by Charlie Pecorella (@oatbituary)
The stem that once bent towards the sun has cold-snapped on Tomato Flower’s debut record, No. Baltimore’s psych rock four-piece, comprised of Jamison Murphy, Ruby Mars, Austyn Wohlers, and Mike Alfieri, bears a heavier sound on this monosyllabic record, embracing racing riffs and delving into darker subject matter. Gone are their golden days, their early days of construction – the sun has set, it’s time to tear down and bring it all home for a dreamless night. Yet, after touring extensively with Animal Collective, Tomato Flower hitches their britches with babybaby_explores in support of their latest LP. While No partially marks the end of a relationship within the band, their realm of sonic experimentation has been blasted wide open, somersaulting into brutalist-realist experimental pop.
For all the warped and mangled chords barreling through the record, Tomato Flower’s direct lyrical approach cooly responds to disbelief. No simultaneously begins and ends conversations that flounder in anguish, pushing past the point of no return. Both Murphy and Wohlers sing with unabashed urgency, appearing to summon words left unsaid to the surface of their expanding scapes. On the opening track, “Saint,” Wohlers digs, “Why don’t you? /You wanted it/In Time/ I found that you/You started it.” Her chilling delivery morphs into a distant confrontation, a winding story still tender to touch. The record wields hefty accusations on slinking notes, clamoring into hard-hitting chord progressions. “Destroyer,” the second track, dives into an active role, detailing fisted moments of hate, destruction, and deceit.
Highlight tracks “Radical” and “Do It” are the antithesis of each other. The former, a sharp, bright tune, shutters all hope for reconciliation. Mere verbalization is an assault on burning memory. The latter, a crooked track lavish with tension, licks at salted contradictive quips. Wohlers warbles, “If you want to tell me what to wear/Just do it,” just as the instruments begin to bubble, melt, into her expired desire for clarity. Standing off-kilter in the middle, the title track slices through homonyms “know” and “no”, asks – what is the difference between what we are aware of, and what we refuse to see? Following tracks float through hushed, retro reverb. Tomato Flower finds that bitter truths permeate the lungs of loved ones, in the dance of a harlequin, ring the moon’s craters, dishevel mind temples, soil the Magdalene. The juxtaposition between 60’s feel good choruses and clear-cut negation on the mid-end rides distorted waves that sound much like an unsettling tight-rope pulled taut, released with mirth.
No is a no-fun fun house, with the band’s honest, gorgeous self-reflection grooving to funked up mirrors. Amidst tireless bends, Tomato Flower’s pointed wrath makes for an engaging record. Dauntless listeners face the final judgment on “Jem,” “Looks like a salesmen/Always down to lie/You Know how to kill him/He deserves to die”. In the record’s last breath, it is clearly the victim and cause of death. At their resting place, Tomato Flower sows seeds of rebirth.