Those familiar with the unlikely success of alternative, dream-pop band Glass Animals are likely to be enticed and initially excited by the band’s newest album ‘Dreamland’. With 4 years separating their major releases, ‘Dreamland’ marks the group’s formal return to the limelight, since the highly eclectic and thematically ambitious ‘How To Be A Human Being’. Palette wise, the group continues to conform to their bizarre constructive approach to vividly creating sonic lands of escapism, through tight-knit aesthetics, yet on this occasion, fail to properly evoke a sense of immersion. Where past releases marked a more existential sense of universality or provocative feedback, ‘Dreamland’ is the inquisitive exploration of lead singer Dave Bayley’s, often distanced strain of thought. Bringing with it a sense of implicit dreaminess and intimacy, as we, the listeners, are enveloped and thrust into his inner-most precious nostalgic recounts.
Tasked with the endeavours of translating his euphoric, cerebral experiences from mind to music, proves to be an ever-challenging demand, as something very evidently gets lost in translation. A tricky tool within a musician’s arsenal, Glass Animals fall flat to achieve such proficient practice, as the album takes a turn for the worst. Titled ‘Dreamland’, the ways in which each experience is delivered and packaged would have me believe Bayley’s was subject to recurring nightmares. Through agitation and sacrificial sabotage on his own accord, Bayley batters out his most inexcusably horrendous vocal performances to date. Where the word ‘quirky’ would usually be applied as a means of capturing the sheer cartoonish sheen and boisterous energy of Glass Animals appeal, here it feels far more appropriate to describe just how out of touch the band feels. Pressing unrevised and unpalatable sounds, this is Glass Animals at their least organic, and most removed from their implied human connection.
The introductory track ‘Dreamland’, stands as a telltale sign of both how incoherently constructed the album is sonically, as well as an informant precursor, outlining the flow of the record. Cinematic in stature, the illustrious synths ebb throughout, softly weaving together the implied haven of pillowy thoughts and dreamlike refuge from reality. Despite the open arms and embracive warmth presented by the familiarity of the production, it is here in which we are introduced to the less than human vocals that plague and suppress any and all human-like qualities of frontman, and storyteller Dave Bayley. The comatose, unpronounced delivery, met with the otherworldly, grating sound is the furthest from human sound the band has ever produced. On a record where a sense of unanimous, and relatable human experience is emphasised and stressed, this disconnect is but a taste of the plethora of tortuous means the group utilises to butcher their production. It is simply staggering how in every way virtually possible, the opening track captures the clashing prerogatives and point of sonic contention that streamlines the work.
There are moments scattered throughout where it feels like a challenge to understand the origin and intent to evoke sincerity and intimacy when ideas are undermined through metaphoric comparisons to fruit. Pampered and laced with all the clumsily uncharismatic love a tangerine could possibly bear, the track of shared titular status is a goofy, queasy anthem that supposedly addresses one’s transition from a place of admiration to an unrecognisable figure. As mentioned, Glass Animals’ rendition of a reminiscent phase of a once fruitful love, turned sour, ala Harry Styles’ ‘Watermelon Sugar’, lacks all the care and lyrical revision needed to exist as that blissful, picturesque norm and that has since been deprived. The food obsession isn’t merely relegated to the obscurities and miscalculations of ‘Tangerine’, as the same absurdist fixation comes to fruition on the structurally unsound ‘Melon and the Coconut’. Here, a tale of mixed aspirations and communicative failures are buried as a manic joke when portrayed as the air of conversation between a coconut and a melon. If the subject matter alone wasn’t proof of a seemingly deterring and wasted metaphor, it is the wheezing, strenuous desperation for air Bayley sings the song with. Whilst canonically set and established in a world beyond the limitations of our own, a song of this caliber, dressed with spectacular failures on every front’s existence continues to perplex me.
In an attempt to further circumvent and establish world-building through overarching thematic ambition, Glass Animals litter the album with half baked and non-contextualised interludes. Packaged as the roots of nostalgia and crux for progression through the meandering exploration of Bayley’s mind, there truly lies nothing beyond them substance wise. Sure they prevail as insightful tidbits, with cute, naive dialogue, but I am constantly left questioning as to what it offers beyond just that. With no greater narrative structure, or scheme of reference it feels like a blatant means of forced aesthetic.
Burrowing below the surface of the aforementioned filler and aesthetic deviance, we discover a handful of the fully-fledged cuts are equally as painfully inconsequential to the album’s construction. Glass Animals’ painfully misconstrued and awkward venture into the hip-hop scene, ‘Tokyo Drifting’ feels like a fish out of water when slotted into the otherwise delicate elegance of the album. Whilst a usual showing of Denzel Curry’s raw, unbridled aggression leads to an unparalleled sense of exhilaration, everything else about the track, including its inclusion on ‘Dreamland’ feels painfully unremarkable. It’s only other sense of redemption stems from an ever-lusting crave of my own. Due in part to the aforementioned inexcusable vocal performances, I am left desperately clutching at any other rivaling musical motif that allows distraction. Denzel, although condemned and set up to stick out like a sore thumb, is a point of contention and much-needed relief from an otherwise relentless chore.
