With every album, Cloud Nothings have bailed on their past and re-shaped themselves into something more vital. Over their first three albums, Cleveland native Dylan Baldi seemed to be flooring the pedal in search of inspiration, from the lo-fi indie of singles collection Turning On to the pop-punk indebted self-titled debut to the increasingly serrated and howling peaks of Attack on Memory and Here and Nowhere Else. Somewhere in the long-gestating creation of their new album, however, Baldi stopped sprinting and briefly stalled out. Unsatisfactory demos piled up. Unproductive recording sessions and frustrations mounted, and a year of recording stretched on, the longest time Baldi had ever spent making one record. (Here and Nowhere Else was written after slamming some bad coffee and writing songs the day before.) Finally he broke through, and Life Without Sound, the result, is the most contemplative Cloud Nothings album yet.
This time, instead of becoming faster or more volatile, they pump the brakes and smooth out some of their more coarse edges. Baldi was inspired by the chaotic, freeform improvisations of New York composer Malcolm Goldstein, and the album boasts an open-ended, impressionist feel that’s new for them. The quiet, almost mournful piano solo of “Up to the Surface” opens the album, and when Baldi’s voice appears, his singing is subtle and restrained. Displaced, disoriented, and alone, he paints a portrait of fire on the horizon and a planet frozen over. The narrator of Life Without Sound has a lot of this kind of stuff in his back pocket—poetry about isolation, desperation, self-evaluation, and trying to find a place in the world. The drama is rich, so when the lyrics temporarily fall away and the sound suddenly becomes massive, the payoff feels huge.
Producer John Goodmanson (whose pedigree includes records by Sleater-Kinney, Bikini Kill, Death Cab, and Unwound) recorded the band for three weeks, and in that time, he helped build moments like the climax of “Up to the Surface”—a big whorl of sound where TJ Duke’s bass lines become massive, threatening to eclipse Jayson Gerycz’s point-perfect drum fills and some dependably catchy riff work from Baldi. The album regularly oscillates between calm and upheaval, and with Goodmanson’s help, Cloud Nothings ride valleys into peaks effortlessly.
Baldi’s vocals were the final element to be recorded on the album, and he delivers his most emotionally complex performance to date. There’s a bruised quality to his delivery on “Surface” and an assertive resolve when he sings about moving on (and looking back) on “Enter Entirely.” You can hear both confidence and fragility on “Modern Act.” He’s always been good, but the album provides the best showcase for Baldi’s voice yet.
The biggest knock against Life Without Sound is that it comes up short on hooks. Historically, the most powerful Cloud Nothings tracks bob and weave in search of new melodies, turning up new earworms to replace the ones from moments earlier. Look at “I’m Not Part of Me” (maybe their best song)—each new hook somehow manages to dunk on the one that came before until the chorus reaches a shout-along fever pitch. There are scattered examples of this songwriting on Life Without Sound, but some songs just spin in place. “Darkened Rings” begins with momentum, but beyond its initial rush, it’s short on ideas. “Realize My Fate” becomes repetitive and stagnant even when the band turns the screws on the tension. Screams, massive guitar tone, and a muscular performance, it turns out, can only go so far.
Baldi has called Life Without Sound the band’s version of new age music. (Warning: Do not attempt to meditate to this loud guitar music.) The songs come with uplifting mantras (“feel right, feel lighter”) and encourage reflection in tumultuous times (“I knew peace in the terror of the mind”). Baldi declares his intentions to move past the heaviness, though he knows full well that’s easier said than done. “Moving on but I still feel it/You’re just a light in me now,” he sings, repeatedly, on “Enter Entirely.” It’s a powerful message, but it takes more than words to make this kind of music feel inspirational. They’ve eased back from their most breakneck inclinations, and while Life Without Sound isn’t their strongest work, it’s got the seeds that could lead to their next definitive statement. History shows, anyway, that Baldi’s not going to make the same record twice.
