Review Summary: Lost in the sound of resignation
I don't think I have the energy
To make it out of my bed today
It's not even a bed
I've been sleeping on
An air mattress with a hole
For almost three months
These lyrics pretty much tell you all you need to know about
Pool Kids. In this gloriously twisted experience we call life, there come certain points at which you just feel
done. It’s the feeling that, no matter how hard you fight and push, resignation seems like the best course of (in)action. I think even the most motivated of individuals have gone through this sense of mental defeat at least once in their lives, and the effect can be truly crushing on one’s health and relationships. For better or worse, I don’t think I’ve ever heard an account of resignation as brutal or overwhelming as Pool Kids’ self-titled sophomore record; the album takes a deep dive into themes of depression and anxiety, turning painful ordeals into relatable vignettes. Yet – due to frontwoman Christine Goodwyne’s frank, matter-of-fact delivery – nothing on the record descends into mawkish melodrama or self-parody; everything comes off as devastatingly real and sincere.
What’s more is that there’s no time to get acclimated to it all; opener “Conscious Uncoupling” comes out swinging, throwing the listener into the middle of a nasty love/hate relationship with a significant other. Much like the album itself, this is a song built on contradictions: the distorted riffs give the track a punchy feel, and yet are always undercut by the melancholy of the wistful melodies. Goodwyne clearly holds a level of contempt for the person she’s addressing, and yet seems to hold back vocally whenever she tries to really let loose with her thoughts - almost as if she’s hiding some of her true feelings. This song is a perfect thesis for what
Pool Kids is aiming for: the push and pull of “should I start committing?” vs. “why even try?”. But, as outlined in later songs such as the nostalgic lamentations of “Further” or the deep-seated insecurities that define “Arm’s Length”, our narrator’s inner turmoil and disillusionment clearly eats away at her. And sure enough, this even gives the record’s more humorous moments an undercurrent of bitterness. The chorus of “I Hope You”, for instance, has Goodwyne uttering the most deadpan laughs I’ve ever heard in a song, almost as if she’s sarcastically reciting a mantra.
However, as compelling as Goodwyne’s contributions are, that doesn’t mean that the other members don’t hold their own. Musically,
Pool Kids is an exceptionally well-realized blend of indie rock, math rock, and indie pop, with shades of post-hardcore; this combination leads to a sound that provides just the right balance of angst, despondence, and glimmers of hope. The guitar parts of Goodwyne and Andrew Anaya compliment each other perfectly to fit the subject matter and atmosphere of each song, such as the dreamy melodies that accompany the lush vocal harmonies on “Comes in Waves”, or the noodly rapid-fire motif that makes “That’s Physics, Baby” so instantly likable. And while Nicolette Alvarez delivers pretty standard bass lines for this style of music, drummer Caden Clinton is the member who contributes the most to the album’s math rock tag. Off-kilter rhythms and intricate patterns appear all over this record, ensuring that there’s always something interesting going on; “Conscious Uncoupling” and “Comes in Waves” are two of the best examples of him in action.
But it’s Goodwyne who shines the brightest on
Pool Kids, and it really comes down to her conviction when treading such complex emotional territory. She walks a fine line between apathy and genuine passion, and with each passing song, you’re never quite sure of what mood she’ll convey next; as I said before, many of these songs are built on contradictions. The instrumentation of “Arm’s Length” is aggressive and upbeat, yet the lyrics portray a person who simply needs to air out all of her grievances and resulting lack of motivation. This makes Goodwyne’s higher register even more agonizing to listen to, because it sounds as though she’s screaming straight into the void; meanwhile, everything she laments about - a shitty job, past trauma, self-loathing - just… stays there, living in her head rent-free. Things finally come to a head on album closer “Pathetic”, on which our narrator finally lets her partner go, certain that he will keep a piece of her with him; however, given her final question, “what can we make of this?”, there seems to be a perpetual sense of uncertainty looming over her future. Thus, the story ends where it began.
More than anything,
Pool Kids reminds me of how fleeting time is. For those of us who have introverted personalities and problems with anxiety, listening to this album is like looking into a fucking mirror. You start to ask things like, “wait, I’M the person who woke up at 2pm today… why couldn’t I have started the day earlier?” and “why the hell am I doubting this relationship so much? Wasn’t I the one who asked them out in the first place?”; soon enough, you’ll find yourself wondering where all those lost years went. As it turns out, they were right under your nose and you decided to ignore them entirely.
Pool Kids is a devastatingly effective indie rock record that takes a frank look at the demons eating us from the inside, as well as why we shouldn’t always back out of what we’ve already committed to. Don’t immediately resort to resignation.
