"Everything is/ Inside the device/ And instant access/ Has become my only vice." So go the opening lyrics of "Terminal Body", the first discernable words sung on Everyday Grace. While a compelling standalone lyric, it makes for an even more effective thesis statement, as much of White Car's full-length debut is spent ruminating on the ever-widening gulf between technology and humanity. Themes of over-consumption, isolation, and claustrophobia all seep into the album's grooves. Idols crumble into dust; the future is a very cold place. For an album so firmly rooted in electronic dance music, it is one huge bummer of a party.
With a croon and a howl that are equally nightmarish, Elon Katz attempts to work out the depersonalization of modern, internet-driven life through a torrent of unrest. He struggles with the concept of wasting time on "Now We Continue" while ending "In the Second Month of the Year" with the phrase, "You will be alone." Pendulums swing and flesh is eaten on "When", while Katz pines for the past in a way that doesn't evoke wistful nostalgia, but confronts the changing times with a healthy dose of disgust. On Everyday Grace, signifiers of the past are left behind in exchange for hollow new items and the idea of being found when you really don't want to be. There's a sense of dystopia Katz conveys that seems far too anguished to be put-on.
Through its wide array of instruments and collaborators, Everyday Grace never feels too minimal for its own good. Katz's pitch-shifted vocals are an appropriate anchor for his songs, incorporating elements of industrial music to his dissonant strain of early-80s computer funk. This formula often works for him: The jerky rhythms and synth melody of "Feed Me" and the shuffle of "The Factor" make for genuine highlights. There are layers of digital art damage throughout.
But somewhere along the line, the songs bleed into each other and the record feels more like variations of the same nightmare; the tempos and song structures rarely deviate, making the album as a whole a bit ponderous to get through. And once the jarring shock of Katz's atonal vocals subsides, it can get grating quickly. Only seven of the album's 11 songs have lyrics-- the words being the most compelling facet here-- and aside from the mangled vocal sampling of the intro, the instrumentals don't provide anything more substantial than the proper songs. At times, they feel like filler.
Aside from its dancefloor-ready beats, Everyday Grace is the epitome of a challenging listen. Its dissonance triggers the part of our brains that responds negatively to something that isn't tuneful. Its lyrics are of a man trying to make heads or tails of himself and contemporary society, with its obsession with saturation, creature comforts, and its own image. There's a disturbance felt from top to bottom, and the idea of using it as background music is laughable. But it explores the deteriorating collapse of, well, everything in the digital age in a way that feels new.
