Record Review

Why?

Alopecia
(Anticon; 2008)

Rating: 78%
Combined Rating: 78%

Perhaps the only “genre” in which Anticon has ever properly belonged is something along the lines of “ambiguous.” Their artistic tendencies both skewered and praised, the West Coast collective’s penchant for obscure references and dense, intricate verbiage has yielded both staggering, cerebral masterpieces and pointless exercises in abstraction. There’s a thin line between vibrant poetry and pretentious nonsense, right, but what makes Why?’s Alopecia so successful is that Yoni Wolf and his bandmates wrap that line around their necks like an uncomfortable tie, pushing forward with a striking specificity and a sincerity rooted as much in unequivocal statements and candor as inflection and atmosphere.

Acting as a manifestation of post-adolescent dread, Alopecia is many shades of somber, but rather than painting in broad strokes of anguish, Why? submit a multi-faceted effort featuring some unexpectedly pleasant pop sensibilities and a handful of one-liners that recall the grim hilarity of Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? (2007). The morbid undertones of the deceptively jubilant “Fatalist Palmistry” are best exemplified by its opening lines: “I sleep on my back ‘cause it’s good for my spine / And coffin rehearsal,” but the real marvel here is the positively radiant hook, which features an ironic, doe-eyed Wolf, accompanied by vivacious guitars Bejar-ing into a sugary harmony and vaguely allusive gibberish. “Good Friday” serves as an opportunity for Wolf, deadpanning, despondent, and wry, to alternate expertly between black comedy (“Eating pussy for new fans”) and depressing imagery (“I cried to myself in the pisser”), often blending the two to create a slow-motion catharsis direct from a Wes Anderson film.

It’s evident that Yoni Wolf has incorporated some rather harsh personal experiences into the fabric of this album, and he veils nothing, at times outwardly referencing Why?’s touring with the Silver Jews and his various European outings. It’s this fierce articulation of realism that is so vital to the album’s appeal, the times when Wolf foregoes the flowery pontification for the assertion of a stark portrait (“In Berlin I saw / Two men fuck / In a dark corner of a basketball court / Just the slight jingle of pocket change pulsing”). His dense poetry more palatable when tempered with this newfound affection for abrupt statements, indulgences (“This is for all my underdone, other-tongued, long, long frontmen”) become endearing and often useful. Concrete imagery acts as a sort of scaffold upon which Wolf’s more abstruse descriptions can build; grounded in a firm reality, his abstractions, tangential as they can sometimes be, aid in the construction of a coherent message, enhancing his bold sentiments regarding dysfunctional social interaction and childhood mishaps.

Augmenting these sentiments further are the urgent compositions of Wolf’s colleagues (his full-on band), accompanied here by Fog’s Andrew Broder and Mark Erickson. Alopecia shifts from the sonorous grind of opener “The Vowels Pt. 2” to the foreboding, piano-driven “Song of the Sad Assassin” to the propulsive density of “Brook & Waxing.” The outfit shifts gears with astounding ease, assuredly constructing thumping beats and dreamy anthems to never allow the latent sadness or awkwardness in the lyrics to really dwell.

“Anthemic” is the pervading theme here, even moreso than sexual frustration and death, concepts which seem to be within an inference or two of every pained word that passes through Yoni Wolf’s lips. The careful nature of Alopecia proves it: every phrase has been combed, every chord progression scrutinized; it succeeds on many fronts because of its creator’s fastidiousness, as it is evident that he understands such heavy topics sometimes require kid’s gloves. It’s not difficult to picture Wolf twiddling knobs at 2 AM, perfecting the liquid stomp of the aforementioned “The Vowels Pt. 2” or absorbed by his notebook, further developing the balance between astute and unsettling. Throughout, Wolf offers up a bleak and terrifying proposition, intentional or otherwise, with his fixation on adolescent imagery and social alienation: he believes he may forever be trapped in a universe where mistakes and traumatic events experienced in his teens will perpetuate themselves. And yes, he wallows too much, bearing the same scars a few too many times in the album’s second half as his humor disintegrates into hopeless caterwauling. But this is an achievement regardless, as Alopecia exhibits impressive growth and an admirable attention to detail that places yet another unique stone along Yoni Wolf’s fascinating career arc.