Unfuck This House is a wonder. In 30 minutes or less, If Madrid has set up a record that puts you in the middle of a basement show waving along to the beat, or on a cross-country drive trying to blow out your speakers with the windows down. It transports you–not in a cheesy way, but in an all-encompassing feeling of connectivity. It’s loud, but has its moments of repetitive acoustic to sooth just long enough before the build. It breathes.
Binghamton’s post-punk band put out their latest 6-track album in February, following a few short releases like Campfire Scars, a three-track EP of songs that “didn’t quite make it” onto their 2013 Suburban Campfires record. (Also a must listen. Seriously, you can finish reading this later.) The group has been recording with Albany’s music collective, B3nson, for years and UTH–in all its glory–was a celebratory 75th release for the local recording company.
The record is gritty, akin to the group’s past discology, and will leave you itching to see them live because all you want to do is watch it all come together in some dive bar and leave with your ears ringing. It’s in songs like “Racecar” that make you want to scream the words at the top of your lungs as the percussion pushes on to the song’s climax.
“Missing Yew Waltz” is a six-minute medley with slow marching percussion that is comfortingly similar to their Suburban Campfires opener “Michio” and sets the tone for listeners of new and old. But it’s not the only reminder. In fact, “All My Friends” is simply another version of Campfires track “Seeing All My Friends Die.” It’s a bit lower in tone and slowed down a hair, but all the same. The similarities to be made between releases may turn off some music snobs, but in this case only make the heart grow fonder. This is a band that has found hearty material to work with and continue to play with it years later. Why mess up a good thing? That’s artistry.
There are new recorded releases here too. “Slide” is a beauty. On some days, it’s even a tearjerker, but to each his own. It’s grungy and distorted, with that leading slide guitar to pull it through and lyrics that sucker punch you in the best way, telling a tale that seems average with just a little underlying bite: “The artist weeped in the angel’s lap/It soothed him ‘I know, I know.’”
Closing track “SSRI” is an exploration of thought under the influence of antidepressants that’s damn near poetic. Gentle strumming turns to a whirlwind led by pounding percussion and whether or not you’re familiar with the prescribed state of mind, the lyrics will most likely leave you with a lot of self-involved questions. “And I know it’s hard/the way life starts so slow/and next thing you’re on your way/is it worth your heart and soul?”
This album isn’t trying too hard to impress–but does it anyways.