Fast Edit
Still House Plants' 2020-released sophomore album is a brittle, virtuosic statement of intent that atomizes rock, R&B, free improv and noise, cut-n-pasting dictaphone recordings, rehearsals and laptop jams into a post-everything collage that genuinely advances the formula.
It's hard to add something new to a genre that's been subverted and rebooted so many times that the essence was lost long ago, but Still House Plants' vision of post-rock is captivating because it sounds authentically divergent. You can get a sense of how their sound evolved on 'Fast Edit', an album that uses technology not as aesthetic grandstanding but as a means to an end - a way to coagulate their songs and rough ideas, and cement the texture of their sound. Vocalist Jessica Hickie-Kallenbach, drummer David Kennedy and guitarist Finlay Clark wrote the record during a period when they were living on opposite ends of the country, so the only chance they had to work together was in the downtime between live shows. Recording on their mobile phones, laptops and dictaphones, they created a record that, unlike its predecessor, zeroed in on the splintered intimacy of their process, capturing the band's energy in a gluey ooze of noise and stop-start angularity.
Hickie-Kallenbach's powerful and distinctive R&B-cum-post punk vocals sit at the front of the mix, backed up by Clark's spidery riffs and Kennedy's clattering drums. But it's the trio's oddball arrangements that make these songs so addicting; they confidently alternate repetition and deviation, linking their music to Reichian minimalism and dance music without using any of the expected sonic markers. The way they work is just as important as the songs, and they sound as if they're unmoored by expectations - Still House Plants don't wanna sound like Slint, or Tortoise, or Mogwai. They chop and edit their songs into jerky, idiosyncratic bursts of energy without a proper beginning, middle or end, and trap the same kind of lightning-in-a-bottle power you'd expect to hear from New York City in the early '80s.
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Still House Plants' 2020-released sophomore album is a brittle, virtuosic statement of intent that atomizes rock, R&B, free improv and noise, cut-n-pasting dictaphone recordings, rehearsals and laptop jams into a post-everything collage that genuinely advances the formula.
It's hard to add something new to a genre that's been subverted and rebooted so many times that the essence was lost long ago, but Still House Plants' vision of post-rock is captivating because it sounds authentically divergent. You can get a sense of how their sound evolved on 'Fast Edit', an album that uses technology not as aesthetic grandstanding but as a means to an end - a way to coagulate their songs and rough ideas, and cement the texture of their sound. Vocalist Jessica Hickie-Kallenbach, drummer David Kennedy and guitarist Finlay Clark wrote the record during a period when they were living on opposite ends of the country, so the only chance they had to work together was in the downtime between live shows. Recording on their mobile phones, laptops and dictaphones, they created a record that, unlike its predecessor, zeroed in on the splintered intimacy of their process, capturing the band's energy in a gluey ooze of noise and stop-start angularity.
Hickie-Kallenbach's powerful and distinctive R&B-cum-post punk vocals sit at the front of the mix, backed up by Clark's spidery riffs and Kennedy's clattering drums. But it's the trio's oddball arrangements that make these songs so addicting; they confidently alternate repetition and deviation, linking their music to Reichian minimalism and dance music without using any of the expected sonic markers. The way they work is just as important as the songs, and they sound as if they're unmoored by expectations - Still House Plants don't wanna sound like Slint, or Tortoise, or Mogwai. They chop and edit their songs into jerky, idiosyncratic bursts of energy without a proper beginning, middle or end, and trap the same kind of lightning-in-a-bottle power you'd expect to hear from New York City in the early '80s.
Still House Plants' 2020-released sophomore album is a brittle, virtuosic statement of intent that atomizes rock, R&B, free improv and noise, cut-n-pasting dictaphone recordings, rehearsals and laptop jams into a post-everything collage that genuinely advances the formula.
It's hard to add something new to a genre that's been subverted and rebooted so many times that the essence was lost long ago, but Still House Plants' vision of post-rock is captivating because it sounds authentically divergent. You can get a sense of how their sound evolved on 'Fast Edit', an album that uses technology not as aesthetic grandstanding but as a means to an end - a way to coagulate their songs and rough ideas, and cement the texture of their sound. Vocalist Jessica Hickie-Kallenbach, drummer David Kennedy and guitarist Finlay Clark wrote the record during a period when they were living on opposite ends of the country, so the only chance they had to work together was in the downtime between live shows. Recording on their mobile phones, laptops and dictaphones, they created a record that, unlike its predecessor, zeroed in on the splintered intimacy of their process, capturing the band's energy in a gluey ooze of noise and stop-start angularity.
