseyed on over to the ever reliable Bandcamp hardcore homepage and decided to see what lay beneath my current stream of consciousness. Lo and behold I’d stumbled upon a gem that snapped be back to with a focus that felt bolstered by the potential of the discovery. There are quiet near-indistinct moments that occur every so often in my day to day walking that make me glad to be a creature of conscious. There is a loss of reality slipping between the fibers of our internets and tablets and countless other electronic time sucking vampires that we lose sense of what’s really in front of us. We’re probably a Battlefield title away from children lining-up outside the doors of physicians across the country claiming bouts with PTSD.
I wish I could frame these moments crystallizing into a realization. There’s a breaking of innocence spliced between and the moments holds uneven territory while stepping from the realm of ignorance to enlightenment. I wish I could give you the definition for these instances, how they occur, and the validity of their message but the ambiguity aid’s power to the witness. However, how interesting these moments that teach us that “He/She doesn’t love you after all”; why is that a lesson one should be forced to learn at all, and most importantly “why me?”. Tiny Moving Parts are a three piece lost in the shuffle well as anyone else. They offer no answers to the questions they scream strenuously, and have only shown up to make sure they can be heard over you.
Behind the innocent and frail lyrics that feel heavy upon the sharp line Dylan Mattheisen and Matt Chevalier are constantly dragging their words across laid, quite possibly, the world’s most scared walkers. Kids with confidence grown from flimsy Power Ranger knock offs on a very weak billed Saturday morning TV line-up and attitudes that were a fake as the WWE episodes they were downloading them from. Dylan’s view of the world is about as black and white as they’re bound to come - stark questioning that highlight simply the cause and effect of life’s most humorless situations. The tongue-and-cheek cynicism really greases the bands mobility and establishes their niche in Emo effortlessly. So much of TMP’s effect resides in their front men and their harmonious yelling contests laying a weak and shaky foundation that gives the biggest impression this whole thing could all come crumbling down at an instant. Their cries of being treated for the kids they are balances beautifully with their expressions of despair and the uncomfortability that’s come with living.
You’ve got to believe anyone who dares utter “Throwing up/No throw up/Dry heaving is the new black” and control a straight face isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. So his humble admittance to growing up and confessing that it makes him happy it makes you sad are all the more telling of someone who has no idea what the fuc
k is going on. I’ve truly missed this in a lot of media in this day and age. We all expect our CGI to be painstakingly just as real as all the action we constantly see on a day to day basis; until the authenticity that used to litter our alternative arts scene has been airbrushed for perfection. This sense of insecurity of not being able to define every aspect of our life but to still render the courage to step forward is a rare trait that its value is near-diminished within our culture. The album is definitely traveling down no newer roads; no, this scene is covered with the taste of Brand New
, Say Anything
, even Titus Andronicus
, but while those artists’ fans are waiting for the morning their monitors bring a monumental joy, Tiny Moving Parts are here to yearn with you, because everyone knows what waiting for their life to change is like.
The title of this record is so appropriate that I often smirk at how so. In fact everything about this album is so simple. From its opening of “I have never been so sad and scared at the same time” to the ominous interludes that seem all to opposite yet all the more connected to the pulse of the record that it’s use is easy to overlook, it’s apparent the authenticity of this albums heart. Mounting the dread that there may be no grand epiphany at the end of it all Tiny Moving Parts hint at hope just enough to make this voyage all that more enjoyable. There may be no direction for anyone to any end and Tiny Moving Parts are just as aimless as the rest of us.