Review Summary: Try as you might to get out of your head, some ghosts just refuse to leave.
One aspect of grief that I feel goes often overlooked is the visceral need to be kinetic; to do something, anything, to channel lingering energy into movement. There are so many thoughts and feelings that are impossible to parse, that a need to just
move becomes a tether to sanity. It is this phenomenon that I think sits at the center of
The Clod (瓦合), the latest miracle record from Taiwan’s No Party For Cao Dong (草東沒有派對).
It has been over seven years since their debut record
The Servile (醜奴兒) released in 2016, and in October of 2021 their drummer, Fan Tsai, was found dead at the age of 26 in her COVID-19 quarantine hotel room. The shock and void left in the wake of her abrupt passing can be found on every single track, not just in the lyrics, but in the song compositions and structure choices themselves.
Their debut’s blend of dancey guitar-driven indie/alt rock and solemn lyricism hasn’t been entirely left behind, but it has undergone a transformation.
The Clod is a journey that has the band trying to find catharsis across its quick thirty-five minute runtime, and ultimately seeming to find a little bit of what they are looking for.
Lead single “Lie (床)” is the perfect bridge between albums as it further develops the sound they were known for; dotted synth notes lead the building drum toms into a perpetually simmering intro and first verse until it bursts into a moody dance beat providing a great backdrop for lead vocalist Wood Lin to showcase his impressive arsenal.
At first listen of any No Party material, Lin might not stand out among a lot of his contemporaries, but he has so many intentional and subtle nuances to the way he uses syllable length and dynamic, and it would be wrong to overlook his skill. Mandarin as a language is inherently rhythmic and tonal, and Lin uses this to his advantage; always finding the perfect syllable to add vocal fry, slur, or add volume to. It’s in the way his syllables can strike out snake-like and surprise you, like in the transition between pre-chorus and chorus in “Pool (缸).” It’s actually one of my favorite moments on the record, as it points back towards this feeling of restlessness and lack of control that permeates these songs. It’s the way he oscillates between being weary and energetic, quiet and desperately loud, with great backup vocal support throughout from guitarist Judy Chan.
You can feel that restlessness from everyone in the band. Chan brings both buttery lead lines and blazing post-hardcore riffs in equal measure. They throw in some cathartic “breakdowns” in a few of the tracks, and almost every single riff fits perfectly (besides the butt-rock adjacent riff on my least favorite track, “B”). The rhythm section is in their pocket through the entire runtime, with long-time bassist Sam Yang adding fuzzy and synthy bass textures and locked in step with their new drummer.
It must have been extremely nerve-wracking for drummer Shih Wei Huang to step in on this project, but they delivered some truly phenomenal grooves. Their cymbal work in particular was a highlight of the entire album for me (see “Space (空)”), and their contribution as a whole is a beautiful tribute and evolution to Tsai’s original drum sound.
The album ends with the second single, “Damn (但),” which boasts an anthemic chorus that roughly translates to:
You say you don't want to be here
and I don't want to be here
But it's getting dark so fast,
it's too late to leave
I love you,
it's a pity that our relationship has ended.
It is a sad but lively anthem about not getting to say goodbye. It is, in a way, a perfect representation of the album; messy, passionate, tired, and precise all at once; a way of trying to exorcise the ghosts while treasuring the memories.
To quote the band in a November 2022 statement: “Humans have many complicated emotions to bear, but beautiful ones amongst them are memories rooted in love, and Fan Fan’s journey has always been filled with love.”
No Party For Cao Dong are struggling through a lot on this record, but there’s this persistent feeling of warmth that hides behind the desperate sonic attempts to create movement as a coping mechanism; every word, lead line, groove, and fill is glued together by that feeling.
It is a collage of those “memories rooted in love” that refuse to leave us, and what a gift those memories can be.
