The subsequent EPs that have accompanied every album since 2005’s self-titled record have typically offered explorations of Broken Social Scene’s alternately tight and loose approaches, at times doling out a bit of self-mythologizing for good measure.īroken Social Scene’s companion piece, EP to Be You and Me, featured a fast-paced take on the previously slow-burning “Major Label Debut” and a submerged reprise of the title track to Broken Social Scene’s largely ambient 2001 debut, Feel Good Lost. Over the last 20 years, Broken Social Scene have proven themselves the rare act to fuse those opposite poles in a manner that’s emotionally nourishing even at their most obtuse. Even by its own hazy standards, post-rock has taken on an unusually wide range of forms, from the jazzy and quixotic to pure, uncut, ascendant drama. After a seven-year hiatus (there are few things more explicitly post-rock than taking forever between albums), Broken Social Scene returned with Hug of Thunder, their shortest record to date, which represented a full realization of the warm-embrace rock music they’ve leaned toward since the days when bandleader Kevin Drew turned live renditions of “It’s All Gonna Break” into a call-and-response anthem.īut amid the empathy and urgency streaked across Hug of Thunder was a band still unafraid to doodle moodily in the margins, from the instrumental ditherings in the midsection of “Victim Lover” to the sax-led breakdown in “Stay Happy,” the latter which practically and lovingly ripped from the playbook of BSS-adjacent post-rock act Do Make Say Think. There’s no enthralling combustion to rival “Ibi Dreams of Pavement (A Better Day)” or “7/4 (Shoreline),” no warm percussive bath like that of “Love and Mathematics.” Here, Broken Social Scene seem to have forgotten their gift for making the listener feel as if in the room, standing at a comfortable distance, in favor of awkward small talk with a stranger.Even as the band’s songwriting has taken on a more explicitly uplifting and streamlined form, they’ve never quite forgotten where they came from 2010’s lovely, shapeshifting Forgiveness Rock Record was produced by John McEntire of post-rock godheads Tortoise and featured the Sea and Cake’s Sam Prekop on a song that practically mirrored the tropical, wafting dreaminess of his main act. Though their familiar sound is warm and at times welcoming, it pales in comparison to the developed instrumental ferocity of the band’s past catalog. But these songs are rarely strong enough to stand on their own. Whether in the roaring guitar solos or transcendent piano riffs, Broken Social Scene seem keen to fulfill the promise of a second half. There is a hunger apparent on Let’s Try the After Vol. “Tomorrow’s kind of a bitch/The kind of bitch you can believe,” a jaded Drew exclaims on the title track, a depressing (and infuriatingly sexist) finishing sentiment for a song ostensibly about entering uncharted territory. Let’s Try the After may be inspired by forward movement, but it feels directionless, preoccupied by searching without clarifying what was lost. His voice is awkwardly masked in Auto-Tune, furthering the sense of unrecognizability. “Where did you go?/I can’t recognize this supposed to be,” Drew sings. “Big Couches” begins even-tempered, building to a hovering suspense peppered with jubilant horns, but there’s no burst of resolution. 2, BSS seem cognizant they’re lacking something-maybe a heart, a companion, or self-knowledge. “We got caught in the wrong line,” Drew sings, fading out into a void.Īcross Vol. Splintering horns and clamorous drum hits bring closing track “Wrong Line” closest to the band’s past post-rock exuberance, yet in failing to confidently resolve the strangeness of Let’s Try the After, it makes for an unsatisfactory ending. Zigzagging synth lines and two separate guitar solos bring an easygoing revelry to “Can’t Find My Heart.” “Let’s Try the After” radiates ominous background noise: a low and blurry piano, hissing whispers, vibrant arcade game sounds, and a mournful horn crying in the distance. There are moments where their beloved innovation breaks through. 2’s “Memory Lover” is energetic and propulsive where the former made for an exciting prologue, the latter feels more like an interlude. 1’s “The Sweet Sea” was sedate, while Vol. The only musical connection lies in their psych-rock instrumental openers. But aside from their titles, there isn’t much cohesion between the two halves of Let’s Try the After. 1, the vibrant instrumental “Remember Me Young” and the melancholic “1972” beautifully captured the thesis. BSS co-founder Kevin Drew has explained that Let’s Try the After is about persevering to overcome life’s obstacles: “Sickness, suicide, uprise, love, death, betrayal, hurt, joy, sex, communication, battles and divisions… Let's just get to their after and start building again.” On Vol.
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