Review Summary: A short burst of color: rendered in hues of asphalt and blood.
The EP sometimes feels like a dying breed, doesn't it? The indie scene clamors over bold, album-length essays of intent, while TikTok prizes and prioritizes bite sized portions of already bite sized singles. It leaves the EP in a curious space: a little more than a fleeting flash of inspiration and a little less than a lengthy thesis. It is in this exact middle ground where Toronto's ***ed Up does its finest work, with over half a dozen bold EPs authored in a little under two decades.
44th & Vanderbilt continues their streak by exploring complex themes, largely through teeth-gnashingly raw impressionistic insturmentals, in a tight 17 minute package. In it, freeform layered guitar cries writhe amidst the surface of its percussive rumble, giving the impression of kicking dirt on a stumble home from a lengthy bender. We've all been there: sometimes life outside yourself is hard, and life inside your head is even harder. So, you dive into your vice of choice, you spin and you spin, and you crawl out the next morning with keener senses than you'd ever dare ask for. It's a time and a space in which everything in the world is raw. The air: drier. The sky: brighter. The sun burning with the fuzz of oppressively layered guitar swells. A dogpiling melody that meanders through the cracks in your eardrums in a vain attempt to wake you up from whatever yesterday you so dearly want to forget. It is a recognition of malaise, the mundanity of sober thoughts, the absence of wisdom in place of raw, tangible anxiety. It's highlight aptly titled "No Epiphany."
The melodies here strike a melancholic, minor key tone, toeing the line between crunchy punk misanthropy and jangled shoegaze bliss. It's a subtly brilliant contrast to the raw, pounding percussion that backs it up - giving it just enough of a loose framework to allow the band to play with tone and light improvisation.
While ***ed Up's peers No Age lend the EP a certain experimental post-punk flair, the band has lost no sense of fun or levity amidst the gloom. In fact, beneath the bloodied surface, you almost get the impression that the band treats the EP's theme of burnout as more of a punchline than anything else. This is a smart decision - not simply for the sake of fun, but for the ways in which it can disarm its audiences and prompt them to engage with otherwise unnerving sensations.
The hooky crunch of this EP is anything but unnerving, however. Between its slop and its hangover and its low-key existential dread, 44th & Vanderbilt is an undeniably fun listen. "Magic Word" is a great standout. The bright, grimy, greased up guitar hooks slide about its tight 3 minute runtime as its catchy rockabilly blues rhythms threaten to boil over. The whole thing smacks of an immaculately grungy early Oasis b-side - one that prioritizes bluesy crunch and snarl over melodrama or radio appeal.
Before you know it, 44th & Vanderbilt is over, but damn if it doesn't leave an impression. It is an impressive piece of work: more sonically expansive than prior efforts, despite its 17 minute runtime, without sacrificing any of the band's more upbeat appeal. It's well worth your time - so get your ass out of bed, drop that alka-seltzer, pour yourself some coffee, and live to headbang another day.
