Review Summary: It's a dog's life
So there I was, nose deep in Counterparts' latest saga, "A Eulogy for Those Still Living," and let me tell you, Brendan Murphy's penmanship had me questioning reality itself. It's like he's flinging words with the grace of a chimp on a typewriter bender. A chaotic dance of desperation and accidental brilliance – if brilliance were a hiccup in a tornado. Picture this: "Bound to the burn, my calling compromised, bound to the burn, my dedication dies." It's like a linguistic rollercoaster crashing into the depths of Murphy's existential crisis. He cannot alliterate his way into my stupid heart, and his figurative language is occasionally dishonest and untruthful. When he croons "My sentiments unsung," that's nothing but a fib. The emotional core of this album, drenched in the sentiment of 'Sad,' is ironically the very thing that stands. 'Sad' is a journey of one road along which Murphy wears his emotions like a shape-shifting ghost, flaunting a thousand faces but no metaphorical clothes.
Now, let's talk themes. This album's like a wild ride through the twisted carnival of depression and dead cats. Murphy's lyrics are like a desperate plea for shelter in a storm of self-loathing: is his standpoint one of cascading sadness solipsism, or are these lyrics actually steeped in narcissism? Either way, you cannot pave a street with mirrors, and like poles repel: Murphy's tropes come in self-cancelling pairs, from his raging loneliness and depressive incapacity for meaningful connection ("even when you're with me, I'm alone"), to the way his total absence of self-worth plays against his chronic failure to not be alive ("Why did you bring me back to life when I don't deserve to be alive?"). In this chaotic bawl, Counterparts grapples with the complexities of the human experience, but Murphy's lyrical tightrope walk occasionally leaves us wondering if we've stumbled upon an orchard where diversity has withered like neglected petals on unhappy boughs.
And as for the music, brace yourself for a half-hour plunge into the abyss of melodic hardcore and metalcore, where Counterparts attempts to carve its own niche in a realm dominated by giants. Think Misery Signals and Defeater, but let's not name names. The guitar riffs, while proficiently executed, often tiptoe off the precipice of derivation, echoing the haunting melodies that have become the calling card of the genre's forebears. It's as if Counterparts is wielding a musical palette that bears the fingerprints of its predecessors, and the question arises whether this is an intentional homage or an inadvertent lack of sonic innovation. It's akin to encountering familiar landmarks on a well-worn road – comforting for some, but for others, it may evoke a desire for uncharted sonic territories. Counterparts seems caught between paying homage to their influences and breaking new ground, and the result is a musical landscape that has to bark with its own woof. The brevity of the album, clocking in at a mere half-hour, delivers a shotgun blast of raw emotion, but it also leaves you in a whiskey-scented blur, wondering if you've stumbled into a sonic therapy session or a mosh pit of existential dread.
The songwriting sounds if Counterparts is content with being the dependable background music of the melodic hardcore and metalcore scene, following a path so familiar that it risks becoming indistinguishable from the footprints left by others in the genre. While the vocals wail and lament, the instrumental side feels like the obedient sidekick to Murphy's lyrical theatrics, lacking the boldness to step into the spotlight and assert its individuality. The imaginative twists and turns that could elevate it beyond the mundane have been replaced by a template familiarity that, while competent, fails to ignite the spark of innovation. Counterparts, in this musical realm, risks being relegated to the realm of background noise—a supporting act rather than a headliner, content to tread the same well-trodden path without daring to veer into unexplored sonic territories.
In the end, this album is a beggar's ballad, a Gonzo pilgrimage into the chaotic realms of depression and the gnarled landscapes of metalcore. Murphy may be running out of flesh to fill our wounds, but he's also running out of metaphors to hide the pulsating heart of this sonic beast. Welcome to the carnival, my friends, where Counterparts spins chaos into a twisted dance and leaves you questioning whether you're alive or just caught in the undertow of their lyrical frenzy.
