by Sean Fennell (@seanrfennell)
The more I listen to an album, the more I like it. Is that an obvious statement? Maybe. I think it’s partly scientific. The brain likes what it knows. It enjoys getting to the breakdown way more when it knows the breakdown is coming. It’s a confirmation in a world of chaotic mystery. It’s the reason people can’t stop watching the goddamn Office. The problem is, it becomes difficult, as a critic, to discern whether an album is in fact good or I’ve simply listened to it enough times for its flaws to become endearing in their predictability. Which is why my experience with Los-Angeles trio Cheekface, and their new album, Emphatically No, is so unique. Not only did I love it pretty much immediately but I found myself actively trying to talk myself out of liking it as much as I did. Why? That’s a good question.
I have to admit the first reason is probably Greg Katz’s vocal delivery. It’s dry, it's a bit snarky, and it rarely rises above a sprechgesang (fancy word for talk-singing). Okay, but this is a guy (me) who loves Pavement and Jonathan Richman and even Cake for god sake, so what’s the issue, exactly? Maybe it’s the thickness of his particular form of vocal irony mixed, of course, with the sheer rhetorical flood that voice unleashes - more on that later - but for whatever reason I found myself continuously battling an urge to write Cheekface off as some kind of a joke, even as I couldn’t stop listening. Flash to the umpteenth listen and the only joke is my dumb brain trying to keep this burner of a record at arm’s length.
Of all the words music writers use ad nauseam - ethereal, rollicking, cinematic, etc. - one you don’t often see is “funny.” Emphatically No is funny, often hilarious, which is the second reason I tried talking myself out of liking it. I could sit here and read off the best lines (“They say smiling is contagious but, you know, so is yawning”) for hours on end (“They want your attention 24/7, resistance is easy, call your mom!”). Really, the whole review (“I’m bringing crying back, crying’s the new black”) could just be me pointing (“Everything is okay, got my old phone replaced, now I do nothing faster than I did yesterday”) and laughing (“Life is long like a CVS receipt, not much to do unless, you have a slow joke you wanted to tell I guess”) at the ceaseless bombardment of late-millennial, later-capitalism, sarcastic disdain. It is without a hint of irony that I say this is the most I’ve ever laughed out loud to an album, perhaps that’s why it was a little jarring. It’s like dancing to a book or humming along to a really good breakfast, the reaction doesn’t quite fit the medium. Even if it does bring you out of the music just a bit, it’s hard to deny the joy that comes with it, even as I enter, as I’ve said, my 20th listen. Records aren’t supposed to be funny, says who exactly?
It took me a bit but I am happy to report I have vanquished by dumb brain after all, casting off all the bad reasons I was creating to move past a record more than worth my attention. Let me tell you, it’s a relief. Emphatically No is such a fun listen front to back, nothing but punchy guitars, spastic rhythms, and wonderfully erratic song structures all housing a cleverness that makes Cheekface a wholly unique experience.