Gazing at the audio waveform of “Something Worth Waiting For,” the title track of Friko’s second album, I see the arc of a hospital monitor—the sparseness of their hushed valleys, the catharsis of their climactic peaks. Beep, beep, beep. It’s a fittingly dramatic image for a band that thrives on Big Themes and Bigger Sounds: a nostalgic ache of a childhood bicycle, the escapist vision of a hot-air balloon, a classical piano, a string quartet, the heart-tugging ruckus of a sweaty indie-rock quartet screaming their heads off.
Where we’ve been, Where we go from here, the Chicago band’s acclaimed debut, laid out all the obvious puzzle pieces: the twisty-turny grandeur of Modest Mouse and Cymbals Eat Guitars; the quivering yelp and bleeding-emo-heart poetry of Conor Oberst; the fragile balladry of Elliott Smith (whom they’ve covered live a handful of times). But even if those influences scan as Indie Rock 101, Friko’s songs never felt indebted to anyone in particular—in interviews around that time, singer-songwriter Niko Kapetan was just as likely to name-drop Frédéric Chopin as he was Thom Yorke. Something subtly expands and refines his and Bailey Minzenberger’s sound world, one further animated by the notable presence of two new members (guitarist Korgan Robb and bassist David Fuller) and the suitably exploratory production of indie hero John Congleton.
The stakes immediately feel more intense on opener “Guess,” which breaks the tension of its strangled major-chord strumming and raw-nerve observations (“Don’t make me guess if that’s a cry or a laugh”) into a full-on noise-rock wall of sound. Their sense of dynamics is crucial here, illustrating just how quiet and just how loud they’re willing to get—by the time the band fully kicks in, the distortion has swallowed everything around it. But then we return to the softly sung lullaby that opens the tune—a reminder that loudness doesn’t always equal intensity.
Even structurally, some Friko songs, like the near-operatic title cut, seemingly start with the climax—just quietly. There’s a palpable surge of twenty-something adrenaline, like they Kapetan and Minzenberger can’t possibly hold it all back. You can almost hear the shaking limbs and quivering lips on the euphoric “Still Around,” a slice of barbed power-pop with some tasty time-signature business in the back half, and even throughout the chamber-pop melodrama of “Certainty.”
The ramped-up emotion can occasionally be exhausting. The slow-building “Seven Degrees” is a fascinating piece of writing and arrangement, full of keyboards, harmony, overlapping vocals, and nifty key changes. But by its ending stretch—a running-through-a-field-with-outstretched-arms singalong, like The Polyphonic Spree stripped of the psychedelia—you might crave an intermission from their passion. That said, Friko are wise enough to pump the brakes here and there, like with the soothing electric-keyboard atmospheres of “Alice,” a warranted lowering of blood pressure.
Still, every Friko song strives to make you feel their same big feelings, and they almost always succeed. On the roiling “Choo Choo,” you sense the heightened pulse behind every chorus falsetto and echoing gang vocal, behind each one of Minzenberger’s dizzying hi-hats and celebratory snares. (Rarely has a tambourine sounded more aggressive.) The six-minute “Dear Bicycle” closes out the record with a swirling bricolage, with Kapetan musing over some once-glorious wheels as rest of the band (via brushed snares, buzzing synth, and Brian Wilson-like bass) wafts in and out like hazy school-days memories. By the track’s end, it’s all become a washed-out blur, with behind-the-scenes studio shouting woven into the mix—reality overtaking dream. It’s heightened, messy, and heroic. That kind of big-swinging moment defines Something Worth Waiting For—an album that only a band on Friko’s level of heart and imagination can pull off. [ATO Records]
Ryan Reed is a writer and editor from Knoxville, Tennessee. In addition to Paste, his work has appeared over the years in Rolling Stone, Revolver, The New York Times, Pitchfork, and many other publications.
