Review Summary: Only Slightly Entertaining.
It is said that the rock n' roll lifestyle is for those who live fast and die young. That the ear shattering marshall stacks and beer-bottle-busting basement venues will send someone into an early retirement, if not an early grave.
Where then, does that place Louisville's White Reaper, as they enter their second decade of life as a band?
Certainly not retirement, as their tour for 'Only Slightly Empty' charges forward. But in its 30 minute runtime you won't hear a single bar, riff, or verse that suggests anything rock n' roll enough to shorten one's lifespan. Between flaccid riffs, milquetoast, repetitive lyrics, and shimmeringly dull production 'Only Slightly Empty' smacks of a mid-career malaise.
This is not a good record - but it *is* interesting in its failings. Because behind its faults you can still hear the vitality of some of the 2010's sharpest indie rockers straining to break through your speakers. As if its powerful percussion and Tony Esposito's piercing sneer are trying and failing to cast off a weak track list and uninspired production like a damp, ratty sweater. Still straining to be heard.
White Reaper has always been a band that thrived on youthful vigor and a teeth gnashing sense of drama. Whether on the grimy garage punk of their debut or the pulse pounding anthems of 'The World's Best American Band,' they have ridden a wave of fearless momentum upon which they'd weave sneering adolescent drama into serious and sincere American alt rock operatics. Toeing the line between commercial alt rock and gut punching indie by wearing their heart on their sleeves while they headbutted their way into Pitchfork-flavored playlists.
In short: they were loud and they were authentic.
On 'Only Slightly Empty' they seem to have lost track of both qualities. Oh the decibel count is high, at least initially, but in a fashion that is more 'noisy' than it is 'loud.' And the writing spins circles around the hormone-induced misadventures that once sparked the grander anthems of their early career. Not that they'd ever strayed into long-winded or (dare I say) 'proggy' territory in their writing in the past - but something more inspiring than repeating the word "Honestly" as the chorus of "Honestly" would give these songs a second dimension.
Bring back the memorable hooks and you may even add in a third!
Really the problem with the album is that is isn't catchy enough get away with weak writing - nor is it loud enough to bleed away the uninspired production. It sounds more like a collection of lost Eve 6 b-sides than anything by a band whose toured with the likes of PUP or FIDLAR.
Still - it isn't all doom and gloom. There are a couple of highlights in the dirgelike 'Blue 42' - which benefits from some inventive guitar work - and the wailing 'Rubber Cement.' Unfortunately, these are buried by nearly a dozen middling tracks that sound more concerned with playing to the aughties alt rock revival crowd than the honest beer hall headbangers that gave the band momentum in the first place. You could call it a ploy for broader radio play as the Vans Warped Tour sound is having something of a moment in 2025 - but what you cannot call it is a band in decline: the tracks may be limp but the percussion remains pounding and Tony still sounds eager as ever to melt ears.
After all, 34 is the new 22, and if this album is as lame as it sounds, I can't wait to hear their comeback.
