ExplosiveMusik: Blowing Your Uncultured Little Mind: A Lo-Fi Paradise: Have a Nice Life

It astounds me that two people created this project.

Depressing Music By Depressed People For Depressed People

The lo-fi scene doesn't appeal to a lot of people. It's recorded badly just to say "oh this doesn't sound good for a reason". But it has a charm. You really think to yourself that if this music sounded good, it wouldn't have such an effect. Thank god for hipsters and indie, because it wouldn't be popular if it wasn't for that rag-tag group of twenty-somethings. Anyways, enough about ranting. When something drastic happens to somebody in their life, they usually don't do anything about it. They sulk, experience sadness, etc. but don't put it into something. Have a Nice Life took the time to put their feelings into their music. A flurry of shoegaze, ambient, drone, and post-punk sloshed into a lo-fi blender. It sounds chaotic. But it's soothing. Depressing. It'll destroy your brain. Enough about my opinions, let's get down to business.

A Concept Album for the Ages


Have a Nice Life - Deathconciousness (2008)

Take one look at the cover, which comes from a cut version of Jacques Louis David's painting "The Death of Marat", and a thought will spring to mind: this album isn't for the faint of heart. Spanning two discs (entitled The Plow that Broke the Plains and The Future), the album is a whopping 85 minutes. It's packed with extended pieces. But they work. They don't seem long. They engulf your brain. Deathconciousness is literally an album for the end of the world. A very loose concept album, the music focuses on the story of medieval Italian heretics. Huh? It doesn't detract nor add to the music... but... it's loose. Don't expect it to hit you in the face.

Disc One: The Plow that Broke the Plains

The album starts out quietly with the strangely titled "A Quick One Before The Eternal Worm Devours Connecticut", whose title is an ode to HaNL's home state and the first "rock opera" by the Who. A softly picked acoustic guitar plays over long, drawn out synthesizer notes, with another synthesizer pulsing in and out. This continues for about 5 minutes, until the drone is broken and a muddled voice comes in rambling about something nobody understands. The track ends abruptly, and we're tossed into one of my favorite tracks, "Bloodhail". A huge bassline opens the track with programmed drums, and a very cool guitar comes crashing down. Picture a nuclear bomb going off in the distance while a couple watches. Bombastic lyrics (I'm gonna make the roof come off/kill everybody in there) accent the enormous sounds of the guitar and bass. Louder singing plunders through the middle, and neaer the end the loud singing comes back accompanied by the repeated saying of "arrowheads", calling to mind millions of archers shooting arrows up into the sky to kill God himself. The song ends with the isolated lyrics immediately after the rest of the band fades out. We are taken into the simple electric guitar lines of "The Big Gloom", and it seems like another strange ballad. However, around 2:25, one of the most spine-tingling moments in modern music occurs. The programmed drums kick in, and the guitar becomes huge. The transition is absolutely astounding. Monolithic, if you will. It continues on for the rest of the song, never letting up. "Hunter" starts out with more programmed drums, and trumpet-like guitars. At 9 minutes, it is one of the longest songs on the album. The song is very somber and march-like at the beginning, but as it progresses... it gets louder. And louder. Everything eventually crashes within the last 60 seconds, but it's like watching a zeppelin explode. Magnificent. Shining. Unique. Then suddenly, ablaze. Extinguished. That's what "Hunter" is like. As I'm writing this and listening to the album, I'm realizing how tough it is to really describe this music. Just a thought. Anyways, "Telefony" starts with a single long organ chord with some extra tones built onto it. The drone carries for a little while, until the drums kick in at around 30 seconds. Around a minute, a very interesting bassline comes in, and adds a sense of urgency and depression to the track. Almost like... sneaking from police in a post-apocalyptic city. The lyrics come along, and the lo-fi nature makes them very hard to interpret. But Dan Barrett's voice is hauntingly beautiful. A dreamy light amongst the industrial darkness of the track. Near the end, a strange cymbal-like noise is added in, wrapping up the listener in a creepy blanket of sound and closing out the song. The sadly titled "Who Would Leave Their Son Out in the Sun" begins with a very faint and simple strummed guitar. The minor chords of the guitar leave the listener drained, and becomes almost a strange ballad. Angelic and choir-like vocals are buried in the mix, but are audible. I'm absolutely floored by this track. I mean... it's the epitome of dark and beautiful. Sadness is the only thing I get from this song. It's so hard to describe. The song is emotionally painful. You can hear the strength and passion behind Dan's distorted and far-away voice. Near the end, it starts to grow stronger but still feels like you're hearing them underwater from a mile away. At around 4:15, a scratched guitar breaks the monotony, and the soothing guitar is gone. The song ends on a very soft, yet cacophonous note. "There is No Food" starts out with communique-like beeps, and a Gilmour-esque guitar slides into the mix. You can hear field recordings of trucks and crying people. A massive bass hits at around 1:05, and shakes you to the bone. The guitar is immense, yet buried in the back. This song is like being at a refugee camp and running out of supplies, hence the name. Distorted field recordings run through the left channel, like a man on a megaphone at the camp. Near the end, you can hear the wailing much more clearly. It's not very loud, but it's powerful. Truly brings a strange and depressing idea to close out the first disc...

