This year marks a decade since Gemini, the self-recorded debut that catapulted Virginia Tech senior Jack Tatum into contemporary dream pop canon. As his project Wild Nothing took off, Tatum’s music drew as many comparisons to 4AD royalty like the Cocteau Twins as it did to contemporaries like the Pains of Being Pure at Heart. Over time, as Tatum gathered confidence, Wild Nothing’s sound became glossier, steering away from lo-fi guitars to embrace an exactingly produced vision of chillwave. With each subsequent release, the ethereal haze gradually cleared, putting Tatum’s wistful melodies and insubstantial lyricism in clearer view. By 2018’s Indigo, he seemed so focused on aesthetics that any potential for emotional connection withered. The new Laughing Gas EP—a handful of tracks recorded during the Indigo sessions—suggest an artist more concerned with creating a vibe than conjuring sincere feeling.
It’s Tatum’s habit to follow each full-length album with a shorter collection of songs: Gemini outtakes appeared on the Golden Haze EP, while 2013’s Nocturne was followed by the Empty Estate EP. Ideally, this pattern of alternating full albums and EPs of leftovers would offer insight into his creative process, or at least some memorable deep cuts. But Laughing Gas suffers from the same issues as its predecessor without introducing any new ideas. Even Tatum’s usually enjoyable melodies feel bloodless. The psychedelic chug of “Sleight of Hand” too closely approximates Tame Impala’s “Let It Happen.” Closer “The World Is a Hungry Place” would make a passably lively B-side; still, it sounds like something Tatum could’ve conjured in his sleep.
By far the strongest moment here is “Blue Wings,” first released as a standalone single more than a year ago. Driven by bass arpeggios that culminate in a massive, shimmering chorus, the song feels like it could’ve been demoed in the Nocturne days. And there’s the rub: However much Tatum might begrudge the fact, Wild Nothing is still synonymous with the warm nostalgia those early albums exuded. No amount of busy synth squiggles or dry drum loops can clear enough space to forge your own daydreams. The harder Tatum tries to snap back to reality, the further he lands from the mark.
Buy: Rough Trade
