The last time listeners heard from Deerhoof, they were fighting the good fight with 2017's Mountain Moves, a celebration of people uniting joyously and righteously in the name of solidarity. On Future Teenage Cave Artists, they explore what happens when that fight is lost. As Deerhoof dives into the messes that younger generations have to clean up, and art's role in the process, they sound rawer than they have in years. These songs are filled with intentionally frayed edges and jarring edits, as if they were created with ...
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The last time listeners heard from Deerhoof, they were fighting the good fight with 2017's Mountain Moves, a celebration of people uniting joyously and righteously in the name of solidarity. On Future Teenage Cave Artists, they explore what happens when that fight is lost. As Deerhoof dives into the messes that younger generations have to clean up, and art's role in the process, they sound rawer than they have in years. These songs are filled with intentionally frayed edges and jarring edits, as if they were created with whatever broken equipment the band could find after society collapsed. It's an approach that's both timely and familiar, echoing the fraught state of the world in the early 2020s as well as the relatively crude sound quality of Deerhoof's first album, 1997's The Man, the King, the Girl. Future Teenage Cave Artists' startling sound feels like a call to action, even if some of its most stunning songs document how humanity is continually thwarted by destructive impulses. The title track brilliantly depicts the eternal battle between progress and fear: "Gonna leave a future treasure for all to see," Satomi Matsuzaki sings as keyboards and guitars ring out with idealism -- until Greg Saunier counters, "But you stopped me/You stopped me," and the song crumbles. They're just as skilled at capturing the exact moment when hope is lost on "Damaged Eyes Squinting into the Beautiful Overhot Sun," where the guitars that sounded like rays of optimism turn into a distortion-laden inferno. The contrasts that have always made Deerhoof thrillingly unlike any other band heighten the album's unpredictability, whether it's the way the boogie-rock riffs jump out of the rubble on "Sympathy for the Baby Boo" or how the funky, dissonant "O Ye Saddle Babes" shifts from sounding like it's from a forgotten Sesame Street episode from the '70s into something darker as it questions traditions. These clashes reach their combative peak on "'Farewell' Symphony," a suite-like freakout that nods to Haydn's Symphony No. 45 and grows more chaotic as it unfolds. As disorienting as Future Teenage Cave Artists gets, it packs a potent emotional wallop. There's as much empathy as frustration in its songs, particularly when Saunier sings lead. His raspy falsetto is soothingly flawed on "The Loved One" and downright haunted on "Reduced Guilt" when he sings "Every morning I check if I have died" over queasily lurching beats. Just as Deerhoof hark back to their formative days with Future Teenage Cave Artists' recording techniques, they look forward with its oldest composition. The solo piano rendition of Bach's "I Call on Thee" that closes the album is all the more beseeching for its muffled sound quality, as if it were emanating from deep within a cave. It's a finale that doesn't promise a happy ending -- because Deerhoof can't. This artistic honesty, as well as the band's long-standing need to reflect and confront the world's problems, make Future Teenage Cave Artists remarkable proof that their experiments are as crucial as ever. ~ Heather Phares, Rovi
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