Review Summary: "All I want are hooks to hang your flowers on"
Passion Pit, the semi-one-man-project of Michael Angelakos, started off with the
Chunk Of Change EP. This was the era of a thousand Myspace success stories, and synthpop was just coming into vogue. As such, the EP, particularly “Sleepyhead,” surged into popularity, and the polished (if slightly stale)
Manners was released the next year. In the following three years, the blog era descended in popularity significantly. When the band (which had gained members at this point) announced a new album in 2012,
Gossamer wasn’t what people expected. Standout singles “I’ll Be Alright” and “Take A Walk” sounded more pop than anything put out so far, and many fans were disappointed. Another three years later (don’t expect a new album until 2018),
Kindred is announced, as well as the band’s return to a one-man project. This time, it’s even more radio-friendly than ever before. You can easily pump your fist to “Until We Can’t (Let’s Go),” and Michael uses auto-tune (the filthiest of all “real music” betrayals) on the finale. The easiest reaction to hearing this, and the ridiculously happy pop that the album embodies, is to assume that Passion Pit have sold out and created a completely cheesy letdown, but that’s not at all true. It’s not a crazed detour into something worse - it’s a hard-earned victory lap, more pointed and direct than ever before.
On
Kindred, Angelakos finally completely embraces the pop he’s been circling since Passion Pit started, and it’s exactly what we needed. Everything he’s released has been reliant on pop ideas and styles. (A track off
Chunk Of Change sampled “Girls Just Want To Have Fun,” one of the cheesiest, catchiest pop songs ever written.) It’s just that now he's finally honest about its identity. No more pseudo-alternative disguises. Just like
Gossamer saw Michael shed his lyrical subtlety in exchange for complete, intensely affecting emotional impact,
Kindred sheds all layers of ex-blog-era credibility in favor of a complete, intensely accessible, classic simplicity. The key word there is “classic.” Listening to
SPIRITS I, one of two playlists Angelakos curated on Spotify prior to
Kindred’s release, we hear influences like The Isley Brothers and Barbra Streisand, songwriting geniuses, and nothing if not pop artists. Making an album like the classic pop greats is clearly a priority: note the (relatively) short 10-track, 36-minute run time, the LP-like Columbia logo on the album art, and the dramatic, almost lo-fi nature of “Ten Feet Tall.” Despite the current obsession with retro, actual classic pop songwriting and album structure is rare, so it sounds genuinely fresh. Although it’s nice, like many older pop albums, it gets grating at times. Some songs stretch their hooks too far and don’t give full credit to their often interesting verses, and the transition from the speed of “My Brother Taught Me How To Swim” to “Ten Feet Tall” is very jarring. Thankfully, there are more influences than just classic pop, which
SPIRITS II shows off. These cuts are diverse and often unexpected, whether it be the Gossamer-esque emotion of “No, No” and “Song Cry” (clear on the emotional musical peak of the album, “Dancing On The Grave”), the bubbly melody of “Double Bed” and “Rice Rain” (most obvious on “Where The Sky Hangs” and “Looks Like Rain”), and even the frenetic, intense energy of “Lights” and “Unrequited Love” (manifested in the fist-pumping anthems “Lifted Up (1985)” and “Until We Can’t”).The point I’m trying to make is that
Kindred isn’t just another generic synthpop artist putting out an EDM album, regardless of how it might appear on first glance. This is, for the most part, layered, complex music.
Arguably, emotion is more important than depth.
Gossamer, despite its controversially mainstream sound, gained Passion Pit numerous fans (including yours truly) because it’s such a raw, emotional confession.
Kindred continues that theme, to an extent. Most of these
Gossamer fans probably wish there was a bit more heartbreak and a little less optimism. Sometimes we need happy music, but the biggest problems directly faced here are unwanted publicity and domestic frustration, a far cry from the substance abuse and mental health of yesteralbum. But there is a beauty to this simple hope. Michael thanks his wife, recognizing how much his problems have hurt her (“I took your hands and pulled you down”). He’s happier now (“Until We Can’t” couldn’t have fit on any of his other releases), but he still understands just how much he’s overcome, and his need for continual help (“We’re dancing on the grave of the nights we couldn’t sleep...someone hold me as I turn the night away”). He even discusses religion’s impact on his life, in the blatantly Christian “My Brother Taught Me How To Swim.” The common theme, is humility, recognition, gratitude and hope. Michael sees things from a broader perspective for the first time - he and his music are all the better for it.
We all know why albums like this get plenty of hate.
Kindred isn’t as sad (read: “real”) as
Gossamer, and it’s far more accessible (read: “sellout”) than
Manners. But does it really deserve it? I say no. If
Manners was an experimental flatland wander, and
Gossamer a grueling uphill trek glimmered with hope, then
Kindred is the thrilling downhill ride - exciting, short, and beautifully concise. If the hard times deserve a soundtrack, the good times do too. One of Michael’s first (and best) songs, “Better Things,” sang fervently of hope for a better future. Those times have finally arrived for him, and if that doesn’t deserve passion, I don’t know what does.
