Album Review: Touche Amore - 'Lament'
Not counting last year’s tenth anniversary release, it’s been four years since LA’s Touche Amore released their last full album. Though it’s the longest the band have gone between LPs, for anyone familiar with 2016’s Stage Four that break will come as little surprise.
Both crushing and cathartic, Stage Four was a deeply personal release, with the death of singer Jeremy Bolm’s mother from cancer forming the record’s thematic backbone. And while only 35 minutes long, listening to it in full is something of an experience.
This year’s follow-up Lament follows in much the same vein. Though still confessional, and equally as cathartic, it feels less somewhat less introspective than its predecessor, more universal, and flecked with more frequent moments of optimism.
As a record, it feels no less purgative than those previous, but if Stage Four was an emotional knee-jerk in response to trauma, Lament feels more considered, more matured. Both sonically and lyrically.
Where in the past it’s common for the band’s songs to run under two minutes, here there’s little that falls under three. As such, tracks are allowed to build and to blossom, to peak and trough more naturally than ever before. It’s something which gives the all-too-palpable emotion of Bolm’s lyricism chance to breathe; his universal insecurities chance not just to manifest, but to be exercised.
This is something that stems in part as well from the record’s production. Having opted to use Brad Wood for their last two releases, Lament sees production duties fall to Ross Robinson – his own intensity bolstering that of Bohm’s.
Lament isn’t just blistering intensity, however. Tracks such as “Feign”, “Reminders” or “I’ll Be Your Host” bristle with flavours of melodic punk, bringing to mind bands like The Movielife or Gnarwolves more than the likes of La Dispute. And though few and far between, these moments provide Lament with windows of respite exactly when they’re needed.
Arguably the record’s centrepiece, “Limelight” comes just before the halfway point. Featuring Manchester Orchestra’s Andy Hull, it’s five minutes of sprawling guitars, layered vocals and an ever-mounting intensity that easily matches anything from Stage Four, while feeling more elegant in its delivery.
Though some purists might well balk at the thought of a polished and refined hardcore record, that’s exactly what Lament is. Intelligent, and at times, introspective, it’s a record through which we can all channel our current frustrations. 2020 has been a hell of year, the mental health of many of us has taken a battering unlike ever before. Diving headfirst into Lament might not be for everyone, those that do can rest assured reaching the other end will leave them feeling battered, bruised yet ultimately cleansed. An exercise in pure catharsis.
Words by Dave Beech