Review Summary: Expect the expected.
Plenty of acts have undertaken the transition from upfront, straightforward assaults to something more reserved in comparison. Apologies, I Have None diverged from their catchy pop-punk offering
London in order to focus on the slower, buildup-oriented sequel
Pharmacie. The Wonder Years scaled back their sound in order to craft
Sister Cities. As it was and always will be, these changes are never bad in of themselves; the key to each scenario is execution, execution, execution.
Could The National become a trip-hop band? Perhaps, if the
execution is there.
Hyperbole aside—for example, nobody outside of stringent “why no skramz?!” defenders believed Pianos Become the Teeth should never consider continuing down the reserved, post-rock avenue of
Keep You, yet the end result—the incredibly divisive
Wait For Love—simply lacked all the necessary pieces to truly come together and realize the band’s vision. It could be argued that it’s expected of most groups to perform these sorts of tonal or directional shifts throughout their careers to match fluctuations in emotion, growing up, new experiences, and so on. Fueled by guitarist and vocalist Steven Gray’s loss of his mother, Dikembe endeavored to use
Muck, the fourth record presented by the collective, as a presentation of all negative associations with mental health: depression, anxiety, fear, departures, and struggling to cope. A familiar concept, certainly, and one that requires great emotional investment in order to succeed, hooking the audience in so that the narrative can be latched onto with ease. The foundation is clearly in place courtesy of powerful lyricism from Gray’s pen game. What surrounds that prose and how it is presented, however, leaves much to be desired; the heartfelt core of
Muck fails to be truly realized in an album that struggles to showcase heartfelt delivery.
Compared to the aforementioned examples, Dikembe were never too aggressive with the slight pop-punk influences they carried (aggressive being relative to the genre). It’s undeniable though that the latest creation from the Florida crew has them embarking upon an even more limited path, with the instances of heavy passages and climaxes from earlier works a la
Mediumship diminished in their presence or misguided in their usage. It’s in this creative decision that the album finds its first roadblock: bearing no weight when most needed. Morose exhibitions are enjoyable when performed adequately—execution remains the buzzword of the day—but whatever Dikembe were aiming for here regrettably falls short. Both the instrumental contributions and Gray’s vocal style lack any kind of staying power; the guitars are commonly subject to linear, unexciting riffs that fail to differentiate themselves, remaining loyal to a single progression that becomes tiresome quickly. There’s a sense that the gents wanted to have their cake and eat it too, with the frequent crunch tonality of the guitars working in opposition to the more somber moments. When those particular sections are allowed to breathe, they are unfortunately not afforded enough space to truly develop into something special. For his part, Gray’s singing, though fitting for quieter cuts off of the record, is not able to carry the songs that strive for something more impactful. His unwavering adherence to a mid-range, restricted baritone brings little excitement to the table. The grit that he does manage to offer a fleeting glimpse into is only rarely applied to the tracks. Mimicking the rather unengaging arrangements presented, the vocal additions aren’t able to incorporate life into the album—perhaps the point, but not when the guitars are still allowed to crank it up.
Although starting off relatively inoffensive—both “Sink” and “Wake” flex decent climaxes in their short runtimes and “All Got Sick” is a serviceable indie number—the album gradually becomes more lethargic as it continues. What was once somewhat enjoyable, such as the standard formula of “All Got Sick,” becomes annoyingly average on “Throat,” which drifts in and out with little of note; the chorus featured no punch, partially due to a dull singing performance, and it merely faded away. The idea of build-ups being robbed of or missing their strength is apparent in the following “Old Husks,” where a cathartic piece of lyricism— “*** all these insects and their empires / Holding old husks only for themselves”—is provided zero emotion. The guitars also remain static, tediously abiding by the defined structure of the tune and refusing to change. Multiply the problem for “Stay Beat,” where an odd echo effect on Gray’s vocals fails to be the worst part of the entry, the honor instead belonging to an overdrawn conclusion that adds nothing intriguing to the mix. The most disappointing of the bunch, however, reference the earlier statement of potentially powerful concepts going underdeveloped. In this regard, there is the unexpected emergence of string compositions and a piano in the background of “Perfect Mess.” This slower, more pensive song is tailored to Gray’s assets, but the compelling dimension offered by the strings is barely touched on, with only the final few seconds of the short-lived creation displaying them. Related to this is the careful crescendo and attractive culmination of sound on closer “Leveled Again.” As memorable as it is, the liberating instance, employed after an effective sample usage, is too brief to really appreciate. Before the audience can really reckon with that emotional peak, it has already disappeared in less than a minute. Remaining in its wake are three minutes that are spent slowly escorting the song out the door—no surprises to be found. Somehow, the memorable is made disposable.
Though this may paint an excessively negative picture of
Muck, and it is indeed a flawed attempt, it’s not devoid of passion or merit. Through the lyricism contributed by Gray, which excels throughout the album, and the sporadic flashes of greatness—“Leveled Again” was on the right path—it’s evident that Dikembe didn’t phone in their work. That aside, the group simply cannot shine given how they executed their ideas on the record. When embarking upon something novel, it is frequently given no time to evolve, leaving no payoff for the listener to enjoy. Integrating strings into their softer output could make for a winning combination. The same can be said about the piano, yet the implementation of both components on the disc is lackluster at best. Entertaining in their familiar approach, the more upbeat entries on the LP are still average at best; the potent phrases penned here are not propped up with any hint of gusto, whereas the instruments play it safe throughout each included foray. None of this is the fault of the band’s willingness to pursue a more depressing subject matter compared to what they have considered before. Given the correct tools, Dikembe could easily portray this emotional extreme in a beautiful, intense manner. The methodology that was chosen, where the tracks remained uncomfortably par-for-the-course and progression was tacked on as an afterthought, falls flat. It’s not as drastic and controversial as
Wait For Love or comparable dramatic shifts since it’s just not dramatic enough to begin with. The envelope could’ve been pushed further; Dikembe just left it in the mailbox.
