by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
I sure do love hooks/gimmicks (just go back and read my album reviews). That proves especially true for the one informing Grocer. The Philadelphia-based outfit features three distinct vocalists — Danielle Lovier, Cody Nelson, and Nicholas Rahn — and that's likely how the band are able to so effectively "flicker between moments of brash chromaticism, saccharine pop sensibility, and rhythmic acrobatics." I'm sure it also means they are totally stacked with green tea and throat lozenges on the road. Sure, it's not the kind of hook that involves matching face paint or feeding audience members to giant monsters, and maybe it’s widespread enough to not actually seem all that "innovative,” but as Grocer demonstrate on their brand-new album, the nine-track Bless Me, this approach carries with it some rather unique heft and magic.
In the most basic sense, you get decidedly different output when each singer is at the mic. "Arts & Lit" and "Golden Sedan," for instance, are clearly led by either Rahn or Nelson. Either way, the former is like a more jangly, extra manic take on Primus-ian freak-punk, and the latter leans more into sentimental alt rock a la Mudhoney-meets-The-National. There's heaps of gradation and variation across Bless Me, but these are a solid enough baseline for the pair. It's from these "core" tracks that we can see what wonders a rotating lineup does to add textures and layers to the record, and how the band can emphasize or de-emphasize certain influences, ideas, energies, etc. to expertly express themselves. That, and it provides a really novel commentary about the way bands operate as both a unit and a collection of individuals coalescing toward some grander creative achievement.
Of course, we can't forget about Lovier, and her contributions including the album standout "Packrat". In some ways, it's Lovier that balances the manic energy and overt romanticism from Rahn/Nelson — the track feels like a super familiar slice of '90s alt rock, but her vocals both lean into those trappings and still manage to subvert expectations with a solid mix of grit and grace. Because Lovier doesn't get quite as much solo mic time, that makes a track like this feel special — not just because the sheer presence feels more charming and immediately satisfying, but that it further shows how serious the band take their dynamic.
It's a song that feels extra connected to the record’s core, but also a more shiny, overt standout, and that’s what really makes it all the more of a thrill ride as much as it is another vital statement on the nature of creativity and collaboration. Ultimately, it’s the execution that makes the biggest difference, demonstrating how Grocer best use each voice (and in comparison/relation to other songs) to facilitate maximum impact. Still, a truly vital chunk of this record isn't about spotlighting one member over the other, but rather what happens when the focus is on melding and interplay.
The title track may be my favorite instance: the harmonies skew toward Lovier, but Rahn and Nelson lend support in such a way that the vocals feel extra rich and layered (if you're a Buffy fan, it's like the time the Scoobies used the enjoining spell to fight Adam). It's also an especially clear example of how the instrumentation across Bless Me parallels this process with a more uneven, multifaceted approach, and the song ebbs and flows in such a way that the seams between ideas and influences gloriously melt away.
Meanwhile, "Mating Call" proves a bit more subtle, but when those harmonies build, some of the record's rampant '90s nostalgia feels more lively and grounded in some greater emotional and storytelling tradition. "Subtext" may be the most instantly joyous "fusion" of the three, and it's here that the message of this record and the band's sustained experimental bent give way to something hugely joyous and life-affirming. These tracks fully extend the "messaging" of this record in regards to exploring the nuances of collaboration, commenting on individual versus group dynamics, and balancing genre interplay with novel approaches and techniques. They all but cement the unassuming but effective discussion that the band are facilitating, getting us to reconsider some core ideas about indie rock without making it feel like a big deal whatsoever.
Similarly, there’s a tendency among some rock bands to operate as a unit above all else, and to create this rich hydra-like experience. Grocer want that same celebration and significant release, but the individual influences, ideas, and personalities always remain a central thread. Sometimes they engage and other times they almost strain against one another, and across that multifaceted process we always get a more robust and lively band. "Blue Goose" further exemplifies that dynamic: it's like an alt-rock song and a D-beat song are fighting, and there's moments where that tension is massively cathartic and other instances where we simply feel the weight of it all. "Big Box Brand," however, grows from some overly sentimental rock ballad into a properly swollen jam — the difference, then, is how things are layered and the way the song's encouraged to progress.
One approach isn't better than the other; rather, Grocer know how to let things coalesce or clash as needed, and that process is both sonically exciting and decidedly ripe with layers of context and emotionality. They respect themselves collectively and individually, and by emphasizing that across this record, they manage to move not just our feet but our squishy little brains about what it means to really give yourself to this massive creative process. It's a record that embraces its cohesion and occasional unevenness to achieve that thing music should always do: recreate and sustain life in all its vivid, glorious, and overwhelming detail. It’s an album that hooks you not with surface-level gimmicks, but goes deeper to show us the power of limitless creative freedom and what happens when bands render themselves as a multi-headed beast of aesthetics, skills, preferences, and emotions. Frankly, it's the best dang gimmick since, like, Rivers Cuomo and garage-nerd-core.