Floridian band Home Is Where present their newest catch, the whaler. Through tangled netting, sounds mesh and blend at the bleeding heart of an ensnaring emo record. The crushing genre is just now cresting its fifth wave (see also: post-post-post-post-post-emo) as new bands revisit old midwestern affairs and spin backlogged record collections to angsty stanzas. the whaler has escaped nothing of the lamentable spirit of emo, but strips back volume and pacing to hear the dribbling stream of alt country stylings and Neutral Milk influences plink into its multichambered center.
Some of the shiniest moments off the record come from the lyrical fits of Home Is Where’s lead vocalist Brandon MacDonald. On first and second listens, incredulity is likely, but ensnarement is imminent; deceivingly simplistic hooks snag listening ears and drag behind, while lines harpoon the mind.
Deficiencies are whaled at in “whaling for sport,” as the speaker juxtaposes ignorance with omniscience, crying “an all knowing God doesn’t know what its like to know nothing at all. I can do anything God can’t.” The record’s litany of deprecation rows steadily to its irresolution on the fading single “floral organs.” Here the whalers put up old harpoons and drift back to their beginnings as cycles repeat and songs loop. the whaler is a pain wracked record, that despite its charming creativities bears a melancholic tone that clambers along and on and on.
In the ebb and flow of the whaler’s pace, each window of noise holds potential for an impromptu washboard solo or venting by way of harmonica. Moments that may seem minor at first but delight and comfort listeners with warm southern noises of homes away from home. This record is a culmination of Home Is Where’s self-respectful weird creativity, sweeping us away with its swarthy manners and transporting our emo-tions to the unsteady seas.
gone gazing 