Review Summary: "The dizygotic twin of god in the cockpit."
The opening drum samples of "Grand Paradise" signal a Foxing demanding a new degree of feasibility and higher regard by a wider audience. Across
Nearer My God, the band put behind them the winding, mathy strokes of
The Albatross and the rueful admissions that characterize
Dealer. They venture towards R&B-inflected art-rock more appropriate than ever for a stadium setting, compounding triumphant fury with brave withdrawals from previously-explored and unavoidably niche genre conventions.
Nearer My God mirrors the political dysphoria of
Always Foreign, the latest release from Foxing's early scene peers The World Is..., but less so a verbatim transcription of those emotions. In “Slapstick,” the band gets as literal as it will: “So you mock up an ad, gag a press pit / the weather’s the same if you’re born in ’46”, a year in which American nuclear testing provided a prologue to the Cold War. Where lyrics express more general feelings of insuffiency, these songs carry the dejected moods that accompany daily news revelations as opposed to obsessively tracing their origins (“I've done nothing right / I've gone wrong beside”; or “Does anybody want me at all?”). Tracks like "Lich Prince" use intimate reflection to betray disheartenment, the song venting masked malice alongside its chorus, “I want real love for you”: “I've been shortchanged with the lord for too long / I’ve been thinking of new ways / to *** with old friends.”
This version of Foxing are tumultuous through sampling and unconventional instrumentation, employing peak after another backed by "Heartbeats"’ introductory Rachmaninoff or "Bastardizer"’s funeral bagpipes. The climaxes of “Lich Prince” and “Heartbeats” are aided by swirling synths that meld into the band’s existing orchestration, levelling
Dealer’s R&B airs up and into the record’s remaining emo undercurrents. Changes in Murphy’s vocal expression are likewise integrated into an examination of craft. He howls, croons, and screams to startling effect across the record, while calling upon the vocal assistance of his bandmates more than ever. Closing track "Lambert" begins with a low, unfamiliar, National-reminiscent refrain to complement its bass pulse, then grows into an remorseful chorus from shifting perspectives, with one voice owning the privilege of passage, another the enforcer, and the last denied admission: “Give back a note from the other one / Tell them all to go home / I spent so long at the gates / Heaven won't take me in”. Ending the record on the subject of immigrants denied asylum - refused anything close to reasonable consideration - is a move that ensures the true subject at hand is neither lost nor brashly preached.
If the band recall the exuberance of M83, U2, or any existing entity, it is only on the basis of a track or two at once: the jagged discordance of “Lich Prince”’s closing solo, the glassy twangs of "Bastardizer"’s opening, the waning choral voice that closes out "Grand Paradise", or the acoustic strums of "Crown Candy" are methods sourced from no one predecessor. The band’s outspoken admiration for anything from Sufjan Stevens’ Age of Adz to Frank Ocean’s Blonde is a clear-cut feature; yet while the band comb territories they haven’t before, their appropriation and development of style is contradictorily restrained, respectful, and daring.
Despite the praise I’ve chosen to heap here, some of the latter-half experiments are less successful. “Trapped In Dillard’s” features misplaced synth touches that bring down passages otherwise affecting: “Now I've been trapped here in the mall for too long / Between an exit and a pregnant ex-love”. Five Cups opens hazy and Antlers-like, but after peaking, the track drowns its percussion and other instrumental elements in several inessential minutes of reverb. Despite a partially redeeming second half resplendent with brass and tearful pads, plus its stubbornly troubled “I won't wait to be saved / I feel off and pray to be / Between Florence and Coleen”, the track puts a pause on the pace of the album, particularly unfortunate when “Heartbeats” renews the album’s energy in grand fashion. Still, these are small fractures in a brilliantly constructed album, and where context was lacking in the three singles’ initial release, standouts from start to finish reflect Foxing outlasting self-prophetic burnout for now (their long-running Bandcamp bio “Someday Foxing won’t be a band”). Besting tragedies large and small - van crashes and gear theft, the departure of bassist Josh Coll to NYU, or a fan beyond devotion kicking Conor Murphy’s nose in - Nearer My God comes at once as a landmark and a stepping stone, an achievement heralding further metamorphosis.
