Review Summary: On the Impossible Past
Signals Midwest's second album, Latitudes and Longitude, was a battle cry. From the tense, cocked-and-ready opening riff on the aptly titled "In Tensions", it was clear that this band from Cleveland, Ohio was coming out swinging. Every song carried with it an intense emotional depth, singer Max Stern providing strained and rough, yet still calm and fitting vocals. His narration touched on the subjects of death, regret, loss of love, and the acceptance of all of the above. It was a fantastic affair, with every song feeling urgent, every chanted line being immediately memorable, every guitar solo rightfully placed. The opening riff was repeated at the end of the final track, "The Weight & The Waiting", though without the same urgency it once had. Rather, it was tired, relaxed, and slow.
The opening riff on "308", the first track on Signals Midwest's third album, carries that same tranquil, unwound feeling. It's clear that if Latitudes and Longitude was the war horn, the explosion, the yell for help, then this album is the hangover, the wake, the feeling of eyes opening to soft afternoon sunlight.
The Light on the Lake is the nostalgic remnant, looking back after years of silence.
Max Stern's songwriting ability was one of the defining features of their debut. On this album, it's as poetic as ever. Through disjointed metaphors and fragmented narrative pieces, Max crafts his own story of loss, and his trials of overcoming it. With lines like " So if there's such a thing as universal truth, let it exist between our persistence and our youth." on "308" and "Find me in the pauses between conversations. The little aches and pains that we ignore but will always linger there." on "In The Pauses", it's obvious his word crafting is the biggest draw of this band. The story woven in here is one of nostalgia, reflecting on past events and the consequences that they've carried through time. Where Latitudes and Longitude narrated the final breath, The Light on the Lake is the hopeful look towards the future. It's an album that speaks better to the emotions than most albums that try hard to do so. Albums like The Antlers' seminal Hospice, which I recognize as a beautiful album, shoot so forcefully to appeal to the listener's emotion that they come off as almost a little sappy. Whereas Signals Midwest manage to craft just as an emotional affair not through obviously depressive lyricism or musicianship, but through the overall combined work. The Light on the Lake is a cohesive examination of memory, one that speaks so well to the same trials we go through every day. The ups and downs, even through our most terrible moments. Max Stern knows that the bad times aren't possible without the good, which is something most songwriters who attempt to write a "sad song" miss the mark on.
Even if the music behind the lyricism was dull, this album would probably still sit pretty high with me. It's not the in-your-face rock album that Latitudes and Longitude was, the guitars are cleaner and the chugging riffs are no longer as jarring. Songs like "308", "Lowercase", and "A Glowing Light, An Impending Dawn" start slow and heavy, building up to a fast paced and catchy tempo change. The tracks are rarely stagnant, usually building up to some grand release, chanting vocals, or loose guitar solo. It's nothing mind blowing, and perhaps the only minor downfall is there isn't quite enough flair here. Some added instrumentation would have truly elevated this album, but the band rightfully plays backseat to Max Stern's songwriting. It's solid, tasteful musicianship. For what the album set out to accomplish, it's more than enough.
The Light on the Lake is a powerful affair. The narrative posed here, paired with the above average musicianship, creates an emotionally stunning piece of art. On the final track, "A Glowing Light, An Impending Dawn", Max Stern gives his response to a question he posed on "In The Pauses":
"'Are we reflections or next in succession?'
A change of direction, phrased as a question."
It's not seceding to the past, it's recognizing it. Are we reflections? Are we simply the sum of all the things that have brought us here today? Or are we next in succession? Next in line to become a piece of somebody else? The answer is irrelevant. It's only when we realize that who we were doesn't matter can we truly become who we are now. It's the realization that everything that happened in the past is unchangeable, or, to borrow a line from The Menzingers, impossible. Staying attached to everything that has happened, and everything that will happen, only takes us out of the moment, dragging us down into the depths of over-analyzing and depressive regret.
Max Stern says it best on the track "In The Pauses":
"Dig ourselves into the dirt in our best shoes and favorite shirts.
We’ll break pencils and dry up pens on letters we’ll write but never send.
Talk of adventure all our lives but stay confined behind state lines.
Are we reflections, or next in succession?"
And with Max Stern's final answer, he closes the book on the events that transpired back on Latitudes and Longitude.
He no longer needs to hang onto regret, he knows the light lies ahead.
