by Chris Coplan
Believe no one but Landowner.
Seemingly, that’s not what the Holyoke, Massachusetts band had in mind with their fifth album, Assumption. Regardless, the LP enthusiastically tackles the ideas of truth and the proliferation of information, positioning Landowner as modern-day gurus of organic engagement. Neat!
The first way the record does this is by framing itself and the band as being at their "most cohesive and fully realized..." And when you listen to album tracks like "Parapet Wall," you hear the machine-like precision and subtle-but-textured interplay of the band's core sound (which they'd previously described as "if Antelope were reading the sheet music of Discharge"). In an album that recognizes how we "allow AI to do the thinking for us," this clockwork-esque post-punk certainly feels like a pointed bit of commentary—an affirmation of human choice and our collective skill when aligned around forging actually meaningful art.
From there, Assumption continually, enthusiastically explores this humanity, focusing on how we're constantly "taking in information online through an overload of decontextualized snippets and headlines, and then quickly [forming] conclusions..." It’s this idea that there is understanding followed instantly by conclusion, and in that we have turned away from whatever makes us deeply human (the messy sorting process). Yet the band aren't trying to guide us to new insights – as they admit in "Slippery Abyss," they "do not need to tell you/for you have already been to the edge of the/slipper abyss."
Even that recognition doesn't completely prevent Landowner from detailing and chronicling the ways in which our assumptions (and our self-driven commitment to their perpetual proliferation) are damaging us cognitively, emotionally, psychically, etc. If anything, that one line fosters distance to allow Landowner to focus less on feats of robust intellectualism and instead marry this function of social commentary with their musical goals. And in that way, the truth that Landowner seeks to get at feels not only more approachable, but it rings with greater interest.
Without that "aligned" approach of ethos and sonics, their observations are interesting enough. "Rival Males," for example, features the line, "The monster’s hidden from my child’s vision/but I see them everywhere." Monstrous imagery ain’t new in the confines of dissecting toxic masculinity, but that certain pop of drama works. Same for "Uninhabitable,” which doesn't just sound like freaked-out modern Blue Öyster Cult, but lines like "Death extends a bony hand and offers you a scone" proves that Landowner are pros at dressing up relevant themes like over-consumption with fresh paint. Because you know the "truth" – you just can’t handle it.
It’s never about uncovering fresh bones; Landowner care about the mode of expression as both open hand and rusted cudgel. "Expensive Rent" also touches on capitalism’s fecklessness, but what resonates is that metronome-esque delivery, a slice of properly stinging "theater" that expertly draws out this stifling realization that we've turned our self-damnation into some awful, perma-meme. "Enemy Attack," meanwhile, casts enemies of the whole world, whipping us into a manic terror with more displays of the band's razor-sharp cohesiveness and ability to build these dense, pulverizing waves of repetitive noise. In my brain, "Unboxing " is about that awful, Gen Z-approved pastime. Assumption or not (and that likely matters!), its repetition and structure are a truly compelling slice of commentary (on the asinine nature of modern entertainment, duh).
Perhaps the best instance of said dual-wielding is "Normal Returns to Normal." Yes, it's another robust demonstration of Landowner's technical expertise—a five-minute demo in building and riding a tight groove like an Olympic equestrian. (Said groove is akin to extra surf-y Butthole Surfers, and it's a genuine rush.) Along the way, Landowner make references to how folks have "written your own horrible book/to end your horrible New Testament" and that we sit around waiting for grandma’s biscuits to manifest ex nihilo. Both of which are brilliant examples of our own collective assumptions—that we were always in charge, that the tides of good fortune are somehow turning back, and our awards will be plentiful.
We believe that all of our problems (capitalism’s nuclear death rattle, environmental degradation, etc.) are things to be ignored or shaken off. That we are not doomed but rather things are on the up and up, and there is no need to fear the pulsing quasar of social entropy. When, quite counterintuitively, the monsters are in everyone’s sight, waiting to consume our lives and eat up the whole world. As a response, that makes the band's insistent but un-novel "declarations" so much more important: We have lulled ourselves into a tenuous system of ignorance and self-trickery, and Landowner are here to remind us of this story's depressingly true shape.
Does that mean the band are here to make it all better somehow? Even if I was certain that they believed in such a concept, I doubt Landowner would be so short-sighted/close-minded. It's clear across Assumption that Landowner don't have a path forward — just enough insight into how we all fully jumped the shark a million years ago, and that we're moving down a lazy river toward a self-built waterfall over the sharpest rocks imaginable. In any way that such insights offer comfort, Landowner leave it up to listeners to sort it all out for themselves. The best we can hope for, it seems, is the mere promise of that scone.
None of this is to say that Landowner are somehow better than the rest of us. They too have collectively made big assumptions—the difference is theirs are the kind worth making. Like, assuming your band can grow by leaning on each other, and finding a musical bonanza when you do so with absolute joy and intent. Or, assuming that you can doom-say with respect, and that in doing so, you're emphasizing humanity over bad news or emotional manipulation. Even the assumption that there's a path forward if you double down on the piss and vinegar and whimsy of just being alive. In all those ways and more, Landowner have assumed they're still very much alive, and there's so much more to do and sing and burn.
And if that's not the only truth that matters, just assume I'm Earth’s biggest dummy.