Whilst simply vocally unstomachable and overbearing throughout, Bayley reaches his most provoked heights on ‘Waterfalls Coming Out Your Mouth’. Despite each and every vocal experiment utilising almost every means of vocal manipulation imaginable, it is here in which all human comprehension is depleted, as it feels like any sympathy for the listener has evaporated. There is no medium as vocal refrains switch between unnervingly claustrophobic to provoked, as if tormented or possessed by a demon, in a matter of seconds. It is through sheer competence in which I find it absolutely jaw-dropping how seemingly natural Bayley’s ability to butcher a track in so many different ways is, and no greater is the disappointment, yet fascination relevant here.
It isn’t until the second half of the album until this descent into un-stylised madness pans out and the usual outlandish quirks of the group shine through. In a blissful return to form, and more logical extension of previous zany directions we have ‘Your Love (Deja Vu)’. Brought to life with its multifaceted synth arrangement, woozy and hypnotic in areas, exploding into an array of colourful, untamable jovial nature when necessary, the cut feels like the most instrumentally refined and flamboyant on the record. Vocally Bayley reels back his performance. With a tastefully subdued and measured approach, he adds yet another weeping, lethargic layer to an already hypnotic abyss. Stressing a relationship that sees its protagonist conflicted, both craving the toxicity and irreversible addiction to a never-ending cycle of complications, whilst remaining ever aware of such issues, adds to the malformed, hypnotic extravagance of it all. Yet another clinical showing from the band, is the comparatively high-octane ‘Heat Waves’. In a similar hypnotic vein, the track is constructed on a spine of luxurious guitar refrains, paired with melancholic, ominous synths to orchestrate a connective sense of instrumental magnificence. Bayley’s adept, dejection filled composure reeks of the emotionally worn and withered figure the lyrics describe. Adversary in the face of failure and acceptance of one’s limitations is the name of the game, and it works all too sinfully well.
We hit a twisted paradox towards the back end of the record that manages to reiterate and relight the flair that proves there’s more in the tank that refuses to be let out. The gut-retching ‘Domestic Bliss’, is the tragic true tale of Bayley’s relationship and experience witnessing the harrowing effects of domestic violence. Equipped with sentiments that hit like gunshots, “I see the bruise, I see the truth, I see what he’s been doin’ to you”, with brevity and bluntness, make no mistake, from its opening lines the track is a plea for escapism and refuses to pull its punches as it tugs at the heartstrings. I find myself utterly entranced and enveloped in the visceral retelling of such a heartbreaking existence, and only ever more enthralled with the addition of nocturnal, sorrow-stricken strings that soar with enough delicate innocence to break the most rugged of listeners.
Despite the efforts of instrumental brilliance being the cinematic and sonically appealing glue that holds the album together, there are moments of miscalculation that remove supporting foundation. In the wake of proposed slow burners, what is an otherwise fluorescent display of illustrious colour, becomes a null void of lulled momentum. ‘It’s All So Incredibly Loud’ is criminally abusive in its structure, with musical motifs overstaying their welcome. It is simply a grueling grudge match between listener and progression, that waits far too long to reach its climax. I’m constantly left scratching my head trying to find the cuts implicit intensity. Attempting to manifest the bleak, out of body silence that foregoes an unbridled remark of truth or confrontation, should be equipped with a far more volatile orchestration, yet here, it is played out more as an afterthought. Perhaps the most criminal case of boiled down and unremarkable saturation is championed on the conclusive track ‘Helium’. Built on a spine of rigid, timid synth refrains, a lack of teeth and pronounced direction leads to a particularly gutless and stagnant leading motion. This is somewhat redeemed by the recurring motif that interpolates the album’s opening, ‘Dreamland’ instrumental sequence, as it attempts to form the full circle conclusion of the dreamscape. But at the end of it all, I am just left wanting so much more from the closer. With previous tracks highlighting gargantuan motions and multifaceted structures, it feels like such an underwhelming and cheap cop-out.
Whilst I had hoped the aftermath of an elongated period of silence would bear the fruits of an even greater cinematic and blissfully zany extension of the band’s talents, ‘Dreamland’ is instead the antithesis. Glass Animals venture into the psychedelic walks and ventures of understanding the human condition is littered with otherworldly blemishes that are, at times, anything but the organic premise of a human. With mutagenic, and downright horrendous vocals spoiling the splendor and vivacious nature of a continuation of synonymous production choices, I am constantly enthused to entertain the idea that ‘Dreamland’, if marketed and packaged as an instrumental album, would be the band’s elevation into ethereal existence they had hoped for. Though a little too homogenised and deviously similar at times, it is by enlarge the mind-boggling assault, through any means necessary, of vocals that alter the idea of listening to an album as a leisure activity, to a grueling exercise.
Dreamland – Glass Animals – 4/10
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