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Krill - "Krill" | Album Review

by Loren DiBlasi (@lodibz)

I knew I’d reached new heights of insanity when a friend returned from a date to tell me that the dude she was with, upon discussion of their favorite bands, had exclaimed, “You mean you’re actually friends with The Krill Girl?” 

That was in reference to me. I’m The Krill Girl.

Because although Krill left me a long time ago — just over nine months ago, to be exact — I never left Krill. 

It’s one of my worst, most stubborn habits: holding onto something long after its gone. I do it (unwillingly) because, to be honest, there’s very little that shakes me. So when something makes me feel — whether that’s a band, an experience, or a doomed relationship — I’m left rattled for a while. And when something makes me feel as deeply as Krill? Fuck. That’s with me forever. 

Of course, I’m fine on the outside; I work, I write, I play music, I’m social. On the inside, though, I’m teeming with anxiety. I’m never not worried about where to turn next. While others sleep, I’m awake, wondering if anything I do, say, or write will ever be good enough. 

For what? I don’t know. I wish I did. Krill has always helped ease the suffering, though. 

I interviewed Krill in December 2014, which feels like a lifetime ago, but wasn’t really that long ago at all. If you recall, this era was peak Krill: the band were readying the release of their heroic full-length, A Distant Fist Unclenching, on Exploding In Sound. While discussing its themes, Jonah posed a question: “After a really intense time, what comes next?” 

Back then, no one was predicting what would actually come next: The End of Krill. Less than a year later, the trio was kaput. And yet, here we are in 2016, with the fresh new Krill release that everyone hoped would come at some point — and thankfully it’s come sooner rather than later. 

The self-titled EP opens with “Meat,” and from the start, it’s refreshingly, unapologetically Krill. “I could put socks on and move my body,” Jonah Furman states, and the listener can’t help but think, yes, exactly. No one writes the way Jonah does: blunt, banal, and intrusively authentic. “Will you see me at my end?” he begs, his delivery more forceful than forlorn. “Jubilee,” confident and energetic, hints towards happiness (or at least, the recent acquisition of contentment). There might be light on the horizon, and although -- or perhaps because -- that’s not what we’re accustomed to from Krill, it’s nothing short of exhilarating. 

Even as Krill enter “The Void,” a track so valiant, so vivid that its brazen stops-and-starts could induce heart palpitations, the band remain steadfast. “I see the void; I enter the void; There is no void,” Jonah, our adventurer, discovers over Aaron’s slicing art-punk guitar and Ian’s controlled chaos. The song’s earth-shattering tension soon melts into “Happy,” its quick pace and urgent spurts of rhythm mending whatever pieces remain. “Billy” is a captivating, and uniquely calming, closer, presenting a new level of self-assuredness from a band that doesn’t actually exist anymore. Unfortunately. 

And still, Krill has returned to me; that in itself feels like a gift (most things we want don’t return). So what comes next? I don’t know. Only Krill knows. Or maybe they don’t. Regardless, Krill’s five tracks leave us satisfied, eager and hopeful that something might be next, whether it's from ourselves, from the world, or from the band we’ll love forever, even if they never come back again.