Review Summary: Romantic pop for lonely souls
The word ‘umbra’ - Latin for ‘shadow’ - may not be the first thing that comes to mind when listening to Grayscale’s latest batch of sugary bops. Yet,
Umbra’s strengths are a strikingly excellent combination of such sweet hooks and touches of sophisticated gloom; a delicate balancing act of style and substance. It’s the type of album that requires a certain mindset, yet hits the vaguely romantic spot of love and loss like few others.
Umbra’s greatest strength is that it goes where it needs to go. 2019’s
Nella Vita was a decent record seemingly crippled by Grayscale’s roots in the world of pop punk; the band appeared somewhat scared of fully embracing their newfound sense of slickness. Now, ‘Without You’ unapologetically sets the tone with smooth horns, gospel choirs, cheesy synths, an inexplicably tasteful guitar solo: it’s all there. Vocalist Collin Walsh sounds as comfortable colouring the song’s grandiose framework as he does exploring ‘Babylon (Say it to My Face)’s more minimalistic 1975-worship approach. Lyrically, both tracks attempt to find light around, opposite, or within a long shadow: whether persistently successful or not,
Umbra is an album that aims for the positive. On ‘Babylon’, Walsh transforms grimness into wistful melodies as he sings “
She knows the worst parts of me / The parts that sit in cul-de-sacs, engine running” over gorgeously smooth synths.
Each track on
Umbra packs enough catchiness in its hooks to propel three songs at once: from ‘Motown’s undeniable swagger and glistening sax solo to ‘King of Everything’ capturing every wistful sentiment in its spacious chorus. Yet, the one-two punch of ‘Live Again’ and ‘Carolina Skies’ is the record’s undeniable highlight. The former expands on
Nella Vita’s excellent ‘Tommy’s Song’ and touches upon self-sacrifice to a beloved’s benefit; capturing the duality of light and darkness in a beautiful manner. Its chorus is as uplifting as it is saddening, with the final climax hitting like a ton of carefully polished bricks. While the song tastefully employs a choir, ‘Carolina Skies’ opts for autotune-esque vocal effects to reach its full potential. It’s the shiniest of breakup songs, trading sweet memories with the realisation that such moments were merely that: moments. It’s as bright as Courtney Ballard’s production, finding light yet never fully ignoring the darkness that inevitably precedes and follows: “
I’ll never be your first dance / Moonlight, last love / I’ll never be your soft kiss”.
Grayscale have managed to craft a brilliant pop record in
Umbra. The band have something to say, and appear positively unrestrained in how they want to say this. It’s addictive, it’s loveable: it’s an album that shines due to its shininess. Gleam on.