Disc Two: The Future

The dark, abrasive drone of "Waiting for Black Metal Records to Come In the Mail" opens disc two on an unnerving note. Now don't be alarmed. Blast beats, tremolo picking, and screeched vocals don't come into play here. However, a quick programmed drum beat comes in, then a badass, almost Opethian riff joins. This track is probably the fastest song on the album, and even then... it's almost doom metal paced. This is probably the most straight-ahead rock song on the entire album, with a conventional structure and Thom Yorke-like vocals buried under layers of guitars and loud computerized snare hits. A strange NES-reminiscent beat opens "Holy Fucking Shit: 40,000", alongside distorted vocals and a simple acoustic guitar line. I don't get the song's title. Hell, I bet nobody does. This track is almost as minimalistic as the opening track on disc one, but things change around 1:15. A gorgeous, yet simple piano line joins in the mix, adding a sense of light and hopefulness. A foreboding guitar breaks the monotony at 3:20, and the song turns into a fast-pasted funeral dirge. The drums pound across the channels, and the bass drum is especially relentless in its job to simply keep the beat. A march-like drum pattern signals the outro, which eventually fades into another acoustic guitar passage closing out the song. Another electronic beep and drone opens "Deep, Deep". I feel like I'm walking through a futuristic and bleak sweatshop one hundred years from now. Trumpet-like synths sprawl amongst a malevolent guitar drone, calling to mind an evil general overlooking his troops from a hill. The guitar becomes more prominent as the drums disappear into thin air. Pounding bass effervesces until the guitar drones out into the remaining seconds, a noisy and simplistic outro accentuated by footstep-like hits. A giant drum beat opens "The Future", and a fucking awesome bassline dominates the soundscape. This song rocks. Like a cracked-out, horribly recorded cover of Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir". An urgent synthesizer breaks into the scene and adds to the atmosphere. This song isn't that complex, but it sure is badass in its own simplistic way. A distant, pounding drum signals the start of "I Don't Love". The creepy harmony vocals of Dan and fellow bandmate Tim Micuga haunt the landscape, and a massive door opens at 0:50. It's like opening Pandora's Box, or the Ark of the Covenant. Hundreds of giant sounds rush out all at once, engulfing the channels in beautiful distortion and feedback. The vocals are still there, but just suffocated by the sheer sound. The distortion stays at maximum level. It's gorgeous chaos. The song starts to level out at around 5:45, and everything fades out until Dan and Tim yell the final lyrics. "Earthmover" is the longest and last song on the album, clocking in at a huge 11 minutes. The beginning is reminiscent of the earlier "The Big Gloom", and... well, this song is basically the same structure. The drums and guitar come crashing down, and... oh god it just sends goosebumps through my whole body. Shit, that happened while I was writing and listening. This song is the embodiment of watching buildings crumble. Mountains collapsing. Holding a lover's hand as the sky sets on fire, and you have the comfort of each other while the world falls in around you. We're not even three minutes in. A track like this hasn't been produced in years. It stands on its own as one of the most beautiful songs ever. At 4 minutes, things calm down. The buildings have fallen. The world has ended. A single guitar and a mournful voice mournfully cry over the wasteland. The metaphorical tape rewinds, and the world collapses again at 5:45. It's so damn beautiful, we had to do it twice. Soaring guitar and heartbreaking piano are crushed by distortion and snare beats, but still purveys a sense of destructive nature alongside stunning and uplifting noises. Wailing guitar continues throughout the track, until the world finally ends once and for all at 8:30. Things start to level out. The distortion, piano, and tremolo guitar are still there. Feedback engulfs the rest of the band, and it begins to fade. The destructive drone's abrasive nature continues forward, crushing everything in its path. Feedback begins to warp at 20 seconds, and the song abruptly stops at 6 seconds left. And it's over. Everything is gone.

The Verdict

There shouldn't be a verdict necessary. This album is a piece of modern genius. Angry, yet stunning. Depressing, yet hopeful. A loose concept, sure. But does it work? Abso-fucking-lutely.

5/5