Hickie-Kallenbach's powerful and distinctive R&B-cum-post punk vocals sit at the front of the mix, backed up by Clark's spidery riffs and Kennedy's clattering drums. But it's the trio's oddball arrangements that make these songs so addicting; they confidently alternate repetition and deviation, linking their music to Reichian minimalism and dance music without using any of the expected sonic markers. The way they work is just as important as the songs, and they sound as if they're unmoored by expectations - Still House Plants don't wanna sound like Slint, or Tortoise, or Mogwai. They chop and edit their songs into jerky, idiosyncratic bursts of energy without a proper beginning, middle or end, and trap the same kind of lightning-in-a-bottle power you'd expect to hear from New York City in the early '80s.
Still House Plants' 2020-released sophomore album is a brittle, virtuosic statement of intent that atomizes rock, R&B, free improv and noise, cut-n-pasting dictaphone recordings, rehearsals and laptop jams into a post-everything collage that genuinely advances the formula.
It's hard to add something new to a genre that's been subverted and rebooted so many times that the essence was lost long ago, but Still House Plants' vision of post-rock is captivating because it sounds authentically divergent. You can get a sense of how their sound evolved on 'Fast Edit', an album that uses technology not as aesthetic grandstanding but as a means to an end - a way to coagulate their songs and rough ideas, and cement the texture of their sound. Vocalist Jessica Hickie-Kallenbach, drummer David Kennedy and guitarist Finlay Clark wrote the record during a period when they were living on opposite ends of the country, so the only chance they had to work together was in the downtime between live shows. Recording on their mobile phones, laptops and dictaphones, they created a record that, unlike its predecessor, zeroed in on the splintered intimacy of their process, capturing the band's energy in a gluey ooze of noise and stop-start angularity.
Hickie-Kallenbach's powerful and distinctive R&B-cum-post punk vocals sit at the front of the mix, backed up by Clark's spidery riffs and Kennedy's clattering drums. But it's the trio's oddball arrangements that make these songs so addicting; they confidently alternate repetition and deviation, linking their music to Reichian minimalism and dance music without using any of the expected sonic markers. The way they work is just as important as the songs, and they sound as if they're unmoored by expectations - Still House Plants don't wanna sound like Slint, or Tortoise, or Mogwai. They chop and edit their songs into jerky, idiosyncratic bursts of energy without a proper beginning, middle or end, and trap the same kind of lightning-in-a-bottle power you'd expect to hear from New York City in the early '80s.
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Still House Plants' 2020-released sophomore album is a brittle, virtuosic statement of intent that atomizes rock, R&B, free improv and noise, cut-n-pasting dictaphone recordings, rehearsals and laptop jams into a post-everything collage that genuinely advances the formula.
It's hard to add something new to a genre that's been subverted and rebooted so many times that the essence was lost long ago, but Still House Plants' vision of post-rock is captivating because it sounds authentically divergent. You can get a sense of how their sound evolved on 'Fast Edit', an album that uses technology not as aesthetic grandstanding but as a means to an end - a way to coagulate their songs and rough ideas, and cement the texture of their sound. Vocalist Jessica Hickie-Kallenbach, drummer David Kennedy and guitarist Finlay Clark wrote the record during a period when they were living on opposite ends of the country, so the only chance they had to work together was in the downtime between live shows. Recording on their mobile phones, laptops and dictaphones, they created a record that, unlike its predecessor, zeroed in on the splintered intimacy of their process, capturing the band's energy in a gluey ooze of noise and stop-start angularity.
Hickie-Kallenbach's powerful and distinctive R&B-cum-post punk vocals sit at the front of the mix, backed up by Clark's spidery riffs and Kennedy's clattering drums. But it's the trio's oddball arrangements that make these songs so addicting; they confidently alternate repetition and deviation, linking their music to Reichian minimalism and dance music without using any of the expected sonic markers. The way they work is just as important as the songs, and they sound as if they're unmoored by expectations - Still House Plants don't wanna sound like Slint, or Tortoise, or Mogwai. They chop and edit their songs into jerky, idiosyncratic bursts of energy without a proper beginning, middle or end, and trap the same kind of lightning-in-a-bottle power you'd expect to hear from New York City in the early '80s.