We don’t need to speculate why Chicago’s Pink Frost would go to the trouble of changing their name after releasing their debut album, 2011’s Gargoyle Days, which they recorded as Apteka. Speaking about it last summer, singer Adam Lukas revealed there was a Polish band by the same name-- a Wikipedia scan explains that “the word ‘apteka’ means "drug store" in Polish, and the lyrics of Apteka's song are often about drugs”-- and said emails from “crazed Polish fans” eventually became too much to handle. Though they went through a minor lineup shuffle in between incarnations, it’d be glib to see it as a new start: Pink Frost still play Apteka songs in concert, and Sundowning is built from the same sludgy, earthen stuff that won them local acclaim. That said, while Apteka lumbered with monolithic gravitas built on layer after layer of droning guitar, Pink Frost have dialed it back a notch, writing songs you can almost imagine hearing on rock radio.
If indulging in their weirder side would’ve made them a natural fit for the stable of noisy bands that have sprung up in Chicago, Pink Frost have sharply pivoted away from DIY spaces and toward Ticketmaster-approved venues. Writing about “Ruins”, Pitchfork’s Ian Cohen compared Pink Frost to the Smashing Pumpkins, which feels instinctively correct given their mutual Midwestern roots. There’s sonic common ground between Sundowning and early Pumpkins, most of it good assuming you don’t use “alt rock” as a pejorative. Lukas’ voice is more barking preacher than strictured choir boy, but he’s similarly capable of pairing yearning sentiment with big, bludgeoning riffs. “The Difference” evokes tender images of backlit cities and fractured feelings (“Hearts beat in the distance/ Until you witness the quickness/ and what’s left but the difference / Repeating sequence of sequins”) before aiming ascendent, and there’s a glow within the soaring thrash of “Ruins” that slips out like light through a cracked vase as Lukas sings about a love that’s worn and weathered but still standing. Sundowning is filled with quickly paced axe theatrics, but the band can be less direct, too: On “Who I Belong To”, listen for the guitar line that veins off from the main melody, wandering as the remaining parts swell toward a luminescent outro that never meanders.
You sense this is an act that sounds heftiest in person or at a volume that begs a police report. Heavy times aren’t created equally, and the line between bitchin’ and butt rock is different for every band that’s decided their best plan of attack is to keep on attacking. If Sundowning ever feels staid, it’s when the band spends a little too long hammering a single progression. “Occupy Within” and “Dead Cities” don’t get weird enough to justify the formulaic arrangements that might bring uncharitable comparisons to, say, Disturbed. By contrast, the moments where they find the balance are sublime, like when the gnarled freakout of “Western Child” suddenly yawns into a staticky, swirling drone before collapsing back into itself. It’s not powerfully original, but it is powerful. Another name change would justify a further refining, but Pink Frost appear to have found a home in the middle.
