Review Summary: The rare example of avantgarde emo.
Mention atheism while at a Catholic family Christmas party and there may be fisticuffs. Stroll into an NRA meeting with a Biden campaign shirt and blood may be shed. Log into a music forum and insert the terms ‘objectivity’ and ‘subjectivity’ into a discussion over an album’s merits, and World War III could very well be around the corner.
There are fewer concepts as divisive in music conversations as the aforementioned dueling concepts. Fueled in part by an emerging film criticism market over the past decade, the debate over what each word describes has seemingly been rekindled, causing keyboard sales to skyrocket as multiple others are slung through a window. Where this comes to a head when explaining under.his.eye, and where it often seems to reach an apex of fervent contention, is the topic of production quality. There is, in theory at least, a somewhat credible argument to be constructed when regarding an
objectively good production quality. Despite the potential existence of that assertion, multitudinous albums have been released decked out in shaggy clothing, disheveled hair, scrappy limbs, and so on and so on. Poor audial appearances, apparently playing into the dispute lobbied by the neighborhood YouTube quality monitor, are used as a positive trait rather than a downside. Perhaps the production is indeed poor in a qualifiable manner—the bass is drowned in the mix or something to that affect—yet in featuring a haphazard characteristic, the record is boosted, the shaky mixture propped up as a charming facet of its duration. Depending on the genre, there’s nearly an expectation of a hazy, unclear, or otherwise abrasive demeanor exhibited by LPs; the chaotic, occasionally indecipherable nature of these works is what cements their intended purpose, be it a demonstration of emotional disarray or unbridled anger. The intertwined signifiers of emo and screamo bear this distinction commonly. After all, the history of both labels is replete with albums that bang against the edges of speakers, strained vocals and serrated guitars vying to escape their sonic prison. Judging through an objective lens, would these categories necessarily fail because of their production shortcomings? Does the influence of subjectivity trump the possible pitfalls evident in the mix?
No sparkling coat of armor adorns the brief 18-minute lifespan of under.his.eye’s self-titled debut. No studio tricks are implemented. The singular release currently out under this project’s moniker is about as raw as can be anticipated from a motley, emo-tagged disc prowling at the depths of bandcamp. What the stray listener receives, should they stumble across this particular slice of underground absurdity, is a cacophonous, aggressive venture that lashes out at the madness of the current year—if the torn, decrepit and faded American flag on the cover wasn’t enough proof. From what little information can be gathered about the album, this much is true: Seth Scantlen, a painter whose sole connection to music is a handful of art credits, felt the need to scream out his grievances, assembling a gang of friends to join the ride. This seems par for the course until Scantlen’s peculiar approach is revealed; the artist assails his audience with a combination of piano arrangements, cellos, horns, banjos, accordions, biting guitars, a thumping bass, and more. It is the sort of off-kilter beast that only the far reaches of a scene could brew up, possessing an ambitious character underneath its perplexing blend of emo, screamo, post-rock, folk, punk, and post-hardcore. Laid on top of the bedlam are screams, shouts, yells, yelps, and other choir contributions offered by a legion of supporting vocalists. Rolled up into a ball, it seems impossible for a record close to bursting with various elements to remain cohesive in any sort of manner, especially for a career artist that doesn’t seem to have any music acclaims to their name. Scantlen, to his credit, controls these influences with commendable skill, allowing robust compositions to shine in a post-rock format that accentuates the bombastic nature of the EP.
