The punk rock trio Yeesh formed at Bennington College in 2010, but they quickly relocated to Chicago and became a favorite in the city’s basement scene. Where other bands recreated the tried-and-true formula of sloppy yells and melodic riffs, Yeesh brought shape-shifting post-hardcore and a studio-quality live sound. They released a boisterous debut in 2015, swiftly signed to Tiny Engines, and dropped their gnarled sophomore album Confirmation Bias in 2016 before calling it quits — though not without the promise of a posthumous full-length.
Two years later, that album has finally arrived. Saw You Up There is a fitting farewell for Yeesh, emphasizing the chaotic blend of post-hardcore, noise rock, and Midwest emo that made them such a beloved local act. Their arrangements are consistently surprising—singer-guitarist Alex Doyle and bassist Greg Obis often swap instrument registers so that the guitar chugs through low chords while the bass tackles the higher range. On “The Crossing,” they play off one another, pausing a wave of noise to break into an impromptu frenzy of math rock. Drummer Peter Reale frequently changes lanes, shifting from a barreling drum pattern to cymbal showers on “Escape Plan” or hitting every sixteenth note on “Shagohad” without crowding the field. On paper, Yeesh may sound like another Dischord-obsessed guitar band, but in execution they channel the personality of satisfyingly aberrant acts Unwound and The Dismemberment Plan. Saw You Up There lets Yeesh flaunt what makes them special: subtly complicated bridges, melodic basslines dipped in grunge, and two-guitar refrains played on one.
It’s tempting to award Obis extra credit for Yeesh’s slick balance of levels and EQ. As he did on the band’s early releases, Obis doubles as a mixer, fine-tuning the album’s hairpin turns. (At his day job, he’s an audio engineer at Chicago Mastering Service, which is co-run by Shellac bassist Bob Weston.) He draws out Yeesh’s slyest moments, like the amplified distance between Doyle’s howls and the microphone on “Concave,” or the warp of a guitar string bend on “Collective Sin.”
Looking back, it’s strange Yeesh never gained crossover word-of-mouth fame the way PUP or Pile have. They embody the perpetual tragedy of DIY scenes in that way: professional-level bands whose sound is far bigger than the 100-cap spaces they’re stuck playing. Saw You Up There is a steadfast parting gift that asks what Yeesh could’ve been in a few years. On emotional closer “Victory Lap,” an ode to the inevitable changing of the guard in music scenes, Doyle is stuck wondering the same thing: “The race is run, but you won’t get off the track/From the top, boys, let’s do this again.”
