by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
In 2022, Chicago's Ohmme officially changed their name to Finom (fun fact: they also previously changed it from HOMME. A theme emerges). Such a shift wouldn't be nearly as intriguing if the duo — Sima Cunningham and Macie Stewart — and their label hadn't politely refused a proper answer as to why. Now, all I can think about is the real reason and what it all means for the band and their singularly experimental rock sound.
As it turns out, Finom tells us everything we need to know with their latest, Jeff Tweedy-produced album, Not God. While they might say no elsewhere, the nine-track effort begins (via the excellent "Haircut") with one single word: "Sure," and from there we can see across nearly every track how Finom "put a premium on change" and continue to tap into their "improvised conception." It may not ultimately be a simple answer, but it's one that's hugely spellbinding and worth every moment of engaged discovery.
Now, despite all the fervent hyping, I'd be remiss if I didn't preface this by saying Finom aren't drastically different from when we last heard them on 2020's Fantasize Your Ghost. Rather, it's all a series of strategic decisions that show us this new face of Finom and how they are changing and shifting in ways that have less to do with the exciting chaos of something wholly fresh but rather accepting and stepping into things. Change, it seems, is a wonderful but sometimes barbed aspect of daily life.
The aforementioned "Haircut" is this funky but breezy ditty, like The Ronettes fronting Stereolab, which is the perfect tone for a song about the complexities of nostalgia and the struggle of change ("But I’m not gonna wanna/It’s the time of day I can get my haircut"). Meanwhile, "Naked" finds Finom in that sweet spot between solemn and seductive, and similarly that's a sturdy framework as they tackle how the concept of change often doesn't seem all that noticeable/significant ("Sometimes my moves, they don’t make sense/Lying naked on the floor/I don’t notice anymore").
These two cuts, especially, hit on an important sonic and emotional tone across both Not God and Finom at-large. It’s a baseline (as much as they dabble in that sort of thing) that shows a blend of emotional stuntedness and unease that might make for weird personal relationships, but it also gives some weight and edge to their ongoing need to coolly and calmly wander wherever their hearts and ears may take them. It's about how the duo hum amid the shifting sounds and places and ideas, and the thing they hold onto to stay whole throughout.
At the same time, there's moments that demonstrate something more potent. These ideas about what it might really feel like to really change and evolve and the larger power it holds for Finom. "Hungry" is the most like some Nuggets-esque garage-pop ballad, an injection of slick joy that counters some deep devotion to the cycle of grief that comes with every new configuration ("Made a mantle of my thoughts/Then lit a candle for the loss"). In "A Petunia," the band declare, "No expectations/no invitation/no need to mean it," which hints at some external notion of change and how one becomes properly primed. It’s about overcoming those setbacks and obstacles that serve as a cliff for the next great, terrifying horizon.
If "Haircut" and "Naked" are Finom's walking speed, then "Hungry" and "A Petunia" hint at their need to really run. To understand that which shapes them inside and out and to overcome and also embrace those notions with true earnestness and integrity to hopefully best move on. There's no telling if that can work, but it's the courage of heart and mind to be more than what you were a second ago that really matters here.
These tracks do, in a way, work out for Finom. There's evidence here that they are able to change — not just in the weight of someone else's expectations, or to overcome some sense of weakness or shortcoming. Not God is similar enough to Fantasize Your Ghost, and while that's mostly true, there's one important caveat. In his insightful review, Pitchfork's Andy Cush made the genius point that Fantasize saw Finom experiment with "how many wayward impulses fit inside conventional pop structures."
This time around, things don't feel so incongruous or perhaps about that specific tension. With its slick rhythms and slight sneer, "Cyclops" has a kind of credo ("Started kicking my teeth out one at a time") that captures the painful but weirdly affirmational joys of making change actually work. The mournful but oddly uplifting "As You Are" is a smorgasbord of similar insights, like "I killed the bugs I called my friends/And used their guts as ink" or "We burned our names on paper/And sent wishes to the dead."
Of course, that latter tune also includes the refrain "And I will keep you as you are/And never let you change," which is the fool’s prayer for contending with change. It’s an uneven but wholly unavoidable function — change is not the destination but this flat road calling you endlessly. Maybe you're just headed down the bend, or across the freakin' continent, but you won't know till you move. From a musical standpoint, and eventually maybe an emotional one too, Finom have accepted that with grace. There are things you have to shed and things you most cling to desperately, and none of it's really clear until you make the decision to move.
Through that, the pair come off more composed and thoughtful than ever before. Their sonic moves may seem random to us, but there is a greater confidence and determination behind them. That is the real upside of change despite the hurt and confusion: you may not see the path but moving along has never felt more comfortable and joyous. Finom have seemingly discovered this through their dedication to one another — their bio makes references to "[pledging] their allegiance to each other...at the base of the volcano" — and it's that consistency and strength that matters most. It's the terra firma needed to wander into big, scary ideas and make them something you can own and share.
It's not about knowing where you're going, but knowing that there's something there that's always been yours once you actually get there. This record is proof of that belief — maybe the real god is just that thing watching over anyone who dares to embrace the madness of the world in the name of something true (even momentarily)? Call them what you will (or for however long), but Finom remain eternally undeniable.