The ensuing clash of genres sees the big-band methodology of The World is A Beautiful Place…, the epic soundscapes of The Pax Cecilia, and the scratchy disposition of I Would Set Myself on Fire for You crammed into a blender. An ominous cello beckons forth the arrival of album opener “Still, Us Against Them” as eerie harsh vocals creep in the background. Percussion ramps up as an explosion of brass and jagged guitars leaps at the audience, the chanting harsh choir supplanted by a theatrical clean singing performance that dominates center stage. The song quiets down to gentle, playful strumming and a graceful piano, allowing the vibrant vocals to flourish in the foreground. Rising horns and strings swell as the yelling reaches a fever pitch, the track plowing forward to a massive climax where drums crash down and the intensity of the distant crowd becomes akin to a mounting protest. In contrast to this slower, gradual pace, “Take Heed” takes off at a midtempo gait, a jangling guitar riff coloring the setting as roaring brass forms a gigantic wall of sound, their strength boxing the listener inside a foreboding valley. However, the tune retains the prior entry’s attention to atmosphere, which becomes Scantlen’s calling card throughout his arrangements for the project; his concern rests upon the post-rock techniques of erecting a captivating journey capped off by a memorable climax. Though a minute and change shorter, “Take Heed” steps on the brakes so that the song can reconstruct itself, the despondent string instrumentation and melancholic piano merging with twangy acoustics, their volume increasing as emotional yelling conquers the fray. The throbbing of the bass provides additional support as the number once again aspires for a captivating peak, a flurry of competing variables clashing as the indistinct screeches from the mob vie to rip through the discord. Combining these formations side by side imposes a powerful one-two punch to kick off the fleeting EP.
Scantlen maintains the energetic demonstrations of the disc’s first half as the second portion looms, utilizing the short time effectively as the record immediately barges into “To the Grave.” A post-hardcore guitar, capable of being both catchy and dissonantly heavy, lurks in the shadows with a bass groove, stray chimes and the trademark brass section imposing their will. The artist guides the creation through an ebb and flow of opposing high points and instances of peace until letting the track tire itself out. As vocals despairingly call out “out of my mouth, out of my hands, out of my control,” the tune slowly fades into nothingness, the depressing message reduced to silence. Branching off of this disheartening conclusion, “Truly the End Days” erupts in hazy guitars before promptly collapsing into a stretch of quiet. Coarse guitar timbres stab at the silence as Scantlen and co. shout through the unforgiving tones. More than previous entries, the guitars are the key focus of the track, driving its momentum forward as it sounds more and more threatening. Unlike the artist’s established template, a crescendo is denied; the song dissolves into an assault of gang vocals as instrumentation descends into the bleak reality Scantlen sees around him. A vagrant banjo escorts the number away as polished clean voices—unnervingly calm in the face of certain misery—slowly disappear. After weaving together disparate inspirations, innumerable components, and themes of hopelessness all too close for comfort, Scantlen terminates the existence of
under.his.eye without a bang to pick up on. Rather, the listener is left to mull over the statement the artist is trying to make, as well as the unexpected musical choices that they insert. Be it for the presentation or the message, the effort becomes difficult to perceive without a handful of go-arounds.
When all under.his.eye can accomplish is wrapped in a package that may be rough around the edges, what can be determined of its general quality? Stepping back from the pandemonium exhibits an EP that is brimming with a ridiculous amount of instrumental motifs, or at least far more than typically witnessed in the emo classification. It could be said that Scantlen forces into the runtime too many separate variables for any to be fleshed out to their furthest extent. He consciously avoids falling into a static rhythm, but a nitpicking ear could detect the potential predictability of where the artist intends to take their sound in a given track. Then, naturally, there is the matter of the production. Poor it is not, but occasionally too busy or, paradoxically, too quiet. It’s a messy room, chock full of torn sheets, ripped papers, strewn about notebooks, spilt ink, stray devices—the signs of budding creativity and/or an emotional crisis on the line. I’m aware that this particular statement has already been entered into the realm of cliches, yet it cannot be denied that
under.his.eye is a consequence of the high tensions pressed up against everyone across the globe. The artist said it himself; the desire to rage at flaws, external and internal, were the impetus of forging such an avantgarde screamo experience. It is perhaps unreasonable to assume a musician should take stock of their current situation and respond in refined methodology. This is where the category of screamo occupies itself; perched on the margins of society and human worth, it hovers over emotional trauma, drawing strength from it, becoming a vehicle of catharsis for whatever ails the soul. If that soul craves to be heard in the midst of its struggle, toiling with the circumstances of the year, then cleanliness be damned. Scantlen’s tactics are definitely off the beaten path, and the eventual output is all the better for it.
