Review Summary: "There's more to living than being alive." Cities is an artistic masterpiece that most can appreciate, if not love.
For your convenience (and mainly mine), I have separated this review into three parts. The middle one is the one that really matters, the rest is somewhat irrelevant
Part One: Fanboyisms Part 1
It’s amazing how fast six years goes by. In early 2007, George W. Bush had another two years left as U.S. President, Saddam Hussein had just been executed, and gas had reached a seemingly ridiculous $2.80 national average in the U.S. I didn’t care because I was in my early teen years, just being taught how tough life is going to be, but always denying it and being unable to comprehend it. I had lost friends to some tragic accidents, but the faith I had in my youth told me I would definitely see them again. I never knew at the time of the release of the masterpiece that is Cities. Heck, when someone said Anberlin, I probably thought it was the name of a city.
As the next two years of my life passed, I relinquished my belief in God over my losses and eventually began to hate the world. Over the summer of 2009, I began hanging around with this one girl. She showed me Anberlin and I went home with her copy of Cities. My interest in this girl encouraged me to put the CD in my handheld player (I know, throwback, right? [Neither of us had iPods yet]), which I did that night. Years of listening to shortsighted immaturities such as Blink-182 and Sum 41 melted before my ears. I snuck back to that girl’s house that night just to talk to her about life, not returning home until 6 in the morning. My first, young relationship began the following week.
Part 2: The Music (And Half-Fanboyisms)
The first thing about Cities is that it could have been a tragic failure. Any band that relies a lot on alt-yet-still-heavy guitar riffs to open their songs tends to be enjoyably forgettable. This wasn’t so much the case for Anberlin’s first two albums as they contain many great lyrics and signature moments. However, this significant of a change in sound is usually tragic for bands (see Muse, Linkin Park, and Sum 41 got somehow significantly worse), but they don’t just manage the change, they excel in it. Cities is an album that is a beautifully mature step up from Never Take Friendship Personal. Not only does it significantly change the sound of the band, but it also pays due respect to what made their first two albums great.
One of the most amusing things about Cities is finding out the way that a lot of the songs on the album took shape, and the true depth and attention to detail of the brilliant lyrics lead singer Stephan Christian puts together. It’s something that is really underappreciated in today’s music world, as Christian says in the fourth track of Cities: “I’m so tired of writing songs, where people listen but never really hear what’s going on.” The lyrics on this album are simply incredible, even for the high standards the band has set for themselves. Christian’s voice also shows elite flexibility, thriving both in ballads and in hard-hitters, as well as the in-betweeners that appear often on the track list.
Not enough can be said about “The Unwinding Cable Car.” The song has a beautiful undertone to it, adding more depth than should be possible in a song. Listening to the chorus, the desperate crooning of Christian’s voice, is an incredible experience. The lyrics match the feel of the song at an unprecedented level, and there is just an aura to this song that I’ve never seen matched by any other ballads by Anberlin. It is also one of Christian’s favorite songs by the band and his favorite to perform live. “The Unwinding Cable Car” began as a simple guitar line, a crossroads between songs on the album. After the band heard what guitarist Joseph Milligan put together, they simply couldn’t keep it as a simple guitar line, and so they turned it into a song. This great piece just adds to a short list of phenomenal Anberlin ballads as of their third album (“(The Symphony of) Blasé”, “Naïve Orleans”, and “Dance, Dance Crista Paffgen.)
As great as the album is as a whole, the last five songs are a whole other monster. It begins with the mystical “Alexithymia.” In addition to a creative song name (which means a difficulty in describing and/or expressing emotions), “Alexithymia” is one of the many in-between songs (not a ballad or hard-hitter) and it works very well. The song’s name and its definition seem ironic on the following lyric, potentially from the view of someone that thinks he is alexithymic: “It's not that we don't talk, it's just no one really listens and honesty fades.” This leads to another in-betweener, “Reclusion,” which has a lyric that very much intrigues me: “There’s an art in seclusion, production in depression. If a stranger turns up missing, this song is my confession.” This is just brilliantly complex. An incredible guitar/synth solo (not skill wise, but structurally) makes this song a classic…well, at least on my playlist. Up next on the album is “Inevitable”, but I‘ll talk about that song (in passing) in part three of this review……
Dismantle.Repair. is a lyrical enigma right from the start, and it shows one of Anberlin’s most catchy choruses. There are many different paces this song uses, and they all work wonderfully, even epically at some parts. It opens the door very well for one of the greatest album closers ever.
On to the masterpiece: *Fin. Let me put it this way: There is nothing like *Fin. Nothing. Period. The way it came together, according to Christian, was random and (generally) unplanned. The song is unorthodox, unmatchable, and ultimately, perfect. It’s something everyone on Earth needs to hear. It doesn’t matter whether they like Anberlin or not, or if they love nothing but Lil’ Wayne, or, hell, even if they’re deaf. You can look up the definitions to the lyrics and it’s incredible. According to reports, the last minute or so of Christian’s singing on *Fin wasn’t written or thought up, but completely improvised when he sang to record it. If that’s not inspiration, nothing is. If you have to listen to any song on this album, or on any album, make it *Fin.
As a whole, Cities is a modern-age masterpiece, even if it isn’t treated like one. Every song is a journey-like emotional joyride, managing to touch on a range of topics, while somehow still managing to punch the same message of faith home. Some can call it an album for the religious, but it really isn’t. It’s for the lost looking for something to hold on to, and the lifelong adventure it takes to find out there isn’t anything unshakable enough to grasp on to through the adversities of life. This isn’t just a collection of songs, as is common in today’s world of music. Cities is an album, that brings many songs and ideas under the same sturdy roof in a remarkable way. It’s a riveting experience with every listen.
Part Three: Fanboyisms Part 2
As most young loves go, my first one ended in heartbreak. However, there are plenty of moments that I simply cannot forget, and they were all playing out to the tracklist of Cities. That one special girl suggested “Inevitable” be played at a small local dance, leading to our first kiss right on the dance floor. I would make god-awful attempts to sing “The Unwinding Cable Car” when she was having a bad time to brighten her day. We would blast “Godspeed” in the school parking lot obnoxiously just because we could. There are many memories I could attach to these songs, but there are only so many anyone else cares about.
My emotional attachments to this album really makes this review hard to write, and probably makes it even harder for you to read. I might’ve never heard Cities if I had never met someone to show it to me. If you are yet to listen to it, don’t hesitate to pull it up right now. It might change your life. It might barely make it on your iPod. You might even hate it more than anything else on Earth. No matter your circumstance, this kind of artistry is worth your time and attention. I understand (not really, but I’ll pretend) if you don’t like Cities. After all, sympathy’s better than having to tell you the truth.
