by Giliann Karon (@lethalrejection)
The urge to lump bands into genres isn’t new, although internet discourse makes it appear at times simultaneously more widespread, emphatic, and constrictive. Albums and artists have long been categorized, but in our quest to find something that sounds like the thing we already love, we’ve created new ways to divide and exclude, along lines as arbitrary as “vibes.” It’s only a matter of time before microgenres collapse upon themselves.
On their spellbinding self-titled LP, Cryogeyser delicately straddles genre nuance while exploring universal themes of personal and collective metamorphosis. Their profound technical and cultural understanding of the music they make proves they know their shit without being dogmatic. Shoegaze has been enjoying its moment since the COVID-19 lockdown, when teens learned to fiddle with pedals in their bedrooms, giving rise to subtle divisions between the 90s originators and their Gen-Z pupils. It’s easy to trace Cryogeyser’s sensibilities to their modern peers (they’re big Hotline TNT fans) and identify the throughline to luminaries like Drop Nineteens and my bloody valentine.
Like their shoegaze/dream pop/whatever-SEO-term-is-popular now peers, they lean into atmospheric textures to conjure longing and escape. Still, they remain rooted in the physical world, taking note of the ways their environment continues to change whether we want them to or not. While writing and recording in LA, they surrendered to the landscape, finding solace in elemental extremes and mutation beyond anyone’s control. Scorching feedback and strained vocals nearly submit to pressure, but the band emerges with new strength and wisdom. Opening track, “Sorry,” glistens with hazy vocals and swirling distortions. Singer and guitarist Shawn Marom calls grungy ode to forgiveness “the song that plays at the pool party your ex is at.” Lyrics question past relationship decisions and examine conflict rather than bottling it up. We all know it’s easier to wallow than it is to deal with it. Marom approaches this journey with care, providing space for pity while acknowledging the responsibility to move forward.
The band carries this confidence and gratitude into “Mountain,” a song about friendship and openness, which features vocals from Wednesday’s Karly Hartzman. “I hear one door closing holds another open,” the two singers harmonize, transforming heartache into hope. “This album is about heat,” explains Marom. “Capturing ice and holding it forever—even as it melts.” Her muscular voice tenses as it approaches its breaking point, especially on standout track “Stargirl,” but triumphs with composure.
Consistency is the band’s greatest strength. Marom describes the album as a “time capsule” of recordings and demos from 2019 through 2023. They’re not attempting to reinvent the wheel, instead building upon their steady ascent since Glitch, their self-produced 2019 debut. Their dazzling follow-up is a master class in longing and resilience.