Review Summary: men DO cry
At roughly 18 minutes, Growing Pains announces itself abrasively, passionately. Then it's gone.
The chorus on opener, 'Breathe', is determined to turn loneliness into hopelessness into an unremitting fury. A volley of serrated, ricocheting guitar chords lifts the "none of this ***ing matters, I don't care" sentiment into a singular event - a sudden realization that trying to combat the struggles of growing up is futile and exhausting.
It is this emotional surrender that Sleep Talk is intent on exploring, and the lyrics are so heart-on-sleeve that "the weight of the world" seems less and less like hyperbole every time vocalist Jacob Clement screams "I will not lose control, this life is my own" on 'Sorry', or the tremolo riff soars over the rest of the mix on 'Mother'.
Growing Pains is melodramatic. The compositions can be as sharp and brittle as broken glass (see: Sorry's introductory riff) or as thick and heavy as a "never-ending haze" (see: Watch You Leave's breakdown or Breathe's chorus). Isn't that the point, though? Growing up is defined by events that seem much bigger than they are, like we're all locking eyes with our demons through our car's rear-view mirror. It is by filtering lines like "we used to speak about forever, I swear one day we'll be together" through tormented screams and haunting reverb that Sleep Talk realistically portrays the overblown theater of youth.
...and despite the EPs unfettered struggle against the pangs of adolescence, Sleep Talk show no such signs of Growing Pains.
