Review Summary: If this is fool's gold, I'll gladly be a fool
Considering the dry math rock of their first release,
Ticks, it’s impressive that Austin-based Televangelist found their emotional identity just a year later.
Ticks showed a band going through the motions of technicality: lo-fi guitar and drum clanging driven by little more than restlessness. 2012’s
Crime Wave would later dispel such roboticism, shifting more focus onto Mark Anthony Esquivel’s impassioned croons. The EP gave us Televangelist’s lyrical concerns: stock themes of relationship strife and heartbreak, viewed through an opaque lens. If
Ticks fell to contrived rhythmic complexity, then the lyrics of
Crime Wave suffered a similar issue, with lines such as “The well is dry / If you try and reach in too far you might slip inside”.
But lyrical troubles can be easily offset. Even if
Wild, Jealous, Youth is no less nebulous with its wording (see: “Masquerade around the hall like you would know when they would start to sing”), its heady rush of emotion carries through. The production trades dynamics for saturation, with every sound glimmering in the foreground. I think
Wild, Jealous, Youth is a beam of white light not meant to be dissected by a prism - it needs to dazzle at first sight, second glances risking exposure of its weaknesses. Yet I can’t pick on boring mantras when they’re surrounded by such conviction; “Save Your Breath” bares its indignation, Esquivel’s voice quivering at one moment and then shouting to the skies about his impatience with a former lover.
And
Wild, Jealous, Youth is compositionally restless, in the sense that it’s constantly altering its motifs. Melodies shift a note or two with every rapid return; a refrain takes on different guitar and vocal layers, a new set of lyrics. More often than not, a song will move on by suddenly introducing a new thread. The effervescent instrumentation forms
Wild, Jealous, Youth’s heart and soul - flying arpeggios paired against each other in contrary motion, drumming that dances to unconventional time signatures. As the lyrics look to the mistakes of the past, the music must move forward.
I admit that
Wild, Jealous, Youth is one-note. It’s the same type of pain that Televangelist express on every song - insecurity buoyed by frantic melodies. Certainly, the album presents an earnest appeal to emotion, but it’s in spite of the themes and not because of them. I usually let myself be immersed in the flurry of notes; ironically, that means I don’t process the painstaking care with which Televangelist play their instruments. The pleasure left by
Wild, Jealous, Youth comes in the form of a cloud - not quite substantial, but managing nonetheless to seep through the skin.
