I love the American Southwest, particularly the Mojave and Sonoran Deserts. I once heard an Arizona writer, whose name has long since drifted from my memory, describe the energy of the desert as this: “The desert will reduce you.” I can’t put it any better than that. Detroit proto-punks Protomartyr, however, have summed up that growth-by-reduction philosophy well on their new album, Formal Growth in the Desert.
The album comes after a lot of changes for the band, particularly for lead singer and lyricist Joe Casey. His mother died after a long battle with Alzheimer’s disease, leaving Casey in his Detroit family home alone for the first time in years. Then, repeated break-ins of his home made him reconsider the town he loved and if he should stay there. Personal safety and less stress won the debate, and he moved out of the home and dove into his journals for some of his most personal lyrics yet.
“Welcome to the haunted Earth,” he sings to open the album on “Make Way,” – a song about death and how it changes everything for everyone, even if they never knew the deceased. “For Tomorrow” is one of Protomartyr’s most straight-up post-punk tracks in a few years with Greg Ahee‘s guitar chords taking on weird angles and sharp edges throughout it.
The desert metaphor is in plain sight on “Elimination Dances,” in which Casey says, “In the desert, I was humbled.” Yep. It does that to you. So does the death of a loved one. The song creeps around you (largely due to Scott Davidson‘s excellent bass riffs on it) like grief always waiting at the edge of a room or in a quiet moment. Casey’s vocal delivery on “Fun in Hi Skool” (a song about how school pretty much sucks) is some of his fiercest on the whole record. “Let’s Tip the Creator” is the band sticking their fingers in the eyes of mega-corporations who continually screw over employees in pursuit of profits.
The album’s centerpiece is “Graft Vs. Host,” which was written in the early days following Casey’s mother’s death. He wonders what it will take to find happiness afterwards, almost if there’s some sort of procedure he can have to remove the grief. “She wouldn’t want to see me live this way,” he says. He’s right, but he knows that’s easier said than done. It’s a lovely track that will hit hard for you if you’ve lost someone close.
“3800 Tigers” references the Detroit Tigers playing over a century from now and how we’re also slowly killing all the remaining tigers on Earth. “Polacrilex Kid” has Casey wondering if he can be loved while hating himself. Alex Leonard‘s relentless drum beats on it reflect the pounding in Casey’s brain as he tries to figure out his self-imposed riddle. “Fulfillment Center” is a song about Amazon workers unionizing to get things as basic as restroom breaks, and “We Know the Rats” makes reference to the break-ins at Casey’s home (“Could’ve happened to anyone. They came through the back room.”). You can tell Casey still has some smoldering anger over it and how the wheels of justice often turn slow.
Casey is still wondering if he can find love on the roaring track “The Author,” and, delightfully, the recently engaged frontman finds it on “Rain Garden,” in which he sounds like he can relax and step into a new light (“My love…Make way for my love.”) over the next dune in his metaphorical desert.
I need to mention the thematic feel of the album. Greg Ahee has spoken about how he was scoring films and listening to a lot of Ennio Morricone while Formal Growth in the Desert was being crafted, and the album moves along like a film beginning with tragedy and ending with hope. It’s brilliant.
Keep your mind open.
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[Thanks to Jacob at Pitch Perfect PR.]
