by Dan Goldin (@post_trash_)
Disclaimer: I released this record through my record label, Exploding In Sound Records. If that fact turns you off from reading my thoughts on the album, please do read someone else’s thoughts, perhaps the folks at Rosy Overdrive. While you could call my opinions bias, there’s no real glory in running a small independent record label, and it’s done (much like Post-Trash) all for the love of music. I’m trying to share the music I love, and I happen to love this record a whole lot.
There’s no stopping the passing of time, it ravages on, unmoved by circumstance. With each passing year we’re left to wonder what we’re doing with ourselves, trying to giving meaning to our lives. Are things that we’ve decided to give importance to actually important? For some of us, it’s best not to think about, but it’s an exploration that Washer takes on headfirst with their third album, Improved Means To Deteriorated Ends, a record that matches thoughts of decomposition with a slow burning rage-infused drive. The world can be toxic, thoughts can become corrosive, but there’s a way to push through, a chance toward those “improved means,” no matter how unlikely it can feel.
If this all seems like a bit of a downer, you’d be surprised upon listening to the album. There’s a sense of peace and resolve that comes from expressing these thoughts, the outpouring like a lifting of the anchors that drag us down. Washer, the duo of Kieran McShane (drums) and Mike Quigley (guitar, bass, vocals), are commiserating with a sense of profound community, the songs feel as though designed to be sung by a room full of drunk friends with their hearts firmly on their sleeves. It’s the feeling of listening to a friend vent their frustrations and while the conversation has been one-sided, it’s the listening, the engagement of simply being there and understanding that feels so welcome. So we listen, we get it. In some cases, we probably get it on a deeper level than we should, but that’s okay, it’s a reminder that our struggles are not unique. It’s life, it’s getting older, but it’s also a kick in the teeth to complacency.
Improved Means To Deteriorated Ends never feels as though it’s wallowing, Washer refuse to be stuck in despondency. The duo create minimalist anthems that hit home like a jackhammer to the brain, rattling inside with thick melodies and punchy structures. With the natural confines that result from being a two piece band, Washer don’t use to the studio to create impossible-to-play-live magic, instead they’ve always captured their skeletal set-up as intended, raw and energetic, howling with twangy resolve and touches of snotty punk brilliance. Recorded with Nick Dooley and mastered by Amar Lal, Washer’s songs pound and contort, structures are upended for massive hooks and sharp left turns. Just as the band settle into a groove, they twist and convulse into the next, delivered with wonky riffs and off-kilter fills. Washer don’t depend on abundant layers of sound and all-too-intricate textures, it’s the immediacy of what they do that feels special. The songs are pointed and aggressive, shaking and shouting, but rooted in constant hooks, nagging earworms best experienced in the company of pals.
The record is built on an arc, but it’s not a singular rise and fall, more a journey of ups and downs, unpredictable in nature much as life can be. The songs themselves do the heavy lifting, but the sequencing of the album is brilliant, as the journey inside their mindset wanes between personal and political, watching time elapse on not only oneself but the state of society .From the opening moments of “King Insignificant” we’re introduced to the mental struggle, a song built upon doubt and a lack of personal direction, buried beneath boozy nights and general well-wishes. The band slink and slide through twangy progressions, slamming into the peaks, and blasting through with the realization of the circular nature of our inner thoughts. It’s a reflection of being there for others while needing help ourselves, captured in lines like “I’d wish you well instead of dying with a grudge / cause when I’m at my edge I could use the nudge.” The boogie of “The Waning Moon” follows directly, almost a “sister” song or continuation of the album’s opener, a skate punk ripper with an immediate sense of powerlessness despite best intentions. For fifteen tracks, the battle continues, and with it so does the radiant energy, these songs, like Washer’s impeccable back-catalog, are smash hits. Get in, get out, never to be forgotten or diminished. Any sense of despair is met with the idea that we’re capable of change, analyzing ourselves with the intention of bettering the aspects we’re less than grateful for.
There’s something fascinating to be found in each track, if not the entire thing, then a snippet, a captivating moment that leaves a mark. There’s the elastic tension of “Threadbare,” a song that explores the idea of reality vs perception, what’s true to yourself vs what you’ve come to believe. There’s the alt-country croon of “The Itch,” wondering if we need to suffer to create, Quigley content to “seek no cure for self-induced agony” as a means for art. “Death of an Empire,” the album’s centerpiece bounces with a tangled Meat Puppets-esque knot of guitar and rolling drums, shifting the focus away from the self to encourage a healthy sense of societal revolt. Joined by Rebecca Ryskalczyk (Bethlehem Steel, Sloan Rivers) on vocals, the pair remind us that words can dissipate without action, delivered with a sense of cheer that sort of spits in the face of political hypocrisy and the fact that “all the wrong people loves themselves”. For every jangle and undeniably radiant yet grief-stricken anthem of eclipsed time and increased confusion (“False Prize,” “Blammo”) there’s a counterpoint of sludgy slacker charm (“Answer To Hell,” “Three Jeers”), Washer forever mining the depths of thought for inspiration and springing back anew.
McShane and Quigley always play with a sense of urgency and buoyancy in their songwriting, they feel alive as they shift tempos, swinging between hooks and blasting from one inescapabile moment to next. These kind of locked-in moments are littered throughout the record, but they come to the forefront from time to time, as the band embrace their knack for a swelling chorus as seen on “Fail Big”. It’s a song about knowing your limits, but pushing on regardless, okay with whatever outcome may be, and the entire thing sticks like super-glue with close melodies and a shimmering resolve. Quigley’s lyrics embrace genuine sentiment, “Every day know I mean what I say, that I try to pick myself up out the way, and if I fail I will fail big but that’s okay”. The album comes to its own conclusion with “Cheap Therapy,” a song that really sums up the experience, maybe nothing has changed and no one can say what is and is not important, but yelling about it for thirty minutes helps, and we all feel a little better for it. As we’re left with the shouts of “something’s wrong inside my mind, and I don’t know how to talk about it,” we’re all in agreement. Let it out, you’ll feel better. Let Washer’s Improved Means To Deteriorated Ends be your soundtrack to their perfected brand of “cheap therapy”.