by Rob Moura (@tapedeckpod)
“It’s not enough to hate the world we live within,” cried John Rossiter in the fiery climax of “Deterritory,” a track that set the tone for Young Jesus’ 2018 masterpiece, The Whole Thing Is Just There. On that record, Rossiter found himself struggling to breathe in an ocean of partisan thinking, backwards logic and heavily-spotlit injustice. Over gorgeous post-rock arrangements, Rossiter witnessed his nihilistic inclinations wage war with his guardians of optimism like a patient forced awake during surgery. For a person so engaged in discussing philosophy and fostering community, watching the country descend into anti-intellectual bifurcation must have felt like a living hell.
Two years later, those circumstances have only further metastasized. In a nation subsumed by an advanced culture war and wracked with anxiety, where even close contact elicits a fear response, it takes bravery not to retreat inward and shut ourselves off from new connections. It’s even braver to open that world up to the rest of your brain, to refuse to relinquish your well-being even amidst universally-trying times. That takes hard work even in healthy circumstances, and that virtuous effort provides the foundation for Welcome to Conceptual Beach, Young Jesus’ fourth LP and their third for Saddle Creek. On it, the L.A.-based four-piece feel like a different band in both subject and sound, and that evolution results in a moving, intensely rewarding listen.
Over four full-lengths, Young Jesus have built up a modus operandi of terse tracklists, extended instrumental workouts and satisfying buildups. It’s a formula that served their previous releases well, and Beach doesn’t deviate far from it. Post- and math-rock influences also remain, especially in Kern Haug’s quick sticking and Rossiter’s angular guitar playing, but where S/T and The Whole Thing Is Just There languished in the power of Midwestern emo and its gritty unresolved rage, this record floats and soars with a newfound lightness. Mindfulness and empathy consistently substitute angst and anger, a refreshing shift for a band once mired in Kierkegaardian dread.
The change is initially beguiling, with “Faith’s” introductory Auto-Tune and Eric Shevrin’s staccato keyboard chords standing in stark contrast to the titanic, earthen riff of The Whole Thing’s “Deterritory”. “Faith,” fittingly, reveals itself to be a journey from chilly syncopated structures to a bottomless and weightless ether, the sound of a mind questioning its belief system. Woodwinds and soft piano take the place of cavernous distorted chords, as on the Bon Iver-like “Pattern Doubt,” on which Young Jesus seem to take inspiration from another emotive Midwestern titan. Early single “(un)knowing” lays down “Nothingman” balladry until it explodes into breathless exultations like a revival tent. Even on twin closing epics “Lark” and “Magicians,” uplifting folk melodies and resolving guitar patterns dominate, with the despairing squalls once filling previous extended tracks like “Gulf” and “Storm” now relegated to an abrupt coda.
Young Jesus albums have always been high-minded affairs (“Every record needs a thesis,” Rossiter sings on show-stopping hymnal “Root and Crown”), and Welcome to Conceptual Beach doesn’t shy away from engaging in complex philosophical topics. Upon its announcement, Rossiter stated that ”Conceptual Beach” is a mental construct, a way to safeguard himself from harm, and that this record would document him opening that private property up to the rest of his brain. That stated intention becomes a piece of a greater puzzle about the practicality of faith in a faith-averse environment, and about the limitations of self-preservation. In an understandably Buddhist line of thinking, Beach argues that to stave off suffering is to deprive ourselves of the strongest catalyst for personal growth we’re given. That strive for growth takes top priority, in “Faith’s” revealing breakdown, in “(un)knowing’s” patient endurance, and in “Root and Crown’s” quiet desire for self-acceptance. The rest of the record highlights what usually obstructs that desire, whether its the warring factions in “Meditation’s” post-punk coda, the righteous, critical “Magicians” invading our timelines, or the infinitely-portending song of the light-blue “Lark” on the gentle “Pattern Doubt,” simply ourselves.
Beach’s theological examinations are cut with a curious compassion, if not an envy, for the mindset of the faithful. Many within Rossiter’s generation of artists don’t hesitate to document the psychic damage organized religion has wreaked upon them. Just as wounds heal faster in the open air or with the sting of alcohol, Rossiter opens himself to the idea of religious belief, or at least the sense of community that it engenders, as a means of personal fulfillment or a way to believe in love. It’s a bold step for a band with a cynical relationship with Christianity that’s been well-documented since the harrowing character studies of Grow/Decompose.
Whether or not he actually regains that faith is ultimately up to the listener, and also not the point. It’s heartening enough to hear a bright mind extolling the virtues of open-mindedness in a world that feels more closed-off by the second. Growth, warmth, light and love; these are sanguine properties you wouldn’t expect to ground a Young Jesus record, and yet by courting them without compromising substance or quality, Welcome to Conceptual Beach ends up their most joyful, rewarding work yet.