Review Summary: A triumphant capitalization
It’s mostly a fool’s errand to try and compete with an already well-received Sputnik review, but some albums inspire such foolish devotion.
Artificial Bouquet is that album - a triumphant capitalization on a groundswell of support for Frail Body that had been growing quietly for years, and a new requiem for screamo fans to feast on, though perhaps not Frail Body’s masterpiece just yet.
The story of Frail Body begins with a song, “Your Death Makes Me Wish Heaven Was Real”, off of their debut full length. When I first heard it, I got that rare feeling that only comes around once a year, maybe once every few years, and the Spotify metrics support its kingmaker status. Above all of the harrowing sound and beautiful fury contained within those four and a half minutes, my chief takeaway was Frail Body’s knack for crafting consecutive sonic moments of chaotic screamo catharsis, one right after the other.
Despite the rest of their debut album failing to live up to the lightning-in-a-bottle lead single, anticipation for their work continued to grow. Last year came “Titus”, a blistering (and best) minute of material off of the
Balladeers Redefined compilation. “Titus” forecasted the band figuring out their sound, and no longer did an air of “one-hit-wonder” linger about. Thus the countdown to
Artificial Bouquet began.
With its arrival, Frail Body has clarified and lightly redefined their sound. Remaining is the skin-tight rhythm section, furiously pounding away in lockstep, careening sharply on a dime. Lead single “Refrain” tethers wounded emotion to blistering speed, and “Monolith” proves the band knows when to morph their cacophonous screamo into a friendlier post-hardcore groove.
Lowell Shaffer’s vocals continue to recede further into the mix with moderate success. His shrill scream is the perfect instrument for this brand of emotional hardcore: haunting, ethereal, and often used as but a single color of thread in a larger tapestry. However, it’s SO good that I’m often finding my ears digging through the mix to hear it more.
Aside from that nit, the rest of the production is pure aces, packing the fury of an Orchid or a Loma Prieta record with a much sharper and more lucid production. Every kick drum is felt, every cymbal tap, every guitar harmonic. The sheer volume of music coming from just three guys is staggering, rivaling the comparative crowds of pageninetynine or other four and five-pieces.
A major iteration of
Artificial Bouquet on Frail Body’s sound is the recurring presence of blackgaze blast beats, perhaps giving us a glance at what Deafheaven might’ve sounded like had they chosen a different timeline. For me, this is heaven. “Scaffolding” opens the record with a fearlessly bare beatdown - given the genre’s reputation for overemotion and theatrics, it was a smart move to start on a no-bull*** note.
“Devotion” shows a similar black metal percussive bent when the song hits its peak, but more importantly, it is an example of the record’s numerous dynamic, rise-and-fall screamo epics. A single strummed note expands to a restrained arrangement which then explodes into a wall of sound and fury. “Critique Programme” is an exploratory track that throws every tempo and timbre at the listener, speedrunning Converge’s entire discography before peaking proudly at rhythmic heights unseen for Frail Body.
Many of these slowly building tracks are built upon a true-blue emo foundation, such as the soon-to-be-fan-favorite “Runaway”, where a shimmer turns to pounding as the band captures the experience of clawing out of a personal hell. Both that track and “No Resolution” act as pleasant palette cleansers before the final sprint of the record.
Having listened through the record multiple times, I’m not quite sold on its masterpiece status, and it’s for the same reason that I was swept away by “Your Death…”. While there likely won’t be enough delectable moments to get me coming back to the album as much as I did that song, Frail Body has taken the perfect next step in their hopefully long and illustrious career as one of many resuscitators for the genre that means so much to all of us.
Now comes my mea culpa for the lack of a lyrical analysis. It was never my draw to the genre. However, the overwhelming grief that is heard through the music can be felt poetically on tracks like “Refrain”, where Shaffer’s vocals break in a painful lament.
I will always remember
Those last few ounces of pressure
Now I'm alone
And you're just five pounds of carbon
A vacant hospital room to pack
They'll need this bed cleared when I get back
