Mourn have always had a slightly antagonistic approach to rhyme. The English-language lyrics to the first song on the Catalan indie-rock band’s promising 2015 debut were intriguingly, ever so slightly askew: Singer and guitarist Jazz Rodríguez Bueno rhymed “candy” with “rancid,” drawing out the vowels of both words as if to stress her indifference to the imperfection. The remainder of “Your Brain Is Made of Candy” had a few more similarly tenuous near-rhymes, and they haven’t gotten much nearer since then. Already four albums deep, Rodríguez and her co-frontwoman and co-lyricist Carla Pérez Vaz now seem convinced that any time spent choosing words that don’t immediately communicate their frustration loudly and clearly—and they sound as frustrated as ever on Self Worth—is time wasted.
At its best, Self Worth doesn’t waste a second. Songs are tighter, reversing the contortionism of their labyrinthine 2018 album Sorpresa Familia, whose melodies and structures surprise-shifted like the architectural features of the famously incohesive Barcelona basilica that it referenced by name. Escapist imagery, meanwhile, goes almost entirely out the window here, making room for cogency. Lines like “I don’t wanna be a failure and disappoint my parents” are sung with dead sincerity. If the band’s early work channeled PJ Harvey with a faithfulness made all the more impressive by the fact that they were teenagers, Self Worth skews more pop-punk, airing feelings of self-doubt that tend to be associated with adolescence but linger well beyond it. This also happens to be their most polished recording, which suits its straight-shooting songs well. If you had been waiting for the Mourn studio album that went all in on “studio,” Self Worth delivers.
Mourn are no longer writing about eating brains, but taking care of them. In just a few years, the band has already weathered its fair share of crises. There was the tension with their Spanish label, Sones, which nearly derailed them around the time of their sophomore album, Ha, Ha, He. And now, their first lineup change: Former drummer Antonio Postius Echeverría left the group on some apparently rough terms before writing began on Self Worth, which plays like an exorcism of all the spirits haunting what should be a young band succeeding on its own merits. Their straightforwardness sharpens the songs, and the thrill that they get from it is palpable in highlights like the incandescent second half of “Men,” in which the line “I don’t really trust men” kicks off a dramatic exchange between Pérez and Rodríguez’s long and high shouts over new drummer Victor Álvarez Ridao’s speed-bag drumming.
Mourn’s newfound clarity of voice propels Self Worth, which flies from the get-go, opening on a five-song tear and closing with four straight heavy hitters, hampered only by a middle stretch that wilts a bit in comparison. On the rare occasions when Mourn don’t sound totally sure of what a song should be, they fall back onto breakneck intensity instead of exploring more varied dynamics. Self Worth is a relentless album that never really pulls back, but maybe that’s a function of survival for Mourn, who will probably always write songs with teeth bared. They’ve straightened and polished them on Self Worth, but their bite remains formidable.
Buy: Rough Trade
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