The Life and Times of Tedium.
It’s difficult to think of a band that has pulled through the ranks of the independent scene from nothingness to the mainstream such as Ben Gibbard’s longest ongoing project. It’s hard to argue that there has ever been a band with more fervor within Washington’s underground music scene. Death Cab is the grandfather of a multitude of handlebar-mustache bands that were popular five years ago. Most of even their most dedicated fans would have trouble disagreeing with the idea that Death Cab are past their golden age.
So where does that leave Kintsugi? The name itself appropriated from the Japanese art of putting broken clay sculptures back together with gold lacquer—a romantic metaphor of turning something broken into something more beautiful.1 It’s almost bold of Gibbard to declare such a title for the record that his band lost Walla2 on. Both reviewers and fans alike cite the producer as at least a partial cause for Death Cab’s past successes.
Beats and Pressure
There’s barely any spunk within most tracks because of this. It’s easy to defend this at first glance—most older records such as Something About Airplanes have a slower, punk slash emo feel that catered to an angsty and young fanbase. But you slowly start to realize that Kintsugi isn’t moody, it’s only boring.
The few songs that do bring something to the table are the ones that were released earlier as singles—Black Sun and Ghost of Beverly Drive. In fact, Black Sun was the most favorable track on the entire record, it’s first half had this intense chorus that force grit teeth.
How could something so far, be so cruel?
When this black sun revolved around you?
But just as soon as you become enthralled in this, Gibbard immediately washes out it’s stern ominous with a flimsy change of chord progression.
In addition to this, there have been many comparisons of Hold No Guns to Follow You Into the Dark, which is sort of baffling considering how there’s just no hook, not even a chorus.
Long Distances
Another point of note on this album is how Gibbard plays the synecdoche as he has for the past twelve years of his work, it’s most emphasized on the track Little Wanderer, where he pleads for his lover to not become distant, again.
Again. It’s almost confusing at this point how a grown man can still have such sentimental feelings for a fictional lover so far away. Coining the term himself, Transatlanticism, it seems at this point more fetishistic than anything else.
Verdict
As if there’s a secret message throughout the LP—backmasked underneath Gibbard’s flat singing—that he’s yearning; that he’s nostalgic There are a multitude of allusions to past Death Cab records, though, so this is nothing new.
But I admittedly enjoy this album because of this. I’m a Death Cab fan, I enjoy the catharsis felt within the self deprecation and pity within the lyrics on top of the reverb of a poppy lead.
But it’s so much easier to swim through these feelings on Death Cab’s older albums. There’s nothing here too enticing, nothing powerful enough to make me love the record. Skip it, unless you’re a die-hard fan.
- More about Kintsugi here.
- While Chris Walla announced that he was leaving the band, he still continued contributing to the recording and creative process as a full member until the album’s completion.