by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
If you’re like me, your mind’s been cracked wide open in recent years. There’s something about segueing from a global pandemic into a pseudo-fascist hellscape (augmented by said pandemic) that’s melted the prefrontal cortex. Thus, you find it hard to engage feelings of whimsy and nostalgia in a meaningful way. Luckily, Goon have the cure for what ails us. Sadly, it’s not systemic reform across both public healthcare and our two-party system. It’s their new album, Hour of Green Evening, an 11-track smorgasbord of earnest folk and lush psych rock that’ll have you feeling something beyond white-hot rage and/or emotional impotence.
The secret of this record is its unyielding, unflinching earnestness — like how it’s meant to elicit that "pre-dawn quiet over a still-sleeping suburban neighborhood, insects buzzing and the creatures just stirring awake." It's a sentiment that's imbued in every decision made on this record — and almost entirely for the better, if your cracked brain can accept it.
The song "Angelnumber 1210," for instance, features the line, "In a past life you softly slept through waking hours/And in the boughs beams of sound play a welcoming." Does it read like hackneyed poems from a 201-level English course? Sure, but frontman Kenny Becker clearly believes in it, and it's the first chance on the LP (after the gorgeous instrumental opener "Pink and Orange") where his vocals really set the mood somewhere between angelic and haunted, evocative and primal.
Even in a more direct ballad like "Emily Says," Becker's vocals have the power to both uplift and devastate, and this tale of an imperfect love is an effective vehicle for enhancing the sometimes painfully earnest lyrics with a performance that both engages and contextualizes those larger creative choices. There's only so much power in what's actually being said, and it's the tone and timber of Becker that makes these songs feel truly, organically alive, beating with a pure romance that feels effective for this day and age.
Of course, Becker's not alone, and the rest of the band — drummer Andy Polito, guitarist Dillon Peralta, and bassist Tamara Simons — are more than capable in a "support" role. In a song like "Buffalo," for example, they manage to balance something ethereal and dreamy with the subtlety and understated power of early '90s alt rock. How they pull back a little on "Ochre" while still managing to open things up, and that combination of expansiveness and intimacy feels like a real rush to the head.
Even with something more direct like "Bend Back" — here the '90s rock vibes shine uber bright — the band deftly provide that connective potential without feeling like they're ever holding back. The throughline here, then, is their united efforts as a band; they're gathered around ideas that support and uplift Becker's work while also doing some really interesting things with melody and even layered textures. It's also the band which helps ground the record. Great as he is, Becker's vibes across the LP traipse several times into the realm of easy listening and/or more direct pop. It's deeply beguiling stuff, but having the band as both an anchor and a guide of sorts makes this record feel as rich and compelling in the first place.
At the same time, though, I don't want to just paint this as an easy listening, nostalgia-obsessed indie rock LP (but it is 1,000% also that). There's moments on this LP that transcend some of the serenity and good vibes here, and in those Hour exists as something more than a mere salve. There’s the aforementioned "Pink and Orange," and while it is an outlier style-wise (it’s effectively ambient chiptune), it does set the bar for the album’s emotional bar. It goes deeper in "Lyra," where all these grandiose guitar bits add a little more technical heft while showing just how thoughtful and plotted the band are in creating this LP’s entirety.
Yet none of that has the same sheer power as "Wavy Maze," which starts out in the same sort of subdued pocket, but eventually sees Becker and company reaching some staggering heights of raw, unfettered angst. It's not an outlier like some other album cuts, but feels like a well-deserved respite, a hard fought release in an otherwise idyllic album. In that sense, it makes sense contextually, and its sheer sense of rage and frustration actually feels decidedly palpable. It's not a standout for the overall quality, but for being a moment that's perfectly ingrained in the emotional narrative of this record. In a sense, it’s a great example of how this record engages you emotionally in genuinely exciting and vital ways.
I've listened to this LP over and over, and every time the feeling of peace and engagement lingers just a few seconds longer. When the real world does finally come back into focus, I'm not really mad or even disappointed (although maybe a little scared still) because this project accomplishes a very important, decidedly rare feat for art/culture in 2022: it soothes and supports without disconnecting you from the world.
It's like this little pocket to use some much needed, extra glimmery nostalgia to help ground and contextualize the world at-large. Sure, there's still some genuine escapism here (aforementioned easy listening vibes), but like any truly good record, it's done in a way that feels real, earning that distinction through sheer quality, creativity, and commitment. The world might not be getting any better, but this album can keep the walls from tumbling down entirely.